Thursday, November 10, 2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
A Nice Little Halloween Story.
On Halloween a couple of years ago, I went out trick-or-treating with some friends in my friend Heather's neighborhood. I was eighteen at the time, and I was not ashamed. Everyone in our group had fantastic costumes. Don't judge me.
For reasons that I'm sure made sense at the time, this is how I (and the other three people in our group) dressed up:
And yes, that was how my hair was cut at the time. Things were different then.
The people in Heather's neighborhood were used to older kids trick-or-treating, and consequently got really into their decorating and costumes. There were skeletons and weird scarecrows on almost every porch, and lights strung from every tree. I was fine with all those houses, even the ones where people jumped out of fake coffins on their lawn.
The only house I had a problem with the last house on our route. It wasn't lit up or decorated in the front at all; the back was a different story.
All the houses in that subdivision had detached garages that were in the backyard. The garage of this particular house was open, and had flashing strobe lights. The Halloween theme was playing from a hidden stereo. There was (fake, but it was Halloween and I was scared) blood splattered all over the walls of the mostly empty garage.
In front of the garage stood (a guy dressed as, but again, it was Halloween and I was scared) Michael Myers. He was looking straight at us.
Next to him was a small table with a bowl of candy on it.
Everyone else in our group laughed and thought this was really fun and hilarious, and ran up the driveway to grab some candy. When RJ, the only guy with us, noticed I was still standing out at the sidewalk, my eyes bugging out, he came back and asked me what was wrong.
I just shook my head and squeaked.
"There's candy back there, come on!"
"NONONO.I'MNOTGOINGBACKTHERE." I'd never seen Halloween, but I was pretty sure that anyone walking up to Michael Myers expecting to get candy out of it was akin to ripping one's shirt open, pointing out their heart and shouting "PLEASE STAB ME."
Also, did I mention it was Halloween? Isn't that like, the guy's one workday out of the year?
RJ sighed. "Kelli, I feel like I shouldn't have to tell you this, but that's not actually Michael Myers. That's just a guy dressed up as Michael Myers."
I shook my head again, more forcefully this time."DOESN'TMATTER."
RJ rolled his eyes and made a face, and said, "Okay, fine. Stay here." He jogged into the backyard, right up to the guy. He didn't even take any candy. At this point our other friends were on their way back, chatting enthusiastically about the experience.
I watched RJ as he talked to Michael Myers, who appeared to either be listening very closely or about to kill him. Then, to my horror, RJ pointed out to the front yard, directly at me.
I started flapping my arms and shaking my head frantically and mouthing "NO NO NO NO", which was probably a bad idea. In any case it did no good, because RJ started heading back towards me, and Michael Myers was following him.
"Why did you do that?" I hissed at RJ.
"To get you candy!" he answered, grinning. It was such a punchable grin.
"I DIDN'T WANT CANDY RJ I WAS PERFECTLY FINE"
I squeaked and shut up. Michael Myers's agonizingly slow steps had finally come to a stop merely a foot in front of me. I stared up at him, my mouth clamped shut in abject horror, thinking two things:
1) If I escaped from this somehow unharmed, I was never going trick-or-treating again, and
2) If I was going to die, I was at the very least taking RJ with me.
The rest of my group stood in a cluster a few feet away, giggling.
Michael Myers then very slowly leaned down, his face just inches from mine. Moments passed. Minutes, even. Possibly hours.
Then he held out the candy bowl.
Now slightly confused in addition to terrified, I reached up and very carefully plucked two pieces from the bowl. "Th-thank you," I squeaked.
"Happy Halloween," Michael Myers said, his voice muffled by the mask.
Then I turned on my heel and sprinted all the way back to Heather's house, not caring one bit if anyone made fun of me the next day.
For reasons that I'm sure made sense at the time, this is how I (and the other three people in our group) dressed up:
And yes, that was how my hair was cut at the time. Things were different then.
The people in Heather's neighborhood were used to older kids trick-or-treating, and consequently got really into their decorating and costumes. There were skeletons and weird scarecrows on almost every porch, and lights strung from every tree. I was fine with all those houses, even the ones where people jumped out of fake coffins on their lawn.
The only house I had a problem with the last house on our route. It wasn't lit up or decorated in the front at all; the back was a different story.
All the houses in that subdivision had detached garages that were in the backyard. The garage of this particular house was open, and had flashing strobe lights. The Halloween theme was playing from a hidden stereo. There was (fake, but it was Halloween and I was scared) blood splattered all over the walls of the mostly empty garage.
In front of the garage stood (a guy dressed as, but again, it was Halloween and I was scared) Michael Myers. He was looking straight at us.
Next to him was a small table with a bowl of candy on it.
Everyone else in our group laughed and thought this was really fun and hilarious, and ran up the driveway to grab some candy. When RJ, the only guy with us, noticed I was still standing out at the sidewalk, my eyes bugging out, he came back and asked me what was wrong.
I just shook my head and squeaked.
"There's candy back there, come on!"
"NONONO.I'MNOTGOINGBACKTHERE." I'd never seen Halloween, but I was pretty sure that anyone walking up to Michael Myers expecting to get candy out of it was akin to ripping one's shirt open, pointing out their heart and shouting "PLEASE STAB ME."
Also, did I mention it was Halloween? Isn't that like, the guy's one workday out of the year?
RJ sighed. "Kelli, I feel like I shouldn't have to tell you this, but that's not actually Michael Myers. That's just a guy dressed up as Michael Myers."
I shook my head again, more forcefully this time."DOESN'TMATTER."
RJ rolled his eyes and made a face, and said, "Okay, fine. Stay here." He jogged into the backyard, right up to the guy. He didn't even take any candy. At this point our other friends were on their way back, chatting enthusiastically about the experience.
I watched RJ as he talked to Michael Myers, who appeared to either be listening very closely or about to kill him. Then, to my horror, RJ pointed out to the front yard, directly at me.
I started flapping my arms and shaking my head frantically and mouthing "NO NO NO NO", which was probably a bad idea. In any case it did no good, because RJ started heading back towards me, and Michael Myers was following him.
"Why did you do that?" I hissed at RJ.
"To get you candy!" he answered, grinning. It was such a punchable grin.
"I DIDN'T WANT CANDY RJ I WAS PERFECTLY FINE"
I squeaked and shut up. Michael Myers's agonizingly slow steps had finally come to a stop merely a foot in front of me. I stared up at him, my mouth clamped shut in abject horror, thinking two things:
1) If I escaped from this somehow unharmed, I was never going trick-or-treating again, and
2) If I was going to die, I was at the very least taking RJ with me.
The rest of my group stood in a cluster a few feet away, giggling.
Michael Myers then very slowly leaned down, his face just inches from mine. Moments passed. Minutes, even. Possibly hours.
Then he held out the candy bowl.
Now slightly confused in addition to terrified, I reached up and very carefully plucked two pieces from the bowl. "Th-thank you," I squeaked.
"Happy Halloween," Michael Myers said, his voice muffled by the mask.
Then I turned on my heel and sprinted all the way back to Heather's house, not caring one bit if anyone made fun of me the next day.
Monday, October 3, 2011
The Dumbest Thing That Has Happened To Me Today
I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for the sudden WALL OF TEXT posts as of late. However, this is a really stupid story, and I promise you won't regret reading it. If for some reason you do, though, feel free to send me hate mail. Also, to break up the monotony a little bit, I took some pictures of me reenacting some of my more. . . potent reactions.
-------------------------------------
For those of you that don't know, before this semester I got a letter stating that I was on academic dismissal. I'm not particularly embarrassed or ashamed of this anymore; oh, I was at first, but if I didn't make mistakes, I wouldn't learn how to fix them. Also it was because I had no idea what I was going to do with my life, but I thought I wanted to do something with art, so I didn't see much point in going to school (and I stopped going to classes for a while because I was sad, but that's a story for another time. Or maybe it isn't).
But I took the appropriate actions-- I wrote a letter for the dean, I got approval from a counselor to come back, and I went to see Dr. Daiek. Not to mention I had a shiny new career goal I wanted to pursue, and I wanted to get on that as soon as I could. Everything was set for my fall classes, including the mandatory learning skills course.
I didn't really mind having to take a learning skills course. I figured it would help me out, since obviously I had issues with studying, and I heard part of the class dealt with planning out your major and transfer guide. I was actually kind of excited about it.
The class met once a week, for an hour, and was "taught" (and I use that word loosely) by a teacher I will henceforth refer to as Professor I. Care. There were about fifteen other people in this class, and they had all been doing poorly in their classes for a myriad of reasons, almost none of them being "they're stupid".
The first day I was pretty optimistic. She handed out a lot of worksheets that we were asked not to hand in. We drew up a list of expectations for ourselves, our families, and our teachers, and discussed them. A lot of people (myself included) had a problem with teachers not really caring about their students or getting to know them, or making exceptions when there were extenuating circumstances. Professor I. Care sympathized with us, saying that she knew how that was and she had vowed she wouldn't be the same. She played a lot of videos from motivational speakers, and a Nike commercial. I left feeling like I was finally getting something done.
The next few weeks were a little different. Professor I. Care was still understanding and sympathetic, but in that patronizing, shaming way that made us feel like we were stupid even though she was telling us we weren't.
Two weeks ago, my growing disinterest turned to complete disdain. The theme of the day was "paradigm shifts". She explained to us that none of us were making our own decisions; that the decisions we made were really other people's decisions that we thought we were making for ourselves. We were all robots, programmed by those around us to make decisions we would never make if we really thought about it. Apparently. But it was okay, because we didn't know better, and she was now going to teach us how to make our own decisions.
This was a mandatory class. I need to stress that. We HAD TO TAKE THIS CLASS in order to get a grade and be off academic dismissal.
Naturally, having made a fair amount of big decisions that had nothing to do with anyone else, this pissed me off. She passed around a worksheet on the subject, and the questions (and my answers) went as follows.
Consider a BIG DECISION you have made recently.
Giving up my son for adoption
What are 2 factors you considered when you made this decision?
Financial stability/my own fitness as a parent
Now THINK. What assumptions about YOURSELF may have played a part in your decision?
That I wouldn't have gone back to school or gotten a career if I'd kept him, and wouldn't have been able to support him/give him a good life
Now THINK AGAIN. Is there SOMEONE or SOMETHING subconsciously taking part in your decision-making?
Uh, no
In other words, now that you REALLY THINK about it, who or what else influenced this decision?
Nothing, unless you count "money"
Is this really your OWN decision, now that you REALLY THINK about it?
YES IT WAS ENTIRELY MY DECISION YOU HACK
At this point I didn't really have many nice things to say about the class. But still, I thought maybe she was just used to these teaching methods working on everybody else, or something. I wasn't happy about it, but I didn't really hold it against her personally.
The next week I went back, and a counselor made appointments with everyone in our class to get them set up with two-year plans and transfer and career guides. After we made our counseling appointment, we had to make an appointment with Professor I. Care. Due to a random system that involved everyone jumping in front of me and another girl, I was the last person to make an appointment.
Professor I. Care looked up at me like she'd never seen me before.
Her: "What's your name again?"
Me: "Kelli Renas."
Her: "Romnas?"
Me: "RENAS. R-E-N-A-S."
Her: (shaking her head) "Oh wow, I don't know why I didn't know that. Okay, when did you want to have your appointment?"
Me: "Do you have anything on a Monday?"
Her: "Sure. What time are your classes?"
Me: "I don't have any classes on Monday. That's why I--"
Her: "Well that's STUPID. What days are your classes, we'll do it then."
Me: (a little annoyed, because I don't want to have an appointment on a day when I have classes, also because I just listened to her fill up every possible Tuesday and Thursday time) "Tuesday and Thursday, 8-10 AM and 3:30-5 PM."
Her: (writes down "3:30" in her book) "Now what was your name again?"
Me: (more than a little annoyed) "I have CLASS at 3:30."
Her: (incredulous) "Well I can't possibly do anything before that, I teach until 3:30."
I MAY ACTUALLY BE HAVING AN ANEURYSM
Me: (baffled) "I KNOW, THAT'S WHY I SAID MONDAY."
Her: "Okay, we'll do Monday. How's 9:30?"
I took my slip and left.
So today at 9:30, armed with my transcripts, two transfer guides, a full plan for the next year (after which I'd have my associates'), and the knowledge that this was going to be a fully annoying experience, I went to my appointment with Professor I. Care.
When I knocked on the door, she turned around and pointed at the folder in my hand. "What's that?"
"It's all the stuff you told us to bring," I said.
"I didn't tell you to bring anything." Then a light went on in her head. "OH! You're my 9:30 appointment! Oh my God, it's so early for me. Okay, go sign in at the front desk."
After being pointed to three different front desks, I finally managed to sign in, and when I got back, she was working on an email. "We still have one minute before our appointment technically starts, so just let me finish this," she said.
I stayed quiet, thinking, You told me to show up 15 minutes early. . .
She finished her email (at 9:32) and grabbed my folder to look through the things I'd brought.
Her: "So you didn't bring a signed registration form?"
Me: (blinks) "A what?"
Her: "A signed registration form. Did you even read this?"
She took out the list of things to bring, which I'd marked up with a red pen to notate what I had, and tapped "signed registration form", at the bottom and in a different area than the list. I shook my head, almost certain that it wasn't on the list the night before.
Her: "Now you have to go back over to the counseling office. Well, that's fine. We have to meet again in a little while anyway." (looks over my transfer guides to WSU College of Liberal Arts and Sciences) "You know a Gen Ed degree won't get you a job, right?"
Me: "Excuse me?"
Her: "No one anywhere is going to hire you with a Gen Ed degree. Did your counselor not tell you that?"
Me: (stab of annoyance) "I'm not going there to get a Gen Ed degree. We printed that one off because they don't have a pre-law undergrad program."
Her: "Oh! I notice you only got a 2.0 in English 101. . . " (makes sympathetic face) "Have some trouble with the writing? We can put you in a remedial class, if you need the help. WSU only accepts people with perfect writing, which (in a commiserating tone) I think is just terrible, but if you need the help--"
Me: "My writing is fine, actually. I skipped a bunch of classes. I got A's on everything I handed in."
Her: "Oh. Hmm. . . I notice you're taking kind of a heavy course load this semester."
Me: "Not really. Just Biology and English 2."
Her: "Biology, that's a lot of memorizing stuff. Is that okay for you? Are you having any trouble with that?"
Me: "No, I'm not."
Her: "Have you had any tests yet?"
Me: "Yes. We've had one. I got an A on it. I have an A in this class."
Her: "Oh. Huh. What about Math 113? I see you have that this semester."
Me: "I dropped it."
Her: (makes understanding face) "Was it too hard? Do we need to maybe drop you down to Math 053 to bump up that comprehension?"
Me: (not even bothering to keep the irritation out of my voice anymore) "No, I can comprehend it just fine. It was an 8-10 PM class and I was worried I'd skip."
Her: (nodding) "8-10 AM? Yeah, I have trouble getting up that early too."
Me: "No, 8-10 PM."
Her: "You mean 8-10 AM."
Me: "NO, I mean, 8-10 PM. AT NIGHT."
Her: "Oh my gosh, who would ever schedule a class at 10 PM? I couldn't learn anything, my brain is fried by then."
She grinned. I was not having any of it.
She scheduled another appointment for the end of October ("What's your name again? Romnas?" "RENAS.") and told me I needed to have my signed registration guide with me then, because apparently I didn't actually need it today, and I followed her out to the lobby so she could make copies of all my paperwork.
"You know, it's crazy," she said as she put my transcripts through the copier, "you're really one of the most prepared students I've ever had. I don't think anyone has ever had a course of action this thought out!" She handed me back all my paperwork."See you on the 31st!"
I made this face:
The face of someone who isn't harboring a secret burning desire to punch something.
and then I left and got breakfast, secure in the knowledge that nothing dumber could possibly happen to me today.
I was right.
-------------------------------------
For those of you that don't know, before this semester I got a letter stating that I was on academic dismissal. I'm not particularly embarrassed or ashamed of this anymore; oh, I was at first, but if I didn't make mistakes, I wouldn't learn how to fix them. Also it was because I had no idea what I was going to do with my life, but I thought I wanted to do something with art, so I didn't see much point in going to school (and I stopped going to classes for a while because I was sad, but that's a story for another time. Or maybe it isn't).
But I took the appropriate actions-- I wrote a letter for the dean, I got approval from a counselor to come back, and I went to see Dr. Daiek. Not to mention I had a shiny new career goal I wanted to pursue, and I wanted to get on that as soon as I could. Everything was set for my fall classes, including the mandatory learning skills course.
I didn't really mind having to take a learning skills course. I figured it would help me out, since obviously I had issues with studying, and I heard part of the class dealt with planning out your major and transfer guide. I was actually kind of excited about it.
The class met once a week, for an hour, and was "taught" (and I use that word loosely) by a teacher I will henceforth refer to as Professor I. Care. There were about fifteen other people in this class, and they had all been doing poorly in their classes for a myriad of reasons, almost none of them being "they're stupid".
The first day I was pretty optimistic. She handed out a lot of worksheets that we were asked not to hand in. We drew up a list of expectations for ourselves, our families, and our teachers, and discussed them. A lot of people (myself included) had a problem with teachers not really caring about their students or getting to know them, or making exceptions when there were extenuating circumstances. Professor I. Care sympathized with us, saying that she knew how that was and she had vowed she wouldn't be the same. She played a lot of videos from motivational speakers, and a Nike commercial. I left feeling like I was finally getting something done.
The next few weeks were a little different. Professor I. Care was still understanding and sympathetic, but in that patronizing, shaming way that made us feel like we were stupid even though she was telling us we weren't.
Two weeks ago, my growing disinterest turned to complete disdain. The theme of the day was "paradigm shifts". She explained to us that none of us were making our own decisions; that the decisions we made were really other people's decisions that we thought we were making for ourselves. We were all robots, programmed by those around us to make decisions we would never make if we really thought about it. Apparently. But it was okay, because we didn't know better, and she was now going to teach us how to make our own decisions.
This was a mandatory class. I need to stress that. We HAD TO TAKE THIS CLASS in order to get a grade and be off academic dismissal.
Naturally, having made a fair amount of big decisions that had nothing to do with anyone else, this pissed me off. She passed around a worksheet on the subject, and the questions (and my answers) went as follows.
Consider a BIG DECISION you have made recently.
Giving up my son for adoption
What are 2 factors you considered when you made this decision?
Financial stability/my own fitness as a parent
Now THINK. What assumptions about YOURSELF may have played a part in your decision?
That I wouldn't have gone back to school or gotten a career if I'd kept him, and wouldn't have been able to support him/give him a good life
Now THINK AGAIN. Is there SOMEONE or SOMETHING subconsciously taking part in your decision-making?
Uh, no
In other words, now that you REALLY THINK about it, who or what else influenced this decision?
Nothing, unless you count "money"
Is this really your OWN decision, now that you REALLY THINK about it?
YES IT WAS ENTIRELY MY DECISION YOU HACK
At this point I didn't really have many nice things to say about the class. But still, I thought maybe she was just used to these teaching methods working on everybody else, or something. I wasn't happy about it, but I didn't really hold it against her personally.
The next week I went back, and a counselor made appointments with everyone in our class to get them set up with two-year plans and transfer and career guides. After we made our counseling appointment, we had to make an appointment with Professor I. Care. Due to a random system that involved everyone jumping in front of me and another girl, I was the last person to make an appointment.
Professor I. Care looked up at me like she'd never seen me before.
Her: "What's your name again?"
Me: "Kelli Renas."
Her: "Romnas?"
Me: "RENAS. R-E-N-A-S."
Her: (shaking her head) "Oh wow, I don't know why I didn't know that. Okay, when did you want to have your appointment?"
Me: "Do you have anything on a Monday?"
Her: "Sure. What time are your classes?"
Me: "I don't have any classes on Monday. That's why I--"
Her: "Well that's STUPID. What days are your classes, we'll do it then."
Me: (a little annoyed, because I don't want to have an appointment on a day when I have classes, also because I just listened to her fill up every possible Tuesday and Thursday time) "Tuesday and Thursday, 8-10 AM and 3:30-5 PM."
Her: (writes down "3:30" in her book) "Now what was your name again?"
Me: (more than a little annoyed) "I have CLASS at 3:30."
Her: (incredulous) "Well I can't possibly do anything before that, I teach until 3:30."
I MAY ACTUALLY BE HAVING AN ANEURYSMMe: (baffled) "I KNOW, THAT'S WHY I SAID MONDAY."
Her: "Okay, we'll do Monday. How's 9:30?"
I took my slip and left.
So today at 9:30, armed with my transcripts, two transfer guides, a full plan for the next year (after which I'd have my associates'), and the knowledge that this was going to be a fully annoying experience, I went to my appointment with Professor I. Care.
When I knocked on the door, she turned around and pointed at the folder in my hand. "What's that?"
"It's all the stuff you told us to bring," I said.
"I didn't tell you to bring anything." Then a light went on in her head. "OH! You're my 9:30 appointment! Oh my God, it's so early for me. Okay, go sign in at the front desk."
After being pointed to three different front desks, I finally managed to sign in, and when I got back, she was working on an email. "We still have one minute before our appointment technically starts, so just let me finish this," she said.
I stayed quiet, thinking, You told me to show up 15 minutes early. . .
She finished her email (at 9:32) and grabbed my folder to look through the things I'd brought.
Her: "So you didn't bring a signed registration form?"
Me: (blinks) "A what?"
Her: "A signed registration form. Did you even read this?"
She took out the list of things to bring, which I'd marked up with a red pen to notate what I had, and tapped "signed registration form", at the bottom and in a different area than the list. I shook my head, almost certain that it wasn't on the list the night before.
Her: "Now you have to go back over to the counseling office. Well, that's fine. We have to meet again in a little while anyway." (looks over my transfer guides to WSU College of Liberal Arts and Sciences) "You know a Gen Ed degree won't get you a job, right?"
Me: "Excuse me?"
Her: "No one anywhere is going to hire you with a Gen Ed degree. Did your counselor not tell you that?"
Me: (stab of annoyance) "I'm not going there to get a Gen Ed degree. We printed that one off because they don't have a pre-law undergrad program."
Her: "Oh! I notice you only got a 2.0 in English 101. . . " (makes sympathetic face) "Have some trouble with the writing? We can put you in a remedial class, if you need the help. WSU only accepts people with perfect writing, which (in a commiserating tone) I think is just terrible, but if you need the help--"
Me: "My writing is fine, actually. I skipped a bunch of classes. I got A's on everything I handed in."
Her: "Oh. Hmm. . . I notice you're taking kind of a heavy course load this semester."
Me: "Not really. Just Biology and English 2."
Her: "Biology, that's a lot of memorizing stuff. Is that okay for you? Are you having any trouble with that?"
Me: "No, I'm not."
Her: "Have you had any tests yet?"
Me: "Yes. We've had one. I got an A on it. I have an A in this class."
Her: "Oh. Huh. What about Math 113? I see you have that this semester."
Me: "I dropped it."
Her: (makes understanding face) "Was it too hard? Do we need to maybe drop you down to Math 053 to bump up that comprehension?"
Me: (not even bothering to keep the irritation out of my voice anymore) "No, I can comprehend it just fine. It was an 8-10 PM class and I was worried I'd skip."
Her: (nodding) "8-10 AM? Yeah, I have trouble getting up that early too."
Me: "No, 8-10 PM."
Her: "You mean 8-10 AM."
Me: "NO, I mean, 8-10 PM. AT NIGHT."
Her: "Oh my gosh, who would ever schedule a class at 10 PM? I couldn't learn anything, my brain is fried by then."
She grinned. I was not having any of it.
She scheduled another appointment for the end of October ("What's your name again? Romnas?" "RENAS.") and told me I needed to have my signed registration guide with me then, because apparently I didn't actually need it today, and I followed her out to the lobby so she could make copies of all my paperwork.
"You know, it's crazy," she said as she put my transcripts through the copier, "you're really one of the most prepared students I've ever had. I don't think anyone has ever had a course of action this thought out!" She handed me back all my paperwork."See you on the 31st!"
I made this face:
The face of someone who isn't harboring a secret burning desire to punch something.I was right.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Why I Ruin Everything I Touch: An Essay
On the first day of my Comp class we were given an article and told to write 750 words relating to it. The words"tangentally related" were used, and somehow "750 words related to an article by Cathy Davidson on the modern classroom" turned into "1,020+ words on why I write all over everything I touch".
Today I found out that I had, in fact, misunderstood my teacher's use of the word "tangentally", and therefore I would be an idiot to turn this in, but I just liked it so much that I wanted you guys to see it. So, here you are:
While I was reading Dr. Davidson’s article, I found myself editing it; I was underlining sentences and whole paragraphs, writing my thoughts in the margins, and occasionally drawing little cartoons to illustrate a point. At some point, a thought occurred to me: While most students my age, or people in general, would hate to come across contradictions and other grammatical errors in a scholarly text, I was loving it, and secretly hoping to stumble across more. This is a habit you’ll probably see a lot of in this class, if the first day is any indication, and it’s a habit that I picked up from being a literary magazine editor in high school.
At Churchill, we had a group called “Phaeton” (which we were told meant “one who sets the world on fire”, but I don’t think anyone ever bothered to check; also, I don’t think anyone outside the group knew how to spell it) whose purpose was to collect poetry and short stories from the rest of the school, and whittle this typically huge mass down to a nice small book of student writing to be sold in the last few weeks of the school year. It was run by my favorite teacher, Mr. Wood, who had a unibrow and thought it was his best feature. It wasn’t.*
There were about twelve editors in total, and I was one of two head editors. Being a head editor didn’t mean a whole lot from the outside, but it meant that Mr. Wood, who had the final say, trusted our input a little more.
Every week, we got a Phaeton Packet, sometimes five pages, sometimes thirty, full of student submissions. Predictably, there was a lot of bad breakup poetry, super-dark, Goth-y, “BLOOD ON THE WALLS” poetry, and, most upsettingly, flat-out plagiarism of popular poems or songs. But hidden somewhere under that were usually one or two gems, written by quiet and clever people.
Mondays were Packet days. Phaeton met to discuss the previous weeks Packet, vote on what moved forward and what was thrown out, and at the end of the meeting everyone got a new Packet. I was always particularly excited about this, because I’d finished whatever book I was reading over the weekend and needed something to do in class besides, you know, class work. As soon as the Packet was in my hands, I’d sit down with my purple pen, quivering in anticipation of not only the great works I was bound to find, but the mountain of sheer terrible I’d have to cross to get to them. A lot of the other editors hated Packet days for this exact reason. I loved them. I loved drawing little cartoons and crossing things out and covering entire pages with the word “NO” in feverish haste (which would sometimes be my review; “I just wrote ‘NO’ all over this one”). I walked into my Phaeton meetings proudly, with my Packet in hand, looking like it had been snatched by a graffiti artist and passed around to all of his friends (who were all, incidentally, also graffiti artists), knowing that I had done my homework.
After a while, this peculiar method of involved reading became hardwired into my way of thinking. My teachers didn’t like it, because it meant that novels they handed out in class always ended up ruined, and my friends didn’t like it, because when they asked to borrow a book, they usually didn’t want to see drawings of fish wearing glasses (for reasons only known to myself) all over certain pages.
Now, however, people seem to find it quirky and endearing. For example, when what I shall refer to as “The Great Twilight Craze of Aught-Eight” was taking place, I picked up a copy of the first book. (This is another thing I do; I try to give every book, and every TV show, a chance. I’ve ended up liking some pretty weird things.) After reading about five pages I realized I wasn’t going to get through it, at least not without hating myself for it, and I was angry. I had defended this book and told people not to knock it until they’d tried it, and now I wasn’t going to get to properly try it.
This wasn’t just another bad book I could give up on. This was now a matter of pride. After a few days, in which I repeatedly picked up my copy of Twilight, only to put it down again, cursing and spitting like a cat, I decided that the only way I was going to make it to the end was to Phaetonize it.
I was surprised at how easy it was to read Twilight when I was able to write incredulous statements in the margins, draw a little lightning bolt and write “*CRACK*”over Edward Cullen’s name every time it was mentioned in full (which was a lot, let me tell you), and replace the words “brilliant surgeon” with “brilliant sturgeon”, and a picture of a giant fish wearing a lab coat. I actually felt sad when the book ended; it had been so much fun. If everyone read Twilight this way, no one could possibly hate Stephenie Meyer.
I had thought that my friends would be suitably appalled to hear that I’d read Twilight. It was, after all, widely regarded as a trashy and awful book. I was right, at least at first: Upon telling my friends what I’d done, their eyes would widen and they would ask, “Why would you DO that?” in a tone that suggested I’d casually told them I’d been eating starfish in my spare time. But they would inevitably ask me how I’d finished it, and when I told them, their expressions would turn from disgust to delight, and they’d ask if they could borrow it. They said it would be the reading equivalent of watching Mystery Science Theater 3000 (which was, of course, quite flattering).
For me, writing all over everything in an attempt to understand it is, optimistically, a comprehension tool, and pessimistically, a coping mechanism. It's how I relate to things. So in conclusion, I would like to apologize in advance for the amount of editing I am almost certain to do to everything I can get my hands on this semester. I assure you, I take absolutely no joy in it.
*Please note that this doesn't mean I think Mr. Wood's "eyesbrow" isn't a good feature. It is his defining feature in all my drawings of him! I just think there are many better ones than just that.
YES I HAD A CRUSH ON MR. WOOD, SHUT UP.
Today I found out that I had, in fact, misunderstood my teacher's use of the word "tangentally", and therefore I would be an idiot to turn this in, but I just liked it so much that I wanted you guys to see it. So, here you are:
1,020+ Words On Why I Write All Over Everything
While I was reading Dr. Davidson’s article, I found myself editing it; I was underlining sentences and whole paragraphs, writing my thoughts in the margins, and occasionally drawing little cartoons to illustrate a point. At some point, a thought occurred to me: While most students my age, or people in general, would hate to come across contradictions and other grammatical errors in a scholarly text, I was loving it, and secretly hoping to stumble across more. This is a habit you’ll probably see a lot of in this class, if the first day is any indication, and it’s a habit that I picked up from being a literary magazine editor in high school.
At Churchill, we had a group called “Phaeton” (which we were told meant “one who sets the world on fire”, but I don’t think anyone ever bothered to check; also, I don’t think anyone outside the group knew how to spell it) whose purpose was to collect poetry and short stories from the rest of the school, and whittle this typically huge mass down to a nice small book of student writing to be sold in the last few weeks of the school year. It was run by my favorite teacher, Mr. Wood, who had a unibrow and thought it was his best feature. It wasn’t.*
There were about twelve editors in total, and I was one of two head editors. Being a head editor didn’t mean a whole lot from the outside, but it meant that Mr. Wood, who had the final say, trusted our input a little more.
Every week, we got a Phaeton Packet, sometimes five pages, sometimes thirty, full of student submissions. Predictably, there was a lot of bad breakup poetry, super-dark, Goth-y, “BLOOD ON THE WALLS” poetry, and, most upsettingly, flat-out plagiarism of popular poems or songs. But hidden somewhere under that were usually one or two gems, written by quiet and clever people.
Mondays were Packet days. Phaeton met to discuss the previous weeks Packet, vote on what moved forward and what was thrown out, and at the end of the meeting everyone got a new Packet. I was always particularly excited about this, because I’d finished whatever book I was reading over the weekend and needed something to do in class besides, you know, class work. As soon as the Packet was in my hands, I’d sit down with my purple pen, quivering in anticipation of not only the great works I was bound to find, but the mountain of sheer terrible I’d have to cross to get to them. A lot of the other editors hated Packet days for this exact reason. I loved them. I loved drawing little cartoons and crossing things out and covering entire pages with the word “NO” in feverish haste (which would sometimes be my review; “I just wrote ‘NO’ all over this one”). I walked into my Phaeton meetings proudly, with my Packet in hand, looking like it had been snatched by a graffiti artist and passed around to all of his friends (who were all, incidentally, also graffiti artists), knowing that I had done my homework.
After a while, this peculiar method of involved reading became hardwired into my way of thinking. My teachers didn’t like it, because it meant that novels they handed out in class always ended up ruined, and my friends didn’t like it, because when they asked to borrow a book, they usually didn’t want to see drawings of fish wearing glasses (for reasons only known to myself) all over certain pages.
Now, however, people seem to find it quirky and endearing. For example, when what I shall refer to as “The Great Twilight Craze of Aught-Eight” was taking place, I picked up a copy of the first book. (This is another thing I do; I try to give every book, and every TV show, a chance. I’ve ended up liking some pretty weird things.) After reading about five pages I realized I wasn’t going to get through it, at least not without hating myself for it, and I was angry. I had defended this book and told people not to knock it until they’d tried it, and now I wasn’t going to get to properly try it.
This wasn’t just another bad book I could give up on. This was now a matter of pride. After a few days, in which I repeatedly picked up my copy of Twilight, only to put it down again, cursing and spitting like a cat, I decided that the only way I was going to make it to the end was to Phaetonize it.
I was surprised at how easy it was to read Twilight when I was able to write incredulous statements in the margins, draw a little lightning bolt and write “*CRACK*”over Edward Cullen’s name every time it was mentioned in full (which was a lot, let me tell you), and replace the words “brilliant surgeon” with “brilliant sturgeon”, and a picture of a giant fish wearing a lab coat. I actually felt sad when the book ended; it had been so much fun. If everyone read Twilight this way, no one could possibly hate Stephenie Meyer.
I had thought that my friends would be suitably appalled to hear that I’d read Twilight. It was, after all, widely regarded as a trashy and awful book. I was right, at least at first: Upon telling my friends what I’d done, their eyes would widen and they would ask, “Why would you DO that?” in a tone that suggested I’d casually told them I’d been eating starfish in my spare time. But they would inevitably ask me how I’d finished it, and when I told them, their expressions would turn from disgust to delight, and they’d ask if they could borrow it. They said it would be the reading equivalent of watching Mystery Science Theater 3000 (which was, of course, quite flattering).
For me, writing all over everything in an attempt to understand it is, optimistically, a comprehension tool, and pessimistically, a coping mechanism. It's how I relate to things. So in conclusion, I would like to apologize in advance for the amount of editing I am almost certain to do to everything I can get my hands on this semester. I assure you, I take absolutely no joy in it.
*Please note that this doesn't mean I think Mr. Wood's "eyesbrow" isn't a good feature. It is his defining feature in all my drawings of him! I just think there are many better ones than just that.
YES I HAD A CRUSH ON MR. WOOD, SHUT UP.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Movie Monday: Scary Movies That DON'T Keep Me Up All Night
In an effort to get back into some sort of schedule with this blog, I'm resurrecting Movie Monday*! Yes, I am fully aware that by the time this is posted it will no longer be Monday. But I started it on Monday, and that's what's important, right?
*If you don't remember Movie Monday, that's okay, because I only did it once and it was like a year ago.
This week's edition: Scary Movies That DON'T Keep Me Up All Night!
I told you guys a while ago (around the last time I did Movie Monday) that I have this really terrible and idiotic tendency to watch scary movies on cable, because I come in at a weird time and think they look silly. Then I get nightmares, and it's hard for me to do basic things like shower and go to the bathroom without being terrified that things are going to come out of the mirror or the drain or the toilet (thanks for that, Dreamcatcher). It's not even just movies; a couple of weeks ago I accidentally saw the end of the Paranormal Activity 3 trailer and since then I've been sleeping with the light on.
I know. It's stupid. Believe me, I'm aware.
Fortunately, I've found a handful of movies which can [in some cases, technically] be classified as "horror", that DON'T inhibit bodily functions like peeing and sleep! In fact, they're actually pretty fun. Let's take a look.
The Frighteners
*Fun fact: The cover is way scarier than the actual movie.
The Frighteners stars Michael J. Fox as a con man who can see ghosts (not to be confused with Dr. James Harvey, who is a regular con man pretending he can see ghosts). His wife died as a result of something he may or may not have done. Meanwhile, there's a malevolent Gary Busey ghost (I guess that's him on the cover? Huh.) going around killing people because he didn't get to finish killing people when he was alive. There's numbers involved, and a crazy guy with religious tattoos who keeps trying to kill Michael J. Fox, and Chi McBride is a swinging 70's ghost.
It's a pretty fun movie, but it's just scary enough to give you a thrill, and Gary Busey is genuinely freaky. If you can find it for less than ten bucks (which, trust me, is not that hard), you should definitely pick it up.
Event Horizon
Starring Morpheus and Dr. Alan Grant
This movie is definitely scary, and definitely not for everyone. I wasn't okay watching it the first time, but once I knew when the freaky parts were coming, I thought it was kind of hilarious. Apparently Sam Neill went through a stint where he was the villain in every terrible B horror movie? When did this happen?
The plot is basically A Wrinkle In Time, except that it's A Wrinkle In Space, and in between the folds of that wrinkle are SPACE HELL. The ship is clearly constructed to be evil, with spiked walls and a big spinny death ball, and there's lots of gut-ripping and intestiney eye-explodey action. Even though Dr. Alan Grant kicks precisely zero raptors in the face, it's good fun, provided you can stand blood (or you have someone around to poke you when you should cover your eyes).
The Scream Series
Starring Neve Campbell, Courtney Cox, Jamie Kennedy, and David Arquette's Moustache.
NOT Drew Barrymore, like the poster would have you believe.
The Scream series is probably my favorite movie series ever. I really shouldn't even have to tell you what they're about, but I will anyway, because I love you.
A guy in one of those douchey (now totally iconic) ghost masks and cloaks runs around killing everybody involved with Sidney Prescott (Neve Campbell), whose mother (and this is important, but I'm not sure why) was brutally murdered a year before the first movie.
It's a horror movie that's also a parody of horror movies, a while before that sort of thing was popular. It's also endlessly quotable, with an awesome cast*, a whole lot of silly, bloody fun without being too gory or nightmarish. I own the trilogy, and I'm proud to say I've watched it maybe twelve times in its entirety. It never gets old.
*Except for Skeet Ulrich, anyway. He's not nearly as clean or handsome in the movie as he is on the poster, and I have no idea where the hell that goatee came from.
The most recent installment, Scre4m (don't blame me for that, it is on the poster), also didn't disappoint. I actually got upset when I found out it wouldn't be coming out on DVD until October.
I think everyone should see these movies at least once. If you feel like watching them with me, give me a shout and I'll hook you up.
Fright Night
Starring Anton Yelchin, David Tennant, Colin Farrell, Christopher Mintz-Plasse, and
OH YEAH DID I MENTION DAVID TENNANT
This movie was the whole reason I decided to resurrect (HA, BECAUSE VAMPIRES?!) Movie Monday. The other movies helped, but really I just wanted to geek out about Fright Night.
I saw it this past Saturday, which I think was the day after it came out. I wish I'd had the foresight to look it up on IMDb beforehand, because then I could've actually been watching the movie instead of spending about a third of it with my face behind my hands and my thumbs in my ears*.
*This is known as "Assuming the Position". I invented it.
A thrilling remake of the 1985 Chris Sarandon movie, Fright Night stars Anton Yelchin as Charlie Brewster (which sounds a lot like Charlie Bartlett, right? But that's a theory for another time), a teenage kid fumbling with his newfound popularity and sexy girlfriend. Charlie's old nerdy friend Ed (BETCHA CAN'T GUESS WHO PLAYS HIM) thinks that the guy who recently moved in next to Charlie is a vampire, and tries to enlist Charlie's help to expose and/or defeat him.
***SPOILER ALERT: HE'S TOTALLY A VAMPIRE***
David Tennant, AKA THE DOCTOR pops up fairly early, although he's not immediately recognizable-- see if you can spot him in the above poster-- and he's definitely less than helpful.
"Oh I'll kill your vampire, all right. But first, play me 'Stairway To Heaven'."*
It's less horror and more exhilarating thrills and campy fun, while staying just scary enough to keep you on the edge of your seat. I'm definitely going to see it again.
And not just to look at David Tennant shirtless. Probably.
*If you don't remember Movie Monday, that's okay, because I only did it once and it was like a year ago.
This week's edition: Scary Movies That DON'T Keep Me Up All Night!
I told you guys a while ago (around the last time I did Movie Monday) that I have this really terrible and idiotic tendency to watch scary movies on cable, because I come in at a weird time and think they look silly. Then I get nightmares, and it's hard for me to do basic things like shower and go to the bathroom without being terrified that things are going to come out of the mirror or the drain or the toilet (thanks for that, Dreamcatcher). It's not even just movies; a couple of weeks ago I accidentally saw the end of the Paranormal Activity 3 trailer and since then I've been sleeping with the light on.
I know. It's stupid. Believe me, I'm aware.
Fortunately, I've found a handful of movies which can [in some cases, technically] be classified as "horror", that DON'T inhibit bodily functions like peeing and sleep! In fact, they're actually pretty fun. Let's take a look.
The FrightenersStarring Michael J. Fox, Chi McBride, Andie MacDowell, and A Horse
*Fun fact: The cover is way scarier than the actual movie.
The Frighteners stars Michael J. Fox as a con man who can see ghosts (not to be confused with Dr. James Harvey, who is a regular con man pretending he can see ghosts). His wife died as a result of something he may or may not have done. Meanwhile, there's a malevolent Gary Busey ghost (I guess that's him on the cover? Huh.) going around killing people because he didn't get to finish killing people when he was alive. There's numbers involved, and a crazy guy with religious tattoos who keeps trying to kill Michael J. Fox, and Chi McBride is a swinging 70's ghost.
It's a pretty fun movie, but it's just scary enough to give you a thrill, and Gary Busey is genuinely freaky. If you can find it for less than ten bucks (which, trust me, is not that hard), you should definitely pick it up.
Event HorizonStarring Morpheus and Dr. Alan Grant
This movie is definitely scary, and definitely not for everyone. I wasn't okay watching it the first time, but once I knew when the freaky parts were coming, I thought it was kind of hilarious. Apparently Sam Neill went through a stint where he was the villain in every terrible B horror movie? When did this happen?
The plot is basically A Wrinkle In Time, except that it's A Wrinkle In Space, and in between the folds of that wrinkle are SPACE HELL. The ship is clearly constructed to be evil, with spiked walls and a big spinny death ball, and there's lots of gut-ripping and intestiney eye-explodey action. Even though Dr. Alan Grant kicks precisely zero raptors in the face, it's good fun, provided you can stand blood (or you have someone around to poke you when you should cover your eyes).
The Scream SeriesStarring Neve Campbell, Courtney Cox, Jamie Kennedy, and David Arquette's Moustache.
NOT Drew Barrymore, like the poster would have you believe.
The Scream series is probably my favorite movie series ever. I really shouldn't even have to tell you what they're about, but I will anyway, because I love you.
A guy in one of those douchey (now totally iconic) ghost masks and cloaks runs around killing everybody involved with Sidney Prescott (Neve Campbell), whose mother (and this is important, but I'm not sure why) was brutally murdered a year before the first movie.
It's a horror movie that's also a parody of horror movies, a while before that sort of thing was popular. It's also endlessly quotable, with an awesome cast*, a whole lot of silly, bloody fun without being too gory or nightmarish. I own the trilogy, and I'm proud to say I've watched it maybe twelve times in its entirety. It never gets old.
*Except for Skeet Ulrich, anyway. He's not nearly as clean or handsome in the movie as he is on the poster, and I have no idea where the hell that goatee came from.
The most recent installment, Scre4m (don't blame me for that, it is on the poster), also didn't disappoint. I actually got upset when I found out it wouldn't be coming out on DVD until October.
I think everyone should see these movies at least once. If you feel like watching them with me, give me a shout and I'll hook you up.
Fright NightStarring Anton Yelchin, David Tennant, Colin Farrell, Christopher Mintz-Plasse, and
OH YEAH DID I MENTION DAVID TENNANT
This movie was the whole reason I decided to resurrect (HA, BECAUSE VAMPIRES?!) Movie Monday. The other movies helped, but really I just wanted to geek out about Fright Night.
I saw it this past Saturday, which I think was the day after it came out. I wish I'd had the foresight to look it up on IMDb beforehand, because then I could've actually been watching the movie instead of spending about a third of it with my face behind my hands and my thumbs in my ears*.
*This is known as "Assuming the Position". I invented it.
A thrilling remake of the 1985 Chris Sarandon movie, Fright Night stars Anton Yelchin as Charlie Brewster (which sounds a lot like Charlie Bartlett, right? But that's a theory for another time), a teenage kid fumbling with his newfound popularity and sexy girlfriend. Charlie's old nerdy friend Ed (BETCHA CAN'T GUESS WHO PLAYS HIM) thinks that the guy who recently moved in next to Charlie is a vampire, and tries to enlist Charlie's help to expose and/or defeat him.
***SPOILER ALERT: HE'S TOTALLY A VAMPIRE***
David Tennant, AKA THE DOCTOR pops up fairly early, although he's not immediately recognizable-- see if you can spot him in the above poster-- and he's definitely less than helpful.
"Oh I'll kill your vampire, all right. But first, play me 'Stairway To Heaven'."**This might not actually be from Fright Night
It's less horror and more exhilarating thrills and campy fun, while staying just scary enough to keep you on the edge of your seat. I'm definitely going to see it again.
And not just to look at David Tennant shirtless. Probably.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Rarely Explored, But Universally Acknowledged, Social Archetypes (Essay 2)
(This entry is Part 2 in a series. Here is the link to Part 1, which is much longer, but equally hilarious. It also features extremely dumb pictures of me.)Due to length, this essay has been broken up into two shorter essays. I'm sure you will not complain at having to read less.
In this entry, we will discuss:
The Nervous Talker, and
That Guy With An iPhone.
The Nervous TalkerIt's the season for grad parties and family reunions, which are the Nervous Talker's domain. The Nervous Talker is almost always female, and will always be seen clinging to her significant other with a vice-like death-grip. You better not be planning on talking to anyone else for the rest of the party, because once you start a conversation with the Nervous Talker, you're not getting out of it until she is good and satisfied.
Another hallmark of the Nervous Talker is the tendency to completely embarrass her significant other. In an attempt to show how well she knows him and how good she is for him (and therefore prove herself as an ideal mate to any doubting family members), she issues a series of jibes accompanied by a lot of exaggerated elbowing and nervous grins. The result is quite the opposite of what she intends, however, as seen by the following examples:
"Tell me about it! This guy here didn't pack enough underwear for our trip! I was like, I told you a billion times, make sure you pack enough underwear, and of course what does he do? He doesn't pack enough underwear!" *a direct quote
"I know! When he grew a beard, I was like, you look like a terrorist. Shave that off!" *another direct quote
"I hear you! I can't get this one to stop dragging his feet and commit already! I'm like, we've been together for a YEAR already, we might as well just move in together, but he's just being such a baby! Mom [to significant other's mom, who is shocked to hear herself being addressed so], can you knock some sense into him?"
That Guy With An iPhoneThis guy just got an iPhone, and boy is he excited about it. And why shouldn't he be? The apps are crazy. You can chat with people in real face-time, or whatever that's called. You can surf the Internet wherever you go, and that means you can watch all the YouTube videos you could ever dream of! What kind of friend would he be if he didn't share all of that with you?
No friend at all, that's what kind!
Have you seen the latest viral video mash-up of Deathnote and Spongebob Squarepants? No? Well, say no more. You're watching it right now, sir! Never mind that the quality is awful, or you can't hear anything because you're at a party trying to socialize with people, and never mind that you have no idea what Deathnote is, you are watching all seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds of this video. And what's this? There are eight more videos in the series? I didn't know that! Let's hope they're all as funny as the first, because we're watching those when this video is finished!
Are you worried about being bored at this party? Guy With An iPhone precludes all possibility of boredom by anticipating your worry and providing hours and hours of entertainment on a tiny, shaky screen, all without even being asked!
Play this game!
Look at his Twitter app, just look how many followers he has!
Read political blogs! The possibilities are endless.
Until the battery dies, anyway.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
The New Baby.
For the last two years or so I've wanted a kitten. I think it has a lot to do with Blakey, and wanting to raise something, but I also just really like cats, and Corey seems very lonely most of the time. But every time I've asked my mom (yes, I live at home, and I'm perfectly happy with this arrangement), she's said the same thing: no, not right now, we already have a baby.
See above: "baby".
But I finally wore her down, and two weeks ago, I got my wish. We now have a kitten in the house.
This is Mason.
He is covered in very soft black fluff. Except for his face and his feet, he is also sparsely covered in white and gray hairs, which make him look like he is wearing very smart gray pants with little black dress shoes. All of his facial features are black, except for his big green eyes, which ALWAYS look surprised.
His feet, in addition to being stylish spats, are also ridiculously flat, which makes him look very silly when he runs.
Mason is an excessively affectionate cat. He is also very sociable and curious about the world around him, particularly his new big brother.
Bear in mind that for seven years, we have been a strictly one-animal home. Whenever our neighbors invite their yappy little wiener dog inside our house, Corey just sits on top of the stairs and looks at them with a faint look of distaste. Up until about three weeks ago, Corey hadn't seen another cat since he was a few weeks old, and certainly never one in his house. His first interaction with another cat was with Shauna's cat Kino, and they just skirted around and hissed at each other the whole time.
So, you can imagine how Corey takes it when little tiny Mason, who is literally 1/1oth of Corey's size, rambles up to him and wants to play.
Mason is persistent, though. He follows Corey around all day. He tries to give Corey baths. He jumps on Corey's back when he wants to play. He tries to eat out of the same bowl and drink the same water and sit on the same chair as his cool new big brother.
Corey is. . . not adjusting as well.
See above: "baby".But I finally wore her down, and two weeks ago, I got my wish. We now have a kitten in the house.
This is Mason.
He is covered in very soft black fluff. Except for his face and his feet, he is also sparsely covered in white and gray hairs, which make him look like he is wearing very smart gray pants with little black dress shoes. All of his facial features are black, except for his big green eyes, which ALWAYS look surprised.
His feet, in addition to being stylish spats, are also ridiculously flat, which makes him look very silly when he runs.
Mason is an excessively affectionate cat. He is also very sociable and curious about the world around him, particularly his new big brother.
Bear in mind that for seven years, we have been a strictly one-animal home. Whenever our neighbors invite their yappy little wiener dog inside our house, Corey just sits on top of the stairs and looks at them with a faint look of distaste. Up until about three weeks ago, Corey hadn't seen another cat since he was a few weeks old, and certainly never one in his house. His first interaction with another cat was with Shauna's cat Kino, and they just skirted around and hissed at each other the whole time.
So, you can imagine how Corey takes it when little tiny Mason, who is literally 1/1oth of Corey's size, rambles up to him and wants to play.
Mason is persistent, though. He follows Corey around all day. He tries to give Corey baths. He jumps on Corey's back when he wants to play. He tries to eat out of the same bowl and drink the same water and sit on the same chair as his cool new big brother.
Corey is. . . not adjusting as well.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
I hate birds.
When I was little, my dad used to take me to Hines Park to feed the ducks and geese. Getting all dressed up in my rain boots to squish around by the creeks and ponds to feed bits of bread to quacking ducks was my favorite thing to do.
It stopped being my favorite thing to do the day that an ornery goose bit me on the face because I had run out of bread.
My dad kicked it, and it flew away, squawking. Ever since then I have had a deep fear of birds.
They're just so. . . foreign. Their DNA is so far removed from our own that I can't even relate to them. You can't read a bird. They are like tiny, feathery dinosaurs, and that is TERRIFYING to me.
Oh yes, I like tiny, fluffy, hoppy birds. They're cute to look at. So long as they're not within a foot of any part of my body, I'm fine with tiny birds.
It's the big ones I seem to have a problem with.
My boyfriend in tenth grade had a bird-- a big, loud cockatoo named Spanky that used to belong to his brother. For the longest time we all thought Spanky was a boy, mostly because Lee (the brother) had never really bothered to check. And anyway, how exactly do you check something like that on a bird?
You know what, never mind. I'm okay not knowing.
Spanky was out of his cage a lot, which really bothered me, particularly because there was a baby and two other pets in the house (a lizard, I think, and a big, beefy, totally bad-ass cat named Frisket). He couldn't fly, so he would just walk around slowly, staring intently at people with his head cocked to one side, like he was thinking about which veins to sever.
Everybody else seemed to be okay with this, so no matter how much I begged Andrew to just put Spanky in his damn cage when I was over, he would always just laugh and say I had nothing to be afraid of. Occasionally he would pick Spanky up and kind of launch him at me, thinking it was hilarious to watch me freak out. What a swell guy.
One night, about a week before Christmas, I went over to Andrew's house to help him decorate the tree. While he was assembling the actual tree part, I went into the living room, where Spanky's cage was. The hatch was closed, so I felt safe enough to sit down on the couch (as far away from the cage as I could be) and watch TV with Andrew's mom.
Suddenly, the hatch to Spanky's cage opened, and Spanky hopped out onto the floor, staring at me unblinkingly. It hadn't been locked, just closed.
My illusion of safety was shattered.
What you see there is no joke. Spanky got out of his cage, hopped up onto the couch, and leapt at my face.
I jumped up and started flapping my arms and screaming something along the lines of "OHMYGODTHEREISABIRDONMYFACE GETITOFFGETITOFFGETITOFF", with Spanky hanging from my face, and also flapping and screaming. After about five minutes of this Andrew finally seemed to notice that there was something going on, and came into the living room to find me running around in circles with a gigantic cockatoo attached to my face, and his mom doubled over in her chair laughing.
I should mention, his mom never liked me.
He yanked Spanky off my face (tearing a chunk out of my cheek in the process, because the bird had such a firm grip) and threw him back in his cage, actually locking the door this time, and that year I got to go to all my family Christmas parties with a big infected-looking bird bite an inch below my eye.
The next time Andrew's family took Spanky in to the vet, Andrew explained to her what had happened with me, and she told him that Spanky was actually a girl, and she probably attacked me because she was under the impression that Andrew was her mate.
I'm sorry, could you repeat that?
Yep, Spanky thought that Andrew was her mate. Spanky was a bunny-boiler.
Because birds are CRAZY.
Actually, I would like to amend that; I have known one nice bird in my life. His name was Phantom, and he was my aunt Debbie's bird. You know what was so great about Phantom? He sat on his perch when company was over, and waited until no one was around to start talking. And even then, he would just say quietly to himself, "Phantom's a pretty bird."
Phantom is fine. Every other domesticated bird can go die in a fire.
It stopped being my favorite thing to do the day that an ornery goose bit me on the face because I had run out of bread.
My dad kicked it, and it flew away, squawking. Ever since then I have had a deep fear of birds.
They're just so. . . foreign. Their DNA is so far removed from our own that I can't even relate to them. You can't read a bird. They are like tiny, feathery dinosaurs, and that is TERRIFYING to me.
Oh yes, I like tiny, fluffy, hoppy birds. They're cute to look at. So long as they're not within a foot of any part of my body, I'm fine with tiny birds.
It's the big ones I seem to have a problem with.
My boyfriend in tenth grade had a bird-- a big, loud cockatoo named Spanky that used to belong to his brother. For the longest time we all thought Spanky was a boy, mostly because Lee (the brother) had never really bothered to check. And anyway, how exactly do you check something like that on a bird?
You know what, never mind. I'm okay not knowing.
Spanky was out of his cage a lot, which really bothered me, particularly because there was a baby and two other pets in the house (a lizard, I think, and a big, beefy, totally bad-ass cat named Frisket). He couldn't fly, so he would just walk around slowly, staring intently at people with his head cocked to one side, like he was thinking about which veins to sever.
Everybody else seemed to be okay with this, so no matter how much I begged Andrew to just put Spanky in his damn cage when I was over, he would always just laugh and say I had nothing to be afraid of. Occasionally he would pick Spanky up and kind of launch him at me, thinking it was hilarious to watch me freak out. What a swell guy.
One night, about a week before Christmas, I went over to Andrew's house to help him decorate the tree. While he was assembling the actual tree part, I went into the living room, where Spanky's cage was. The hatch was closed, so I felt safe enough to sit down on the couch (as far away from the cage as I could be) and watch TV with Andrew's mom.
Suddenly, the hatch to Spanky's cage opened, and Spanky hopped out onto the floor, staring at me unblinkingly. It hadn't been locked, just closed.
My illusion of safety was shattered.
What you see there is no joke. Spanky got out of his cage, hopped up onto the couch, and leapt at my face.
I jumped up and started flapping my arms and screaming something along the lines of "OHMYGODTHEREISABIRDONMYFACE GETITOFFGETITOFFGETITOFF", with Spanky hanging from my face, and also flapping and screaming. After about five minutes of this Andrew finally seemed to notice that there was something going on, and came into the living room to find me running around in circles with a gigantic cockatoo attached to my face, and his mom doubled over in her chair laughing.
I should mention, his mom never liked me.
He yanked Spanky off my face (tearing a chunk out of my cheek in the process, because the bird had such a firm grip) and threw him back in his cage, actually locking the door this time, and that year I got to go to all my family Christmas parties with a big infected-looking bird bite an inch below my eye.
The next time Andrew's family took Spanky in to the vet, Andrew explained to her what had happened with me, and she told him that Spanky was actually a girl, and she probably attacked me because she was under the impression that Andrew was her mate.
I'm sorry, could you repeat that?Yep, Spanky thought that Andrew was her mate. Spanky was a bunny-boiler.
Because birds are CRAZY.
Actually, I would like to amend that; I have known one nice bird in my life. His name was Phantom, and he was my aunt Debbie's bird. You know what was so great about Phantom? He sat on his perch when company was over, and waited until no one was around to start talking. And even then, he would just say quietly to himself, "Phantom's a pretty bird."
Phantom is fine. Every other domesticated bird can go die in a fire.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Questionable Relationship Models for Children #2: Casper
I am not a very entertaining person at my own house, so when my friends come over, we typically watch movies or play Mario Party. I have a huge and diverse collection of movies, particularly of the "family" variety, and sometimes when we're all in a silly mood, we go through all my videotapes from when I was a kid. The other night we decided to watch Casper.
"Smash hit" might be exaggerating a little. "Theatrical" might also.
Luckily, they all have the same therapist!
I won't go into the weird relationships between secondary and tertiary characters (like Billy and that forgettable Popular Chick). I'll just give you the few main ones that stuck out to me.
Kat and Her Dad, Dr. James Harvey
Here is a classic American story: A grief-stricken widower, saddled with a whip-smart daughter on the brink of womanhood, packs up his life and moves around the country hoping to find his dead wife floating around in someone else's home.
Wait, what?
Dr. James Harvey is a traveling ghost therapist. That is his job.
In the car on a trip literally across the country (from Santa Fe to coastal Maine), his daughter, Kat, complains a lot about how she doesn't want to move so much, because she just wants to make friends, wahh. That's okay. She's twelve, whatever. We'll just let her whine about wanting to go to her first school dance.
But then she starts making cracks about her dad's career, and actually questioning his sanity. She tells him that ghosts, AKA his main source of income, don't exist, and that therefore his quest to find her dead mom is stupid and pointless. (Not to mention kind of traumatizing, when you think about it; her mom just died, and her dad is still insisting that she's out there somewhere, hiding from them.)
Surprisingly, Dr. James Harvey takes his daughter's complete disrespect of his life choices pretty well. I mean, she's still in the car when they get to Maine, so we have to assume.
When they get to the house, Casper pops up in Kat's room. Kat screams, and her dad comes running. After she manages to get out "UMTHERESAGHOST", he basically pats her on the head with an infuriatingly patronizing smile, and walks around her room opening doors and going, "WHERE'S THE GHOST, KAT? NO GHOST HERE. OH, NO GHOSTS HERE! NOPE. NONE HERE."
And then of course he sees Casper and screams. Because that is just what you do when you see Casper, and also, UMTHERESAGHOST.
Let's back up a bit.
Dr. James Harvey has just admitted that he has never ever seen a ghost before. You know, those things that he specializes in therapizing, and drives around he country taking people's calls and money to fix? He's never seen one before. In fact, until he actually sees Casper, he doesn't believe they exist. He has been told that this house is haunted by vicious, smelly ghosts. He has been hired to try and help said ghosts because he is widely renowned as a ghost therapist. He is here SPECIFICALLY BECAUSE OF GHOSTS, but when Kat tells him she saw one, he just smiles and goes "Oh, honey. You're so stupid."
Summary: Dr. James Harvey is a con man.
He's also a troll. "Let's find your dead mom, Kat! I don't actually believe that we'll ever find her, but let's spend a couple of years looking, JUST IN CASE."
What a nice, normal, all-American family. And speaking of families. . .
Casper's Uncles and. . . Well, Everyone
I'm not totally sure that the three other douchey ghosts who live in Whipstaff Manor are really Casper's uncles, like he says they are. No mention is ever made of his father having any brothers, and even though he knows nothing about his previous life and it really bugs him, he's never bothered to ask them.
It might just be because they're jerks.
But that doesn't seem likely.
Stinky, Fatso, and Stretch are great big douches to everyone indiscriminately, but they're particularly vile to their bulb-headed "nephew", Casper. They routinely fling him into space, throw fully digested food all over the house he has to clean, and stuff him into tight places when he's annoying them.
This is a weird relationship, not really an abusive one, because Casper can leave.
Yes. Casper is not tied to the house. He comes and goes as he pleases, and since he doesn't know anything about his life before Kat shows up (and ruins everything), there's no sentimental ties holding him there. He can leave any old time he wants to. He can also become invisible if he wants, so his uncles can't find him. But he doesn't.
When Dr. James Harvey and Kat move in, Casper's uncles kind of freak out and go on a rampage to try and get them out of the house. They do attend Dr. James Harvey's therapy sessions (where he seems totally out of his element, and he is, because HE IS A CON MAN), and learn that he has been searching for his dead wife. Naturally, the ghosts know his dead wife, and tell him they can totally hook a brother up.
Then they stage an elaborate prank in which the fat uncle dresses up like Jessica Rabbit and makes out with Dr. James Harvey.
What a bunch of swell guys.
Later on, they decide that they sort of like Dr. James Harvey, because he's so full of life (what with his obsession with death and debilitating loneliness and all), and take him out for a drink. Because as everyone who's besties with a clinically depressed and grieving single dad knows, drinking with ghosts fixing everything. I'm also pretty sure they're at a bar in Mexico, but that's not important.
Then they try to kill him.
They try to kill their new best friend with guns and javelins and knives. Because he's like, so cool, but he has to live, and that like, totally sucks.
He dies (not because of them, but it's not like they try to stop it) and they all fly back to the house with the newly ghostified Dr. James Harvey in tow, and proceed to make fun of Kat for being upset that her dad is now dead.
HAHAHA LET'S ALL LAUGH AT THE ORPHAN HAHAHA YOUR DAD IS DEAD.
I could seriously go on for hours about what special guys Casper's uncles are, but I really want to get to this next one. I hope you're comfortable, because we're going to be here a while.
Casper and Kat
Casper is just your average 12-year-old transparent flying kid. He just wants a friend, and every time he tries to make one, they run away screaming because he is a damned, undead soul. How sad.
While in the cartoon, he would have just tried to kill himself when his new friends ran away, the movie deviates a little bit and decides that what Casper really needs is therapy.
Hey, it's the 90's.
While listlessly flipping through channels that all seem to feature people running away from ghosts, Casper stumbles across a tabloid news show feature on Dr. James Harvey (that, by the way, is positively riddled with puns). He kinda perks up at the idea that there are apparently people who specialize in fixing the dead, but he doesn't really get excited until he sees that Dr. Harvey has a totally hot daughter who's his age.
Well, who would be his age if he hadn't been dead for the last hundred years.
He sets a plan in motion to get the evil blonde lady who owns the house to hire Dr. James Harvey, not because he wants therapy, but because he wants Kat. He could care less about priceless, rare ghost therapy. He just really wants some snarky prepubescent Christina Ricci.
Upon discovering that his plan actually worked, Casper goes through one of those cutesy little "what to say to this girl I have a crush on" montages, and decides that the best way to go about introducing himself is to make himself into a pillow and get under her head when she lies down.
Nope. Nothing weird here.
When Kat finally notices the weird, doting white mass floating around behind her, she, naturally, faints. When she comes to, Casper responds like any normal lovestruck little boy would, and wraps his body around her head, gagging her.
Above: How all great relationships start.
Over the next few days, Casper makes all Kat's meals, follows her to school, makes fun of her new school crush, and watches her sleep. He repeatedly whispers "Can I keep you?", which is SOMETHING A SERIAL KILLER WOULD SAY, in her ear while she is falling asleep.
When Kat refuses to take him to the class Halloween dance, because he is not a real live person, Casper, surprisingly, reacts pretty well.
Just kidding! He KIDNAPS her. He pushes her out her bedroom window, swoops down to grab her by the ankle, and while she is KICKING AND SCREAMING "NO", he flies her out over the ocean and drops her on a lighthouse somewhere so they can talk.
THESE ARE THINGS MURDERERS DO.
When Casper finally remembers who he is, he conveniently recalls that his brilliant scientist dad built a machine sometime back in the 1800s to bring him back to life. He gives Kat the responsibility to work the insanely complicated resurrection machine and make him a real boy again.
Why? All of his relatives and friends are dead. Except for Kat, that is. Casper wants to be alive again solely so that he can be Kat's boyfriend.
Come on, baby, it'll be easy. And then we can be together. Forever.
"Smash hit" might be exaggerating a little. "Theatrical" might also.You might not know this because you are probably a normal person, and haven't seen Casper since you were eight (or ten, if you had a big fat crush on Devon Sawa like I did), but Casper is just chock full of screwed-up relationships. I'm not even talking about just romantic ones. Every character in this movie is going to have to go through family sessions with their therapist.
Luckily, they all have the same therapist!I won't go into the weird relationships between secondary and tertiary characters (like Billy and that forgettable Popular Chick). I'll just give you the few main ones that stuck out to me.
Kat and Her Dad, Dr. James Harvey
Here is a classic American story: A grief-stricken widower, saddled with a whip-smart daughter on the brink of womanhood, packs up his life and moves around the country hoping to find his dead wife floating around in someone else's home.
Wait, what?
Dr. James Harvey is a traveling ghost therapist. That is his job.
In the car on a trip literally across the country (from Santa Fe to coastal Maine), his daughter, Kat, complains a lot about how she doesn't want to move so much, because she just wants to make friends, wahh. That's okay. She's twelve, whatever. We'll just let her whine about wanting to go to her first school dance.
But then she starts making cracks about her dad's career, and actually questioning his sanity. She tells him that ghosts, AKA his main source of income, don't exist, and that therefore his quest to find her dead mom is stupid and pointless. (Not to mention kind of traumatizing, when you think about it; her mom just died, and her dad is still insisting that she's out there somewhere, hiding from them.)
Surprisingly, Dr. James Harvey takes his daughter's complete disrespect of his life choices pretty well. I mean, she's still in the car when they get to Maine, so we have to assume.
When they get to the house, Casper pops up in Kat's room. Kat screams, and her dad comes running. After she manages to get out "UMTHERESAGHOST", he basically pats her on the head with an infuriatingly patronizing smile, and walks around her room opening doors and going, "WHERE'S THE GHOST, KAT? NO GHOST HERE. OH, NO GHOSTS HERE! NOPE. NONE HERE."
And then of course he sees Casper and screams. Because that is just what you do when you see Casper, and also, UMTHERESAGHOST.
Let's back up a bit.
Dr. James Harvey has just admitted that he has never ever seen a ghost before. You know, those things that he specializes in therapizing, and drives around he country taking people's calls and money to fix? He's never seen one before. In fact, until he actually sees Casper, he doesn't believe they exist. He has been told that this house is haunted by vicious, smelly ghosts. He has been hired to try and help said ghosts because he is widely renowned as a ghost therapist. He is here SPECIFICALLY BECAUSE OF GHOSTS, but when Kat tells him she saw one, he just smiles and goes "Oh, honey. You're so stupid."
Summary: Dr. James Harvey is a con man.
He's also a troll. "Let's find your dead mom, Kat! I don't actually believe that we'll ever find her, but let's spend a couple of years looking, JUST IN CASE."
What a nice, normal, all-American family. And speaking of families. . .Casper's Uncles and. . . Well, Everyone
I'm not totally sure that the three other douchey ghosts who live in Whipstaff Manor are really Casper's uncles, like he says they are. No mention is ever made of his father having any brothers, and even though he knows nothing about his previous life and it really bugs him, he's never bothered to ask them.
It might just be because they're jerks.
But that doesn't seem likely.Stinky, Fatso, and Stretch are great big douches to everyone indiscriminately, but they're particularly vile to their bulb-headed "nephew", Casper. They routinely fling him into space, throw fully digested food all over the house he has to clean, and stuff him into tight places when he's annoying them.
This is a weird relationship, not really an abusive one, because Casper can leave.
Yes. Casper is not tied to the house. He comes and goes as he pleases, and since he doesn't know anything about his life before Kat shows up (and ruins everything), there's no sentimental ties holding him there. He can leave any old time he wants to. He can also become invisible if he wants, so his uncles can't find him. But he doesn't.
When Dr. James Harvey and Kat move in, Casper's uncles kind of freak out and go on a rampage to try and get them out of the house. They do attend Dr. James Harvey's therapy sessions (where he seems totally out of his element, and he is, because HE IS A CON MAN), and learn that he has been searching for his dead wife. Naturally, the ghosts know his dead wife, and tell him they can totally hook a brother up.
Then they stage an elaborate prank in which the fat uncle dresses up like Jessica Rabbit and makes out with Dr. James Harvey.
What a bunch of swell guys.
Later on, they decide that they sort of like Dr. James Harvey, because he's so full of life (what with his obsession with death and debilitating loneliness and all), and take him out for a drink. Because as everyone who's besties with a clinically depressed and grieving single dad knows, drinking with ghosts fixing everything. I'm also pretty sure they're at a bar in Mexico, but that's not important.
Then they try to kill him.
They try to kill their new best friend with guns and javelins and knives. Because he's like, so cool, but he has to live, and that like, totally sucks.
He dies (not because of them, but it's not like they try to stop it) and they all fly back to the house with the newly ghostified Dr. James Harvey in tow, and proceed to make fun of Kat for being upset that her dad is now dead.
HAHAHA LET'S ALL LAUGH AT THE ORPHAN HAHAHA YOUR DAD IS DEAD.I could seriously go on for hours about what special guys Casper's uncles are, but I really want to get to this next one. I hope you're comfortable, because we're going to be here a while.
Casper and Kat
Casper is just your average 12-year-old transparent flying kid. He just wants a friend, and every time he tries to make one, they run away screaming because he is a damned, undead soul. How sad.
While in the cartoon, he would have just tried to kill himself when his new friends ran away, the movie deviates a little bit and decides that what Casper really needs is therapy.
Hey, it's the 90's.
While listlessly flipping through channels that all seem to feature people running away from ghosts, Casper stumbles across a tabloid news show feature on Dr. James Harvey (that, by the way, is positively riddled with puns). He kinda perks up at the idea that there are apparently people who specialize in fixing the dead, but he doesn't really get excited until he sees that Dr. Harvey has a totally hot daughter who's his age.
Well, who would be his age if he hadn't been dead for the last hundred years.
He sets a plan in motion to get the evil blonde lady who owns the house to hire Dr. James Harvey, not because he wants therapy, but because he wants Kat. He could care less about priceless, rare ghost therapy. He just really wants some snarky prepubescent Christina Ricci.
Upon discovering that his plan actually worked, Casper goes through one of those cutesy little "what to say to this girl I have a crush on" montages, and decides that the best way to go about introducing himself is to make himself into a pillow and get under her head when she lies down.
Nope. Nothing weird here.
When Kat finally notices the weird, doting white mass floating around behind her, she, naturally, faints. When she comes to, Casper responds like any normal lovestruck little boy would, and wraps his body around her head, gagging her.
Above: How all great relationships start.Over the next few days, Casper makes all Kat's meals, follows her to school, makes fun of her new school crush, and watches her sleep. He repeatedly whispers "Can I keep you?", which is SOMETHING A SERIAL KILLER WOULD SAY, in her ear while she is falling asleep.
When Kat refuses to take him to the class Halloween dance, because he is not a real live person, Casper, surprisingly, reacts pretty well.Just kidding! He KIDNAPS her. He pushes her out her bedroom window, swoops down to grab her by the ankle, and while she is KICKING AND SCREAMING "NO", he flies her out over the ocean and drops her on a lighthouse somewhere so they can talk.
THESE ARE THINGS MURDERERS DO.
When Casper finally remembers who he is, he conveniently recalls that his brilliant scientist dad built a machine sometime back in the 1800s to bring him back to life. He gives Kat the responsibility to work the insanely complicated resurrection machine and make him a real boy again.
Why? All of his relatives and friends are dead. Except for Kat, that is. Casper wants to be alive again solely so that he can be Kat's boyfriend.
Come on, baby, it'll be easy. And then we can be together. Forever.Can you imagine the guilt trips he'd send her on if that actually happened? Every time they got into a fight, he'd remind her that she's literally the only reason he's even alive.
Luckily for Kat, her dead dad shows up right then, and Casper decides it would probably better his chances with Kat if he lets her dad live instead of him. So Kat is off the hook, for now.
There's not really much more after that, just Casper turning into Devon Sawa for a slow dance with Kat, and they kiss, and then he re-ghostifies and everyone screams and runs away, and Casper and Kat and Dr. James Harvey dance happily.
And that's it. That's the end of the movie. There's no resolution at all.
Here. I'll give you resolution.
Do you really think Kat and Casper's relationship is going to last beyond this at all? She is going to go to school on Monday and be a complete outcast, ant that's only if her and her con man father don't get run out of town first. You know who she's going to blame for that? Casper. Because it is entirely his fault.
Kat is going to grow up, and Casper is going to stay twelve forever. He's not going to understand when Kat gets her first period, or when she wants to actually try to have a relationship. He's twelve, and a ghost. She'll be like, "Casper, I want to go out on a date," and he'll be like, "D'AWW SHUCKS KAT, LET'S PLAY PIRATES!"
Let's face it, they're not staying together. But he is going to be around for her first real boyfriend, and every boyfriend after that. Because he is never going to leave her alone. He is going to watch everything that she does, and guilt her about it. He is going to follow her for the rest of her life, and turn her into a big paranoid blubbering mass of Jell-O.
Which is basically what Casper is, actually.
And like I said, that's the best-case scenario: that she and her father aren't run out of town with pitchforks and torches. Or exorcised painfully, or sent to an institution, or killed in their sleep, for fraternizing with the reanimated spirits of dead people.
But let's be honest, here. When Casper realizes all this, he is probably just going to kill her.
"You know, for kids!"
There's not really much more after that, just Casper turning into Devon Sawa for a slow dance with Kat, and they kiss, and then he re-ghostifies and everyone screams and runs away, and Casper and Kat and Dr. James Harvey dance happily.
And that's it. That's the end of the movie. There's no resolution at all.
Here. I'll give you resolution.
Do you really think Kat and Casper's relationship is going to last beyond this at all? She is going to go to school on Monday and be a complete outcast, ant that's only if her and her con man father don't get run out of town first. You know who she's going to blame for that? Casper. Because it is entirely his fault.
Kat is going to grow up, and Casper is going to stay twelve forever. He's not going to understand when Kat gets her first period, or when she wants to actually try to have a relationship. He's twelve, and a ghost. She'll be like, "Casper, I want to go out on a date," and he'll be like, "D'AWW SHUCKS KAT, LET'S PLAY PIRATES!"
Let's face it, they're not staying together. But he is going to be around for her first real boyfriend, and every boyfriend after that. Because he is never going to leave her alone. He is going to watch everything that she does, and guilt her about it. He is going to follow her for the rest of her life, and turn her into a big paranoid blubbering mass of Jell-O.
Which is basically what Casper is, actually.
And like I said, that's the best-case scenario: that she and her father aren't run out of town with pitchforks and torches. Or exorcised painfully, or sent to an institution, or killed in their sleep, for fraternizing with the reanimated spirits of dead people.
But let's be honest, here. When Casper realizes all this, he is probably just going to kill her.
CASPER
The REALLY Friendly Ghost
The REALLY Friendly Ghost
"You know, for kids!"Sunday, March 27, 2011
What's In My Bag: March 28, 2011
The bags I carry, which don't change very often, are usually pretty big, and always full of stuff. This isn't because I'm a soccer mom who lives out of her giant purse, or because I'm a high-maintenance twenty-something who absolutely has to have all her makeup products with her at all times.
It's more because I don't really like using my pockets, I tend to pick up a lot of stuff when I'm out, and I forget to empty my purse out until I'm walking into work, wondering why my purse weighs as much as a large baby.
A couple months ago my friend Kelsey made a video explaining everything she had in her purse. Apparently it's this thing going around Tumblr and various blogs, and I thought it was kind of cool, so I figured I'd do one too.
Because of my weird tendency to pick up random stuff while I'm out and just throw it into my purse and forget about it, the contents of my purse are sort of an ever-changing cornucopia of spare change and assorted toys. Today, it looks like this:
That's a condensed version, since everything in my purse, plus my purse, wouldn't fit in the picture. Here is the unabridged version:
Circle 1:
- A tiny stuffed manatee
His name is Hugh Manatee. You can see why this is essential.
-A plush chlamydia microbe
David got this for me at Vault of Midnight, the coolest comic store ever. His name is Clammy. He is mostly for throwing at people and shouting "YOU JUST CAUGHT CHLAMYDIA!" Classy, I know.
-Mew
Also from David, and one of my favorite little things. Plus, who couldn't use a Pokemon in their purse?
-Squeezable stress Pokeball
I keep forgetting this is in there, and it's always a happy surprise to see it.
Circle 2:
-Assorted change
-A bunch of extra Nerf darts
Um. . . these are for my Nerf gun. Which was also in my purse, but I figured I should take it out. You know, for school and stuff.
-A litchi hard candy
Have you ever had one of these? OMG they're tasty.
-A silly pin that has a zombie saying "BRAINS!" on it, in the Obama pop-art style
-Trident citrus gum
-A little wooden d6
Circle 3:
-Pop-out hairbrush
What. I have a lot of hair.
-Novelty pen, shaped like a purple lipstick, covered with purple plastic jewels
Basically the best thing ever.
-Schoolcraft College flash drive
-A pen and two pencils
Circle 4:
-Blistex Lip Medex
If you have terribly chapped lips, this will fix them. I promise.
-Novelty candy hearts bracelet
-Dr. Pepper chapstick
Because everybody needs to just smell some Dr. Pepper now and again.
-Blistex chapstick in tropical citrus
I didn't realize I had so much chapstick. Geez.
-Hair mascara in blue, purple, and black
I think I've used these once, to give Stephanie a coontail in a Denny's. For the record, it looked awesome.
-iPod
Other things:
-Post-It notes in various colors
I have this thing about writing nice notes for people, whether I know them or not.
-Two light-up jewel stamps
The purple one is a chrysanthemum, and the pink one is a really silly pair of lips.
-Old license
-Nintendo DS charger
I'm not sure where my DS is, actually. I guess I know it's not in my purse now. . .
-Fat little notebook
I constantly have the need to write things down or draw stupid cartoons.
-Wallet
-Registration for my 2001 Saturn wagon, Randall
-Gap "So Pink!" perfume
I love this perfume. It smells like grapefruit!
-Makeup bag
-Burt's Bees hand salve
The only thing that gets rid of the awful heat rashes I get at work.
-Clip-in cat ears (black)
-Self-published comic book Jon got at Vault of Midnight and told me to read, that I forgot about
Wow. I really need to clean out my purse.
And just where is that Nerf gun? I'm definitely looking at three darts that someone shot at the TV, but where is the gun? Who am I going to throw Clammy at next? When am I going to use that hair mascara? These are questions that need answering. And seriously, everybody could use an awesome coontail.
It's more because I don't really like using my pockets, I tend to pick up a lot of stuff when I'm out, and I forget to empty my purse out until I'm walking into work, wondering why my purse weighs as much as a large baby.
A couple months ago my friend Kelsey made a video explaining everything she had in her purse. Apparently it's this thing going around Tumblr and various blogs, and I thought it was kind of cool, so I figured I'd do one too.
Because of my weird tendency to pick up random stuff while I'm out and just throw it into my purse and forget about it, the contents of my purse are sort of an ever-changing cornucopia of spare change and assorted toys. Today, it looks like this:
That's a condensed version, since everything in my purse, plus my purse, wouldn't fit in the picture. Here is the unabridged version:
Circle 1:- A tiny stuffed manatee
His name is Hugh Manatee. You can see why this is essential.
-A plush chlamydia microbe
David got this for me at Vault of Midnight, the coolest comic store ever. His name is Clammy. He is mostly for throwing at people and shouting "YOU JUST CAUGHT CHLAMYDIA!" Classy, I know.
-Mew
Also from David, and one of my favorite little things. Plus, who couldn't use a Pokemon in their purse?
-Squeezable stress Pokeball
I keep forgetting this is in there, and it's always a happy surprise to see it.
Circle 2:
-Assorted change
-A bunch of extra Nerf darts
Um. . . these are for my Nerf gun. Which was also in my purse, but I figured I should take it out. You know, for school and stuff.
-A litchi hard candy
Have you ever had one of these? OMG they're tasty.
-A silly pin that has a zombie saying "BRAINS!" on it, in the Obama pop-art style
-Trident citrus gum
-A little wooden d6
Circle 3:
-Pop-out hairbrush
What. I have a lot of hair.
-Novelty pen, shaped like a purple lipstick, covered with purple plastic jewels
Basically the best thing ever.
-Schoolcraft College flash drive
-A pen and two pencils
Circle 4:
-Blistex Lip Medex
If you have terribly chapped lips, this will fix them. I promise.
-Novelty candy hearts bracelet
-Dr. Pepper chapstick
Because everybody needs to just smell some Dr. Pepper now and again.
-Blistex chapstick in tropical citrus
I didn't realize I had so much chapstick. Geez.
-Hair mascara in blue, purple, and black
I think I've used these once, to give Stephanie a coontail in a Denny's. For the record, it looked awesome.
-iPod
Other things:
-Post-It notes in various colors
I have this thing about writing nice notes for people, whether I know them or not.
-Two light-up jewel stamps
The purple one is a chrysanthemum, and the pink one is a really silly pair of lips.
-Old license
-Nintendo DS charger
I'm not sure where my DS is, actually. I guess I know it's not in my purse now. . .
-Fat little notebook
I constantly have the need to write things down or draw stupid cartoons.
-Wallet
-Registration for my 2001 Saturn wagon, Randall
-Gap "So Pink!" perfume
I love this perfume. It smells like grapefruit!
-Makeup bag
-Burt's Bees hand salve
The only thing that gets rid of the awful heat rashes I get at work.
-Clip-in cat ears (black)
-Self-published comic book Jon got at Vault of Midnight and told me to read, that I forgot about
Wow. I really need to clean out my purse.
And just where is that Nerf gun? I'm definitely looking at three darts that someone shot at the TV, but where is the gun? Who am I going to throw Clammy at next? When am I going to use that hair mascara? These are questions that need answering. And seriously, everybody could use an awesome coontail.
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