Stoked Off

Apr. 27th, 2012 10:30 pm
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Something I never thought about, at least when I first started watching, was that they do their jobs... pretty badly. Number one of which is, somebody turn on a freaking light. How these people do any work at all, or aren't all wearing glasses is beyond me, because I swear these people are vampires. Okay, granted, they're the night shift, but when you're sweeping a scene for evidence, what protocol is there to not turn on a freaking lamp or ceiling light? Especially in the lab, where you're supposed to be doing important work; you need more than just a single light source focused on just the evidence in question. I shudder to think of how much they miss, or misfocus on, because their attention is attracted to the bright light. CSI Las Vegas are a lab of moths.


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I don't- What did I just- Who- WHY?!

Watch this. Ignore that stupid screen grab that does nothing to ease you into a total- just- Look just watch it. It's not bad (horribly... for the most part), it only alludes to it... still a tad NSFW though.

And then takes a left turn.

Off a cliff.

And explodes.

In mid air.
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Man I'm getting bad about this.


Things That Which Bug Me

  • Muthafuckers who don't use their goddamn turn signals.
  • The realization that if they did, I most likely would try to not let them in
  • Bruno Mars; he irks me. Music, voice, hair, everything.
  • Authors whose name is larger or more prominant on the cover than the title of their book
  • Reality shows about nothing.
  • Reality shows about "friends" who weren't until they were cast for the show (screw you Housewives of Famewhoredom)
  • Nicki Minaj; one, her ugly/gawdy attention grab of a wardrobe, when she is actually quite a strikingly beautiful woman, and two, you earn no points when you mangle a pronunciation of "me" to sound like "may" just to make it fit your nonsense sounding rap, when you can clearly say "me" just how it sounds
  • Politics; all talk, little doing. When something is actually done, more talk about how it wasn't done right.
  • Having too many ideas, not enough time, and too much procrastination
  • Ryan Seacrest; aside of being kinda smarmy and talking too much instead of getting to the fucking point of whatever it is he's doing, why exactly is he paid so damn much money?
  • Co-workers who clearly just want someone to listen to them complain, and do so long after I've stopped pretending to care.
  • Being expected to have my attitude match someone else's expectation when they do something I don't find funny, but then being slighted when I do try and suddenly it's not funny to them
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I am not dead! Though moving all these boxes of books may soon correct that. Unfortunately, due moving and packing and all that nonsense, I cannot keep up (HA!) with the Flash Fiction Meme that I myself started. Way to show a good example.

So, since the month is pretty much up anyway, I'm going to just call it null for the moment. I'm not giving up, just waiting. I'll restart the meme next month, on the first of July, and hopefully be able to finish it this time. And I do mean start over, the first, what, eight days I've already done will be REdone. Because I want to make it up to you. The one person who might actually be reading this. I like you. Don't leave me alone... it's so cold.

Yeah, that's the plan. On top of a bunch of posts I want to catch up on, life, writing I really need to get on, and moving. Hurray for standards not being kept!
ravenswept: (Here's Cookie)

For some reason I am just not feeling it lately. Maybe it's the whole "life" thing that's still stuck in standby mode, but I should be able to kick myself moving on my own.

I scrapped the last outline of Butterfly Massacre again. Something about what I had just wasn't gelling right, and a few events I had that were needed weren't meshing well to what happened later, so I'm keeping the bullet points and letting everything else go. I know what needs to happen; or what will happen. But getting those spaces inbetween are being a pain in the ass to pin down.

I should probably expand my reader base (of those I read as well). The reviews I've done are a lot of fun, yelling into the ether and all that, but I'm thinking of moving them over to Uneducated Opinion and finally get that little hair-puller going. It seems weak to have a wide spread of genre, instead of focusing specifically at a certain medium of some sort, but my interests just don't focus like that. Besides, as the title says, I'm untrained. I didn't study any specific type of anything, so I guess I shouldn't limit myself to what I enjoy talking about.

I'm refining a new 30 Day meme. Hopefully I'll have it posted tomorrow (just in time for someone's birthday).

Speaking of reviews, I still need to do that last Young Justice episode. I just kinda fell out of that. Good thing that they stopped airing new episodes for three months, huh?

Guh, going to go lay down. Brain not wanna worky right.
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- You may have a point, but if it you smother that point around bile beans, frustratedly pulled pork marinated in hate, and wrap it up in a swear-torent-illa and make yourself a rageritto, no one will eat it

- Funny will beat out snarky

- Hating everyone equally does not make you not [adjective]-ist

- I like reviewing, but may need to make them more interesting, texturally

- Conflicting stories tell me that reviewing The Dark Griffon would be interesting

- The phrase is not "You can't have your cake and eat it too", structurally that makes sense to eat cake that you have; it should be "You can't eat your cake and have it too" whereby you cannot have/partake of something but not suffer some setback of your choice

- Oh, hey, my computer has Photoshop on it!

- Netflix would make reviewing more movies easier

- I'm thinking I should buy Megamind; I'm also thinking I can't afford that right now

- Jon Stewart and Bill O'Reilly are (most likely) friends, and can have more civil, interesting, and intellectual debates on topics despite being on polar opposite sides of both the political and television spectrum, more so than any other person who claims they speak for a political voice

- Four days until the end of the (Catholic pre-Rapture) world; wrap yourself in your snuggie for comfort

- The ocean has crabs, yo; get yourself tested, she been with everyone

Hey hey, bah-bee, what up wich you?

- Dream big, but don't forget where you are now
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I posted earlier about my thoughts about first sentences and what they can (potentially) mean, not only for the rest of the story but for your chances of publication as well.

Much like my Rorschach Titles, my mind wandered to randomality and produced some first sentences to works that don't exist.

  • I died the day before Valentine's Day, Feburary 13, the day before my fiance was going to propose to me in a big elaborate set-up he thought was secret but really his best friend couldn't wait to tell me about; fuck.

  • When I finally found the little black cancerous blob between her two hearts, I can say with full honestly I relished bloodily ripping it from her open chest.

  • She could hate her all she wanted but even Desire had to admit when her mother had a point, it was usually a pretty good one.

  • I hate you; I just want you to know that up front.

  • Sweet Jesus, that was one ugly baby.

  • Running away went against his code, but even Adam could make expections when outnumbered eighty to one.

  • It wasn't enough that the Heston Estate had thrown the largest and roudiest party they'd ever thrown since the previous evening, now they had the audacitity to have a dead body present itself as well.

  • Just because one can add garlic to just about everything one cooks, really, really doesn't mean they should.
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Wow, three post in one day. I either have a lot to say or drank too much caffiene.

Either way, random things time!

1) I love the smell and taste of cinnamon. Love it.

2) When I tried to visit my then girlfriend in Bellingham (north of Seattle), I got stuck in a snowstorm going through the mountain pass for four hours (and it was a five/six hour drive on a good day). I was randomly given a slice of pizza from a car window as I walked by.

3) I've been to SeaWorld. I know I have. I had a season pass every year. So why can't I remember any of it? Yes, I was only five, but still.

4) One spring break years ago, my family was in San Fransisco by way of Disneyland. I had a migraine and was miseribly staring out a window as my parents tried to find our hotel. I asked where we were staying; the same one we stay in last time (a Travel Lodge, with the bear logo). I asked if that was it; simply staring out the window, we were right in front of it and my parents almost missed it entirely.

4-b) I later puked over the second floor railing just before we got into the room (luckily just into some plants), felt instantly better, headache was gone ten minutes later. Went to steakhouse for dinner.

5) I'm an internet certified minister. Legally, I can perform any and all religious ceremonies as long as those involved agree. This includes weddings, funerals, baptisms and exorcisims. To date I've only performed one wedding (but it was an important one, so I count it as two).


"When a person comes into your place of business talking like Christopher Walken and wishes to speak to you and not paying your 'opps insurance', pay the man the god damn 'opps insurance'. Hey, he's talking with a Christopher Walken accent, you don't know what he's gonna do!"


- Long Yawn Shawn
- Your Shallow Complexity
- Magpie's Collection


I like geniuses; they're stupid in funny ways.


"Where did you get those?"
"Marilyn Manson."
"Yeah, he owed me a favor."
"How the hell did Marilyn freaking Manson end up owing you a favor?"
"He was short cash at Wendy's; I spotted him the money."
"Dude wanted to get his Frostee on, what can I say?"


Jonathan Lear
Dainer Cale
Siciline Cour D'Maire
Keller Farsong


Short Story idea; man/woman sitting in room, alone. Gun; one bullet. Bottle of scotch.
ravenswept: (Bunny Controls All)
Not having anything as funny as these relating to myself, not that I remember anyway, Unca Ravenswept is gonna today tell you two stories from people he knows about things that happened to them. Expect in the case of one story, which itself was a story told to them, so it's a third hand story; maybe second hand, once removed. Never did understand how that "removed" nonsense worked. Anywho.

My roommate has a sister. Growing up, they had the normal amount of "bad" things occur to them in life; having to move unexpectedly, the untimely death of a pet, relatives sick, life in general in its not so fun moments. But what his mother did to him and his sister is just... odd.

See, his mom can cook (when she wants to, which isn't often). One thing she will do fairly often is bake, mainly cookies. Anyway, my roommate has an aversion to lemon bars. Won't look at them, won't eat them. He says he gets the sweats when he sees them, but that I think is him being just a tad melodramatic. What happened was, whenever one of those bad things happened when he was a kid, his mom would bake lemon bars and present them to he and his sister. To soften the blow, as it were. This had terrible consequences.

She did this act every time something unfortunate happened. So, as they grew, they built up a horrific knowing when their mother came bearing lemon baked goods. They were sent into a worried frenzy when she made them once without there being a reason. Both brother and sister was sure something horrible had happened. Lemon bars did not come without a price.

To this day, their mother believes that they just made that story up. To which they ask why is it they both developed the same phobia. She's still in denial.

Childhood trauma is fun!

The second of our two tales involves the wonderful folks at Penny Arcade, specifically head guy-who-makes-sure-the-company-doesn't-collapse-everyday dude Robert Khoo, and newest member of the asylum Erika Greco. This story comes to be by way of telephone by best friend, and PAX Enforcer, [name withheld for privacy], related to her by way of Robert Khoo at the Enforcer/staff/PAX survival party.

Robert, busy as he is, is sometimes a bit absent minded. Once upon a random day, he left an unopened can of Pepsi(tm) on the main table of the office. Erica, for dark and twisted reasons unknown, wrote a snarky little note, taped it to the can, and placed it on Khoo's desk.

And from humble origins, the first shot fired.

Thus was the war of "That Fucking Can/Opponent's Name" begun. For months, back and forth they traded the can, but not merely from desk to desk. At some point, i.e. the third trade, they began to be tricksy little Hobbits's. They started hiding the can. Behind office toys, taped under desks, any place that could hold an 8oz can of carbonated sugar and caffiene was not left unspoiled. Why was this such a matter of importance? Pride. And fun. Mainly vengence.

And then Erica had a plan. Or an idea, that turned into a plan. But evil it was undoubtedly.

One Mr. Khoo was not officely present one day, and she struck her terrible blow. Taking one of his office couch cushions she proceeded to open, insert the can, re-sew it as to look untainted, and replaced said cushion to its herd. And she waited.

And waited.

And waited longer.

Some time, we're talking like a month or two, and he never found it. He knew it was his turn; well, if not he should have. So, being fed up and wanting to see the return of her investment, she nonchalantly wandered into his 10x8 florecent realm. And casually (read, goaded) remarked that he looked thristy. That he may have been has no weight; she wanted results. So she again and again mentined his parched appearance. He was confused; why mention liquid nurishment and not at least tease him with something she herself was drinking. Oh, hell no, she didn't!

In front of her - and whoever happened to pass by his office window and open door - he proceeded to "tear" his office "apart" looking for the damned aluminum cylindar. Erica laughed her evil laugh, having finally gotten the better of Mr Khoo. She bade him hints to steer him closer to the couch.

Finally he understood. Loudly proclaiming "Is this it? What did you do?" he cluched a pair of scissors and tore into his cushion from the couch. Fluff and stuff flying, he triumphantly pulled forth his prize and thrust it into Erica's face -

A can of Barq's Rootbeer.

A cursed Khoo! Naive and fuming, young Erica let loose a loud and angry roar of disapproval (and most likely a long string of cusses the likes of which hasn't been heard since the last time someone stubbed their toe), and ran back to her own offical dwelling, for it was her turn to rend assunder her own workspace. Mighty Khoo, having found the damned can some months ago, had played his own game well. He too had carefully dissected his couch, removing and inserting his own twisted mockery of the game, like a pig's heart into a failing crash victim. What pray did he do with the Pepsi of can? Only he and his dark ways know.

What moral, if any, did this story have?

You cannot win; Robert Khoo is better than you. Definitely smarter. Most likely more handsome as well.

*EDIT* As of 4-8-11, the story is now very public, and they tell it much better than I. Also with much more gusto*

Back Home

Nov. 22nd, 2010 03:07 pm
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Unexpectedly, I find myself back at my parents home for the Thanksgiving holidays. Originally, I was only to be here for the past weekend, my roommate coming up to have an early Thanksgiving with his family that would be busy on the actual holiday, and I tagged along to get a chance to see my parents since I most likely wasn't going to be able to come up myself. Then on Saturday, the night before I was to catch the ride back, they offered to keep me here for another week and send me back on Sunday. So here I am.

Slightly annoying is that I only packed for four days and since I'm flying back I don't know how much of what I brought is going to make it back; I forget how solids/liquids hold up on airlines nowadays, and I'm going to try not to check anything. But I'll figure that out later.

Unfortunately, for those I'm betaing for, that means I don't have my computer with me to keep working on them, so those are going to be delayed from me. I am really sorry, but had I known I was going to be staying, I would've brought the laptop with me to keep working on them. As is, I'm hoping to do what I can here, but the process is slowed extremely.

It's kinda strange being back here. While I was back home back in May, it was it's own visit and my life was in a different place. Right now, I'm kinda in a headspace of not having been home, and really feeling it, for almost two years now. Fifteen months in Virginia, a little over eight months in Portland, and right now I'm out here, in the middle of the country with little ambient noise around me, surrounded by things that haven't changed much since I left and I'm not sure how exactly I'm going to go forward.

I'm still trying to figure out what exactly it is I want out of what I'm doing. And figure out what it is I'm doing, because I don't know if I could give you an answer if you asked me right now.

I'm not in a bad headspace, nor am I depressed. But being back home, almost like taking a step back, is big shift of perspective. It's entirely possible if I don't get something cemented I'll be living back here in a few months. Then it really will be a step backward, but I haven't figured out if that step is me losing my balance and falling back, or if it's just bracing for a stronger move forward.

It's snowing right now, has been on and off all day. Not heavy, and what's on the ground is pretty dry anyway, but I definitely feel the sameness and comfort of being back in my parent's house. Things I haven't thought of for years coming back like I haven't left, remembering how it was. And I don't know if I like the feeling or not. I guess that referring to it as my parent's house is pretty telling; it's not what I call "home" anymore, so that's something. But then I'm still trying to figure out if where I am is home either. With nothing I'm truely gunning for, I feel this ackward sense of existing, not living day to day but just going from day to day.

My roommate hates Spokane, hates almost everything about it. For him it's too slow, nothing really going on, not big enough, too stagnant. And he's right, it really is all those things. But, and you never know if this is a compliament or not, it is comfortable. You know how it works, and that it's not really going to get "exciting". I've described it as a place where you do really only one of two things; raise a family or retire. It's not a bad place, not like how my roommate likes to see it, but neither is it a place where you're going to be doing a whole lot.

I think I just dislike this feeling of floating. Not knowing what I want or where to go, so I'm just going to wherever it is I end up. Being very self aware means that I'm well aware of my own flaws and what it is I most likely should do. Rationale makes for wonderful advice. But right now, being aware of what I need to do doesn't mean I necessarily know what it is I need to do. And that's annoying as hell.

I think that since I had so much fun going through Disney animation, based mostly on my own knowledge of the various films and proceedure and personal opinion/tastes (most research was for dates and box office figures), that I'm gonna do my next post on the works of DreamWorks Animation. Seems like it'll be fun times.
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For some reason I've had an story idea roll around in my head. Now this in and of itself isn't exactly what one could call "new" with me. A better part of my journal is made up of various stories in various stages of start up. But this is a bit... different.

Remember back in school, usually around jr. high or so, when you finally got to a creative writing part of English/grammer/writing class? No?... well, make believe then. The teacher would get you into groups of four, everyone take out a piece of paper, and write the beginning paragraph of a story. Right then and there, so exact quality isn't a factor. But then after writing that first paragraph, you're asked to pass your paper to the left. Now you have someone else's paragraph, and good god what the hell did they write?! Now with this sheet, you are to continue what they started. Don't discuss it with whoever wrote it, just read it and continue. Wash, rinse, repeat until you get your original paper.

Whatever it was you may have originally thought of your paragraph is gone. Left is a Frankensteinian-worthy monster of literary effort. A piece here, a rag there, and somehow it still, kinda, sorta, makes a wee bit of sense.

Having said that, I forget what the hell the assignment was meant to do. Maybe something about creative differences or Death of the Author, I dunno.

But for some reason I've wanted to give that experiment another go lately. Get a small group together and just have fun with a story that has no purpose other than enjoyment. No trying to undermine the previous or next writer with how you think it should ultimately turn out (also no stopping after just four paragraphs) but keeping the story going, or bringing it to a head should it seem time.

Probably not with each person starting their own and passing it around, that's a bit much, but one person starting and then playing creative hot potato just for shits and giggles.


Did you catch Work of Art when it was on over the summer? Another in a line of Bravo-formula reality gameshows, WoA was a cousin to Project Runway, Top Chef, and a few others that aren't really as good as those two, getting together a small crowd of personalities with talent into a stress inducing space and timeframe and telling them to make something. Good times.

I liked it, mainly because like PR, it wasn't a stupid reality show just following people around for - whatever reason somebody thought it was good idea to follow them for - or just a gameshow of people doing things that, while entertaining, had no real value except entertainment. No, these people were actually doing something. They had talent, to varying degrees, and were told to put up or shut up. And often the moments when they did neither were the most interesting.

Some I liked, some I didn't, others I loved, and still more I cocked my head sideways and wondered just what they were thinking, even after they just explained what they were thinking. But it was all interesting. Something was actually being created, they weren't just playing a game. They were playing a game where they needed to have the skills that got them there, not just a good interview and a made-for-TV ratings personality.


I've had Interviewing Leather in my favorites tab for a while now. I found a reference to it, thought it might be interesting but was tired at the time, so I saved it to read it later. Took a bit, but I finally did.

It's pretty awesome. The story reads like a Rolling Stone article (which it should, that was the basis of the story), where in a magazine writer is assigned to interview a supervillian. "Hunter S. Thompson meets Poison Ivy."

The world is a fairly basic comic book world, cities with superheros and villians, and the general public that live around them. But there is an excellent sense of history to it, that things have been this way for a while and it was just another aspect of culture.

All the characters feel real, even the few "supers" we meet. They have reasons for doing what they do, and for how they go about doing it. You can see where a sense of comicbook shallowness seeps in, but instead of reading about it you're "behind the panel" is a way and see why that shallowness exists, why it's there. Everyone is a real person, finding or justifing their place in the world. No one is right, but no one is wrong and everyone is just doing what they think is best, however "best" is defined.

It's not a comic book, and not totally a deconstruction of them, but it is one of the best "real" comic book stories I've read in a long time.


I can't say I'm a real fan of Glee. I don't have cable to watch it, and when I did, I wasn't really impressed by the story.

But the music is and always will be the main draw (well, that and Jane Lynch as Sue), and sometimes they really hit that part out of the park.

Teenage Dream is an acapella version of a Katy Perry song, and to me is infinitely better than hers. These guys already went into a better breakdown of the song than I could do, as well as the episode the song comes from. But one thing I do get from it, even just from that one clip they have of the song, is that it suddenly has much, much more meaning than anything Perry put into it when she sang it.

And, probably justified, the show most likely got the idea for the arrangement from this guy right here. Bonus points for showing your work.
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Random quotes from absolutely nothing. Your mission, whether you choose to accept it or not; name that book.

1. "It is possible that I'm just crazy. It's just as possible you're crazy. Maybe we're both crazy. All I know is that you're wrapped up in duck tape and I have a stick of dynamite, so where do you see this leading, hmm?"

2. "Opps? What do you mean 'opps'? This is not the time for 'opps'!"

3. "I'm sorry, what? I got distracted by our waitress' cute ass."

4. "You know that threat killers like to make, that they'll hunt you down and kill everyone you ever loved, slowly, and then finally put you out of your misery at the very end? I'm not like that. Your family, friends, girlfriend, co-workers, dog; I'm not going to touch any of them. They're safe, and frankly I could care less about them. You, however? You and your existance I will wipe from the face of the earth."

5. "The 'kill it with fire' method has, admittedly, not worked well for me so far in life. But damned if I'm not going to try it every time until it does."

6. "Momma was pimp. Daddy was a stripper."

7. "At what point did I realize it was going to be a weird morning? I'd like to believe it was when a man painted green, wrapped in vines and wearing a large flower around his head, standing on in a large ceramic pot, holding a cardboard sign that said "Feed Me Seymour" was the least interesting thing I saw on the way to work."

8. "I stepped off the plane. Three thousand miles, two jobs, and an undisclosed airport restroom incident later, and here I was, ready to start over. No money, no friends, no contacts, and little idea as to what I was going to do with it all. I don't think I packed enough underwear for this."
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Well crap, I still need to figure out what exactly it is I'm doing for NaNo. Not that I don't have more than enough choices, and several of which have enough aether around them to go forward with not much more. But diving into a project without a plot skeleton (ooh, Halloween pun) is always what's been a downfall of mine.

At some point today I may be a Halloweenee and marthathon The Nightmare Before Christmas, Monster House, maaaaaybe Underworld, and most likely How to Train Your Dragon for the tenth time since I bought it. A week ago. That number does not include commentary or the one time I watched it with narration for the seeing impared.

I love this movie. It's not totally perfect, but complaining about it is like being made you got a 95% instead of a 100%. There are three scenes with music cues that every time, whether I'm totally paying attention or not, still get me excited.

Hmm, maybe Scarred. That seems like a story that could handle not being totally plotted out. And would allow for me to be evil. Heh hehe.

Have you had your Monte Cristo today?

Since I talked about my webcomic idea, I've been archive binging on Questionable Content. It's not really helping me not think about 6o and the various different story arcs I had wanted to do. Like when Aaron (not his final name) dressed like a pirate when some kids came into the diner (because he just happened to have a pirate hat and eyepatch at work), and through them got himself a date; or when the monitor and CD system fried out on karaoke night, and a few people decide to a cappela their songs instead; or when the house cast decide to ride the metro rail from one end to the other on the longest line and go a little insane; the writer's hallucinations when trying to write; the cat who no one can remember adopting.

It's gonna kinda be a boring Halloween for me this year. I still don't know many people in the area, so I don't know about any would-be parties, my roommate works (nights, at a bar, on Halloween; I don't envy him), and even if I went downtown, I have no costume and I don't trust anyplace that is throwing a party to not be charging a cover, because I couldn't afford it.
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I've been told I like to argue with people. I reply I like debating things. I'm not sure if I've proved their point or not, but the fact remains that I do enjoy decent back and forth about things I like. Movies are one thing, but it's hard to find somebody who doesn't get insulted when you express your opinion about something they like or dislike. I don't really care how you side with it, I want to see you express your pros and cons better than, "I just do."

One thing I've found I'm good at is exploring the why and what of various things, be it movies, books, tv shows, ideas themselves, or what have you. This is one reason I enjoy TV Tropes (opposed to those that don't) because I like see the multitude of components that go into something. Usually though, trope wise, it's more fun to figure them out after the fact than try to use them first.

Uneducated Opinion was going to be a review blog of mine, where I desect whatever I happened to pick that topic, and dewelve into it like a frog in science class. Find each part and see what's the word.

Originally it was going to be only webcomics, because that's what was on my mind at the time, and while there are some review sites out there already, few actually went into any depth about the subject. It would be glossed over, or give a short paragraph, but it was always with the mind of keeping the review or critique to one post.

What I wanted to do was break things down into catagories and throughout the week go into each. While not every topic would have the exact same breakdowns, there would be ones that appeared each time: story, characters, art, writing. Rotating depending on what would be better served to discussion might be update schedule, creators themselves, elephant in the room issues, whatever I happened to want to rant about, time and pacing, or whatever.

I... never did jack shit with it. I got a gmail account, put the name into the blog, and have now let it sit for about a year now.

Part of it was, actually talking about each piece is a lot of work. Not that I don't enjoy doing it, but the time it takes to work everything out is time I either need for something else, work, or my own writing. Another was that I'd like to do video posting (so original, a video reviewer) but I lack a webcam or any other video recording device. Another was just getting up the want to really go at something. Yeah I can passionately disect something apart, but it's usually in the moment or with/against friends. Sitting alone with only the taps of keys and glowing screen is not the most adreniline rushing of things.

But I still want to do it. Not just webcomics, though I may still want to do one now and again, but just anything I happen to like or hate. TV shows, animation in particular, are one thing I don't see a lot of reviews for out there, at least not a lot in the way I wish them to be. Maybe foods or movies, a book, a person, just whatever happened to get my gumpton up that time. I don't really care about what detractors would say, the argument of "You aren't [x], so you can't really say anything" is already a fallace point, as is "Why don't you do better?" Point A misses the point, saying that only those in the know are able to legimately approve or disapprove, while forgetting that when you eat food, you don't need to be a chef to figure out if it's good or not. Point B tries to detract from the point; it's not a matter of whether or not I or anyone can do better, it's that this is not good. Or is, depending on the way you sway.

I've mentioned it before (I think) about where this kind of fire comes from; and it actually has to do with why I would go with Uneducated Opinion as the headline. Four years or so ago, I moved in with a friend and his boyfriend. Boyfriend, I'll call him Snob, had a degree in cinema and moviemaking, his dream to someday be a movie director. I don't fault him for that, a lot of people wish that. He, of course, loved movies, primilary that of drama, romantic comedies and horror.

I call him Snob, because he doesn't think highly of much else. You couldn't simply turn off your brain and enjoy a popcorn flick, it had to mean something or have some point or value to it. This is a point of discussion many times whenever Van Helsing came up, because I loved it as cheap (relatively) movie monster action goodness and he saw it as little more than a cinema trash that had no value because... well, I'm not sure why, he only said he didn't like it and it wasn't good, but rarely could an actual reason be gleaned from him as to why.

But what got to me, and what I would find out later after they broke up, was that I legimately pissed off Snob by having opinions on films. Van Helsing was just the tip of it, that I would dare to argue film points against him, and be able to hold my own, just irritated the everloving hell out of him. The whole of it was that I had some sort of audacitity to have an arguement either for or against a movie when I hadn't taken the time and money to get a degree in film to back up my ideas and observations. That I did not spend hours pouring over older films, that I ignored years of figuring out symbolism and lighting, I think that I just put up a fight to him just got under his skin.

I giggled upon finding this out, and was pleased with myself.

It's not because I took pleasure out of irritating somebody... mostly, he's special case. But what I think it was, was that I annoyed him for having opinions against his and could argue fairly well my points, and could do so without having gone through all that he had. All his posturing for having a degree (in film, and proceeded to work in retail and Starbucks, with no effort to join a production company, inspite of the fact there was a fairly well known one just downtown), for being a director (shitty college movie, but still), for being educated, I could push back against him and, in my mind, win.

Now it's entirely possible from his eyes it was like arguing with an ignorant moron; he who doesn't know won't be able to tell the difference between what he thinks he knows and what is fact. I've had that same arguement against such people. But the thing is I never claimed I knew the vast inner workings of film. I knew a handful of terms, could pick out shots and techniques, but I didn't act like I knew everything there was about cinema or its construction. I knew between what I enjoyed, what I didn't, what made up the parts of each, and could articuately make my position either for or against.

I'm hoping to start putting stuff onto the blog sometime soon. I'm still working on all the other stuff I have around me, multiple short stories as well as the bigger projects, but find it good to burn off different energy with the review stuff. I could do the same thing here, but I like having a place that's devoted to just the review and critiques. This I have for my general story idea springboard and whatever emotional headspace I find myself in.

We'll see what happens with it all. Another reviewer lost in the sea of people who like to talk about things they don't like. Woot.
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- The Fringemunks. While I have my issues with the show (the fact that they can't get actual science correct inbetween the cooler made up stuff), this stuff is just pure awesome. Each song explains each Fringe episode, some of the best being parodies of "Golddigger", "It's the End of the World As We Know It", and the theme from "The Greatest American Hero". There's even some Grease and Lady Gaga in there.

- Motivational Poster. More than it seems. Don't look away, it's a long one.

- "What did the spec fic say to the scifi?"
Is your narrowly defined sense of self still having an identity crisis?

- Apple cinnamon rubbed pork ribs - mmmm...

- To Do: Rent limo, dress nicely, go to airport and hold up a blank sign. Should someone actually ask, give them free ride.

- To Do: Dressed in silent movie era "robber clothes" (black/white striped shirt, domino mask, newsboy hat), run out of downtown bank holding large sacks with $ symbol clear on sides. Run away.

- Remember the Golden Rule; pillage THEN burn

- "You and your fucking rope."

- Project Rungay. Two gay guys from the Philly area comment on all things Project Runway or fashion related, as well as most of BravoTVs non-Housewife reality lineup. The more fashion oriented, the better. They're pretty funny, and their cattiness when speaking either too the contestants or "for" the judges is hilarious. They've been commenting since the first season, so they know all the unspoken rules to this game and get gayngry when the contentants don't.

- Felidae. Did you know of this? Did you?

- Stormblades: Chinese wu-shu based story. Master sword fighters Wind and Rain clash, their fight lasting three straight days. A storm is created by their fighting, calming only when they stop, having fallen in love during the fight.

- "I have friends in high places." "It's the ones down low I'm more interested in."

- Steampunk Laptop. Because come on; you know you want one.

- Gearborn/Clocker : terms for steampunk robotics

- Through no fault of my own, I felt the weight around me; Chains of my own design, Made of time and expectations
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Where upon I gift you with random things yanked from the warmth and safety of my writing notebooks. Enjoy.

- Monkey is not a color

- This is not fiction, this is subjective reality

- Don't know, don't care, still happy

- Yeagermeister
Cherry soda
Vanilla vodka

- It doesn't matter what you do, as the hero no one will ask inconvenient questions

- cool -> smoke
work -> dating
more sleep -> fewer bills
cotton -> chicken pox
itching powder -> bug bite
stuff -> spit
take out the trash -> childcare
observing the strange word associations when playing the Facebook game 'Family Feud'

- Subversion: woman stuffed into fridge is used to make hero angry for vengence; instead makes him go into a BSOD and be completely useless

- Woman : short hair
low cut tank top (light blue)
open mens dress shirt (white)
open toed, weave sandals

- I like geniuses; they're stupid in funny ways

- "Hey hey, looks like someone got some some last night!"
"What? How did- how can you tell?"
"Easy, you have that glow."
"No, stupid, you're wearing women's jeans."
"What the- ahh, man."
"Yeah, subtle. So, you gonna go change or what?"
"Nah, no time and no point now. Besides, these make my ass look great."

- Heinsburg Uncertainty Principle

- Hello My name is something
I forgot some time ago
I don't know where I'm coming from
And I don't know where to go

Now I'm stuck intside this room
With no windows and no door
Crying at the mirror
That lies broken on the floor

- I promise not to use your money on addictive things like food and shelter

- It's not panhandling, it's personal donation collection

- The Kota-Nett describe Kareen different in almost every story told. The most used, however, describes as such: she is said to have knee long hair, finer than that of the silt sand upon the beaches with the color of raven black flowing throughout. She wears wildfire for clothing, and the dancing flames of a campfire as anklets and bracelets. Carried upon her back are a quiver of shooting stars, with the crescent moon to shoot them. Her skin is a deep red, wild with adventure. Her eyes are the sun, shining upon the islands she protects.

- ~Long Yawn Shawn
~Fallen From Below
~Your Shallow Complexity
~Hollow Run
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Okay, maybe not, but still, it's not like I wasn't trying. I was! Very hard, mind you. Very.

Originally, I was trying to write something every Mon-Wed-Fri, in an attempt to keep a regular schedule and make sure something was produced on a weekly basis. I kept that up for a total of a whole, ooh, two and half weeks. Go me.

So I'm gonna try again. Something on the aforementioned three days, as well anything extra I feel like adding. Because I think part of my problem last time was I'd get ideas for posts on my off days, and instead of, you know, writing them down and saving them for later, I'd avoid it because I was off the clock. And then I'd forget about it and then it's ten at night and I'm trying to come up with something and it's not working so I put it off and convince myself I'll just skip that day and pick it back up the next "on" day. And we all saw how well that worked.

And now for update time, should anyone really give two shits; my noir story, which has no name, is slllloooowwly coming along. A small outline has been produced, which amounts to littl more than "First chapter done, last chapter done, basic concept approved, and a few scenes planned out (in my head)". Did help a convince a friend to go ahead with a story/chapter idea she already had, just was on the fence about going forward. Was compared to Spider Jerusalem, so that's always a plus. Did complete an outline draft for a script a director friend asked for; the downside to that is that I wanted to give him more than a bare bones edition, but due to computer screw ups I couldn't and now must attempt to remember everything I wrote before and recreate it. Fun.

Speaking of recreating everything I just lost, earlier today I was writing out a little bit in a AS thread. It was pretty involved, and had me deep in a character that was kinda fun to riff with, and then for SOME GOD DAMNED SHIT ASS FUCK reason, Explorer decided it was gonna flip me the bird and go bye-bye. So three to four paragraphs, which I had spent close to an hour working on because it was that much fun, phffst, gone. Away it went. FUCK. I got back on and remembered the jist of the first paragraph, but it wasn't as tight as the first one, and I didn't even try with the rest of it. I wrote it down so I wouldn't have to remember it, and it was spur of the moment so it wasn't like I had gone over it again and again in my head til it was right. Am I bitter you ask? NO. My rage is simply very, very focused and weaponized. For justice. Also anger.
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I love books.

I also love Big Red soda, but that's neither here nor there.

I love collecting them, I love how the leather ones feel, I love knowing I'm hoarding knowledge and therefore hoarding power. Because power is always a trip.

Recently - well, not recently recent, but whatever - I moved from Alexandria, VA across the country to Portland, OR. This was from two years earlier when I moved from Spokane, WA to Alexandria the first time. I was unable to take with me my books, of which I had many, and instead could only take what would fit in the back of a Jeep Grand Cherokee; this being mainly clothing, some easily carried entertainment, my computer, various odds and ends I deemed necessary, and whatever forms of writing I had laying around. This filled the Jeep more than you'd think.

I was unable to take many books with me, I think I only took maybe ten or so, and those where only the ones that I'd believe to actually need or enjoy for the undetermined time away. I still managed to increase my hoard while away from the mother-source, but was unable to just pick up what I wanted any time I wanted; unless I was at a bookstore, but that's not the point.

But now I am in my new apartment and just the other day returned from my parents, ladened down with what I imagine was close to several hundred pounds of books. I moved them all myself from my room or storage into my Jeep, drove them six hundred miles south and to the right, and unloaded them into my room.

My soreness and bruising is a manifestation of my happiness.

My collection is vast and, while not totally encompassing, sprawling in definition. Graphic novels, science fiction, fantasy, sewing, cooking, politics, both left and right, reference, martial arts, classics, Dickenson collections, Battle Royale, legends, myths, encyclopedias of myths, childrens, comic strip albums, non-fiction, fashion, how to write, how NOT to write, movie guides, I have many, many, MANY books.

Through all this, I'm considering getting a Kindle or Nook. I love me some gadgits, and understand the need and appeal of carrying one device that can hold several hundred books in and of itself. I will also most likely buy a small leather journal the same day, gut it like a fish, and lay my newfound wonder in the hollow corpse like Luke in a Tauntaun, an unnatural combination of Franksteinian might and horror.

Because regardless of what new achievements science and gadgetry can bring us, nothing replaces the feel and weight of books. Books are physical. It means something to actually hold one and turns its pages to advance your knowledge. Someday, somebody will dig up the remains of a Nook or Kindle, or perhaps something more advanced. They will say what it was, "primitive" they will chuckle, and disregard it for without power - and backwards compatibility is forever something frowned upon - it is meaningless.

Beside it they may also find a book. While still primitive, they acknowledge it's worth and treat it with care, for this is a treasure, surely. While the electronic device could only be remembered for what it did, the book still held it's bounty. It was history, regardless of its contents, not merely telling about it.

So when I'm given strange looks as to how many tomes I may be in ownership of, or my easily removal of time in stores of books, I merely wonder if they're as damaged as they think me. For they can only attempt to retain all they know in their heads, or hope others can relay that information to them should they not remember. I can keep mine on a shelf and return to it again and again.

...speaking of shelves, I don't currently have any, so all those books I mentioned? All are sitting on the floor or in boxes. Wonderful.
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A few days ago, my roommate waxed un-poetic about how he yearned for the day of youth, when we ourselves had no responsibilities beyond coming home with no gushing blood or protruding bones (and homework). Our biggest worries dealt with teachers and tests, and what to do with the summer. I empathized, and knew what he was talking about, but didn't think much of it at the time.

Today I knew what he felt and desperately wanted to return to such days.

Truth be told, what it was wasn't that big. My engine froze sometime the previous night, and I was taken to ask said roommate for his car keys. And I have permission to use the car as needed until mine is fixed, but that's not the point. It never is. The point being that I was one day away from taking my Jeep into a garage anyway for different problems, so all I needed was just two more days of it starting. But the closer to Christmas, I think, the more things have the tendency to fuck up sideways.

...breaking news, my best friend (and ex) just got engaged while in Japan. I'm going through the different phases of shock and will faint in due course.

So, finding out my personal transport had failed me, I went to work in borrowed goods pissed off at the world and ready to bite the head off anything that sneezed at me too loud. I dunno, something about when you're mad at little things means that everything is ten times worse. I lost the feeling about 2 in the afternoon, but until then I just wanted people to shut the fuck up and stop saying the stupid things that come out of their mouth. But I held my tongue and made it through the day. Still annoyed that my Jeep doesn't run and I may have to have it towed somewhere, but it could be worse. I think that it's the first major 'thing' I've had to deal with since moving out on my own has something to do with it, and it takes everything in me not to run home to have my parents fix everything for me.

May I not fuck this up beyond fixing. for the engaged thing...yeah, I need thinking time.


Oct. 27th, 2006 10:27 pm
ravenswept: (Default)
I've had a most...interesting night. After getting off work I proceeded to kill time by first going to an arcade, and when sufficent funds had been sacrificed I then made my way to the local Barnes & Noble. Why noble is out numbered by barnes I'm not sure, but I think the answer lies with trade secrets and a garbage bag tied to a large rock located in a unnamed river in an unnamed city.

Anyway, I walk around a collect a small number of books to read with no intention of buying, but do validate the trip with the purchase of Evanescence's new dropped album, the Open Door. I got lucky and managed to snag one of the fluffy chairs near a window and proceed to read.

For those who are more visual, there was a small coffee-type table upon which my feet rested, the window ledge that held my books that weren't mine, and another padded lounge chair across the table that held in it's unholstered maw a gentleman of about 60, 65, who was himself amists' reading or talking on his cell to who I believe to be one of his offspring.

Then, inexplicably, I happen to look up. This girl, fairly cute I think - hey, it was dark outside and I was dealing with inside glare - waves to me, bends over, blows me a kiss, winks and continues her way down the sidewalk. I was, honestly, a bit stunned. I don't consider myself to be that attractive; average maybe, but worthy of what just happened? I glanced over to the gentleman across from me, and realized he had paused in mid conversation with a loved one to watch what had just occured.

"You just got blown a kiss there"

"Yes," I said, still stunned. "Yes, I did."

"Did you know her?"

I could only shake my head, peering around the window as much as I could to see it maybe I could catch another glimse. While this event did put a little flutter in the chest area, I did nothing with such material and just continued reading, looking back down the window as if she would again appear. Had I any courage, I should have gotten up and followed outside, see if maybe this wasn't an isolated occurance. But no, I did no such thing, instead passing it off as chance and saying to myself that it would be a waste to not use the large stockpile of wimp and spineless I seemed to have hidden in storage.



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