I just read that there is apparently an old Scottish superstition that, “A strange black cat on your porch brings prosperity.”
I wish I’d known this four years ago.
I was visiting at home and, naturally, reading late into the night. I remembered that there were Girl Scout cookies in the kitchen, so I went to forage. As I was rummaging through the cabinets, I saw a black nose at the door. My first thought was that the dog was outside and wondering who had let him out. I went to the door and looking up at me was a black cat with vividly yellow eyes.
This cat would not stop staring at me, to the point where she would move to watch me in the kitchen. Whenever I would glance in her direction, she would make complete, unwavering direct eye contact. Her gaze did not ever flutter for a moment.
To describe it as eerie would be an understatement.
After a few moments I decided that I had to get a picture so I would have proof when I spoke of my feline stalker. I grabbed a phone, but as soon as I turned the camera part on the cat walked away, retreating under the deck table. I could still see the light reflecting off her eyes as she continued to stare back at me.
I put the phone down and she immediately returned to the door, this time lying down, all the while maintaining direct contact with the ol' peepers. She got up once more and began to walk away, and looked back at me as though to say, Come on. Follow me.
Though I regret to say it, I stayed inside the house rather than follow the strange black cat on some sweet nocturnal wanderings. My rejection was not enough to dissuade her and she returned to the door. I went upstairs, but could not get her golden gaze out of my mind. After awhile, I ran back down to see if she was still there.
She was.
She was looking out into the backyard, but her head suddenly flipped around and she immediately trained her gaze on mine. That was enough for me. Gave the cat a quick nod and returned upstairs, feeling sufficiently creeped out. And never saw her again.
Opportunity lost.
In other animal news, I present you with a Squirrel Menace Update: A recent video shows that the Cute Squirrel Ops Force is making its presence known. Do not allow yourself to be distracted by their adorableness!
Thursday, March 29, 2012
None of My Board Games Would Play With Me
By the time I was nine, I was pretty frustrated regarding my failed attempts to get into books. I’m not talking about a level of interest here. I read everything that I could get my hands on and loved it. But what I was looking for was to literally get into the books – in the classic vein of The Neverending Story (or The Pagemaster, for all you Macaulay Culkin fans out there). I could create all these worlds in my mind, but I wanted to physically go to them, at least for a little while. And all my attempts had failed.
I decided to try to go in the other direction. Maybe I could get the book to come out into my world. But try as I might, I could not induce those characters to walk out of their pages.
Maybe my medium was wrong. As much as I loved books, maybe they were not the fastest way to get to world-melding. Board games! That’s what I would try. It had certainly worked out for those kids in Jumangi. (At that point, it didn’t really matter to me that it hadn’t worked out particularly well. The moral of the story was a little bit lost behind the epic coolness of the game coming to life.)
But, none of my board games seemed inclined to play.
Then Jumangi, the movie, came out. I was so excited when we got that VHS, that as I squeezed next to my sister in that big La-Z-Boy, I upended my entire bowl of Velveeta into our laps. Still, even the loss of my delicious mac and cheese wasn’t enough to dim my thrill.
As I sat there, watching the action unfold on screen, I realized something new. I might be able to get into the board game. This wasn’t something I’d thought about. And it was awesome.
So, I asked for the Jumangi board game for Christmas. It seemed to make more sense to me to go with a game I knew had a history of working than to try to jump into one that didn’t have such a track record. But if this worked, Candy Land was totally next. Then Chutes and Ladders. Probably not Monopoly though. I wanted to get into a game, sure. But I wasn’t looking to spend eternity in there and that was generally how long it took to finish a round of Monopoly.
When I opened up the game Christmas morning, I was beside myself. I wanted to play right away. I dragged my sister over to the table and set it up. She was excited too…..at first.
Just to make sure that I would get out of the game if I got sucked in (did I want adventure? Sure. But, like I said, not looking for a life sentence), I made her promise – multiple times – that she would keep playing no matter what. I didn’t notice the fear rising in her face as I promised, repeatedly, that I too would keep playing if she got sucked in. No fear! Regardless of what came out of the board, I would not, ever, stop playing until she came back.
My fervent conviction finally convinced her that it was a real threat that she would be stuck in the game for some time. And, with the wisdom of her all her seven years, she decided that maybe this wasn’t the game for her.
The real moral of this story is that I’m still looking for someone with whom to test out my theory.
So, anyone up for a game of Jumangi?
I decided to try to go in the other direction. Maybe I could get the book to come out into my world. But try as I might, I could not induce those characters to walk out of their pages.
Maybe my medium was wrong. As much as I loved books, maybe they were not the fastest way to get to world-melding. Board games! That’s what I would try. It had certainly worked out for those kids in Jumangi. (At that point, it didn’t really matter to me that it hadn’t worked out particularly well. The moral of the story was a little bit lost behind the epic coolness of the game coming to life.)
But, none of my board games seemed inclined to play.
Then Jumangi, the movie, came out. I was so excited when we got that VHS, that as I squeezed next to my sister in that big La-Z-Boy, I upended my entire bowl of Velveeta into our laps. Still, even the loss of my delicious mac and cheese wasn’t enough to dim my thrill.
As I sat there, watching the action unfold on screen, I realized something new. I might be able to get into the board game. This wasn’t something I’d thought about. And it was awesome.
So, I asked for the Jumangi board game for Christmas. It seemed to make more sense to me to go with a game I knew had a history of working than to try to jump into one that didn’t have such a track record. But if this worked, Candy Land was totally next. Then Chutes and Ladders. Probably not Monopoly though. I wanted to get into a game, sure. But I wasn’t looking to spend eternity in there and that was generally how long it took to finish a round of Monopoly.
When I opened up the game Christmas morning, I was beside myself. I wanted to play right away. I dragged my sister over to the table and set it up. She was excited too…..at first.
Just to make sure that I would get out of the game if I got sucked in (did I want adventure? Sure. But, like I said, not looking for a life sentence), I made her promise – multiple times – that she would keep playing no matter what. I didn’t notice the fear rising in her face as I promised, repeatedly, that I too would keep playing if she got sucked in. No fear! Regardless of what came out of the board, I would not, ever, stop playing until she came back.
My fervent conviction finally convinced her that it was a real threat that she would be stuck in the game for some time. And, with the wisdom of her all her seven years, she decided that maybe this wasn’t the game for her.
The real moral of this story is that I’m still looking for someone with whom to test out my theory.
So, anyone up for a game of Jumangi?
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Traveling By the Seat of My Papasan
So, occasionally, I must admit that I let stress get to me more than it should. When this happens I often discuss my many plans for the future. Things like, moving to Hawaii and opening a diner. This is something my extensive research (aka voracious viewing of Hawaii Five-0) has shown me there is a need for. That little slice of paradise just doesn’t seem to have nearly enough NY/NJ style eateries. Which is really all it’s missing to be the perfect place.
I begin to take out my suitcase and methodically pack up my things. It’s gonna cost me a billion dollars to ship all my books. But that’s okay. I’ll be in Hawaii! Who cares about money?
Then Roomie comes in. For every one thing I put in my suitcase, she takes another one out and puts it back in the drawer. As much fun as this strange little cyclical assembly line is, I eventually ask her why she’s trying to thwart me. Invariably, she ignores my Joey Tribbiani style wailing and gives me a ridiculous answer like: You have six weeks left of school, you’re not leaving now.
Stupid logic. Gets me every time. (Well, that’s not entirely true. But it does get me a lot of the time. It’s like 50/50. Fine! 25/75. Whatever.)
All right, I get it. Not the time to be flying off on a whim. For now, I’ll just have to restrict my vacations to the papasan.
And considering my time for these little vacations is limited, I probably shouldn’t try going anywhere I haven’t gone before. For now, I think my next trip is going to be west with Kaki Warner. That requires a little bit of time travel, as well, which is a definite bonus. Plus, I don't think I've been over to Rosa Roja since finals last spring. Makes for a nice tradition.
Still, if that doesn’t get me far enough away from homework…..I’m going to Hawaii.
Just don’t tell Roomie.
I begin to take out my suitcase and methodically pack up my things. It’s gonna cost me a billion dollars to ship all my books. But that’s okay. I’ll be in Hawaii! Who cares about money?
Then Roomie comes in. For every one thing I put in my suitcase, she takes another one out and puts it back in the drawer. As much fun as this strange little cyclical assembly line is, I eventually ask her why she’s trying to thwart me. Invariably, she ignores my Joey Tribbiani style wailing and gives me a ridiculous answer like: You have six weeks left of school, you’re not leaving now.
Stupid logic. Gets me every time. (Well, that’s not entirely true. But it does get me a lot of the time. It’s like 50/50. Fine! 25/75. Whatever.)
All right, I get it. Not the time to be flying off on a whim. For now, I’ll just have to restrict my vacations to the papasan.
And considering my time for these little vacations is limited, I probably shouldn’t try going anywhere I haven’t gone before. For now, I think my next trip is going to be west with Kaki Warner. That requires a little bit of time travel, as well, which is a definite bonus. Plus, I don't think I've been over to Rosa Roja since finals last spring. Makes for a nice tradition.
Still, if that doesn’t get me far enough away from homework…..I’m going to Hawaii.
Just don’t tell Roomie.
Literary Class Reunions
I'm a big re-reader. Always have been. And not just for a few select favorites. No, if it’s on my bookshelf, odds are I’ve read it more than once (probably more than thrice, if I’m being real honest). To me, it’s like re-watching a movie or TV show (something else I can do ad nauseam).
The first time through, I’m there for the main characters. I might notice some of the quirks of the supporting cast, but the focus is on the primary plot. After that, reading the story becomes a little bit like going to a class reunion. I’m really excited to see the main characters again. I remember everything I loved about them in that rosy, nostalgic, last-day-of-school sort of way. Occasionally, after awhile I also remember the little things they did to annoy me. The moments where I wanted to shake them and say, Pull yourself together! And like any reunion, I inevitably run into a few who make me think, But, you always seemed so cool….like you had everything together. You’re really a mess. Huh.
Overall, though, it’s just great to hang with the old gang again for a little while.
Still, they’re not the only ones I’m there for. I also want to chat with the people who I only knew a little. I mean, I noticed they were there, we might have had a few random run-ins, but we were all busy with our own things. I was running around with the main characters, they were doing their thing in their secondary plot lines…. There was a lot going on. No one’s fault. But now we have a chance to get to know each other a little better. And every once in awhile, I find a couple best-ies in this group (Hobbie Klivian and Remus Lupin spring to mind), who keep me coming back to his or her scenes to reminisce.
By the time I get to the third or fourth read, I’m finally taking note of people I barely realized were there the first couple times around.
You didn’t know I existed? I didn’t know you existed! Man, how have we not been friends forever? We really need to stay in touch. Here’s my number. Call anytime. Oh, and, have a nice summer.
Most of us, of course, will not stay in touch. We’ll go back to comfortably ignoring each other. But, on certain rare occasions I’ll give them a quick smile, fondly remembering that one time we chatted.
There are also the cases where I think, Man, you’re a jerk. No wonder we weren’t friends. (I’m looking at you, Blaise Zabini.)
The point is, for me, at least, that every time I go back to a book I’ve already read, there’s someone or something new. Sometimes it’s something that I honestly never noticed before – a location description, a character trait, a line of dialogue. Other times, I remember everything that happens, but my interpretation of it is different given where I am in my life at that moment.
Regardless of what brings on the new insights, I highly recommend going back and re-reading at least a few of your own books. Who knows what you’ll find?
The first time through, I’m there for the main characters. I might notice some of the quirks of the supporting cast, but the focus is on the primary plot. After that, reading the story becomes a little bit like going to a class reunion. I’m really excited to see the main characters again. I remember everything I loved about them in that rosy, nostalgic, last-day-of-school sort of way. Occasionally, after awhile I also remember the little things they did to annoy me. The moments where I wanted to shake them and say, Pull yourself together! And like any reunion, I inevitably run into a few who make me think, But, you always seemed so cool….like you had everything together. You’re really a mess. Huh.
Overall, though, it’s just great to hang with the old gang again for a little while.
Still, they’re not the only ones I’m there for. I also want to chat with the people who I only knew a little. I mean, I noticed they were there, we might have had a few random run-ins, but we were all busy with our own things. I was running around with the main characters, they were doing their thing in their secondary plot lines…. There was a lot going on. No one’s fault. But now we have a chance to get to know each other a little better. And every once in awhile, I find a couple best-ies in this group (Hobbie Klivian and Remus Lupin spring to mind), who keep me coming back to his or her scenes to reminisce.
By the time I get to the third or fourth read, I’m finally taking note of people I barely realized were there the first couple times around.
You didn’t know I existed? I didn’t know you existed! Man, how have we not been friends forever? We really need to stay in touch. Here’s my number. Call anytime. Oh, and, have a nice summer.
Most of us, of course, will not stay in touch. We’ll go back to comfortably ignoring each other. But, on certain rare occasions I’ll give them a quick smile, fondly remembering that one time we chatted.
There are also the cases where I think, Man, you’re a jerk. No wonder we weren’t friends. (I’m looking at you, Blaise Zabini.)
The point is, for me, at least, that every time I go back to a book I’ve already read, there’s someone or something new. Sometimes it’s something that I honestly never noticed before – a location description, a character trait, a line of dialogue. Other times, I remember everything that happens, but my interpretation of it is different given where I am in my life at that moment.
Regardless of what brings on the new insights, I highly recommend going back and re-reading at least a few of your own books. Who knows what you’ll find?
Monday, March 26, 2012
Greek Musings
My dad and I used to watch the old Greek mythology movies, like Jason and the Argonauts and Clash of the Titans, and I would laugh at the arrogant gods playing with the lives of mere toga-ed mortals on an actual chessboard. Afterward, I would take my shower and in my never ending quest for curlier hair, put it into as many braids as I could, hoping against hope that it would look awesome in the morning. Upon seeing this, my father would call me Medusa for the rest of the night and pretend to turn to stone when I looked at him.
As I drifted off into sleep, I would think of the monsters that I would like to battle. The hydra and Cerberus were always favorites. (Apparently, I had a thing for creatures with too many heads.) Due to my prowess as a detective, I figured I could outthink the sphinx. Same went for the labyrinth. I was a little nervous about the whole Minotaur situation, but I figured I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. Most likely with the help of a valiant steed.
I was fully confident that as soon as I got my own winged horse, I’d be good to go. (Despite having never actually gotten my winged horse, I still feel this way. So, if you happen upon such a creature and want to point him in my direction, I would be much obliged.)
Nowadays, I have a growing interest in the Muses, particularly Thalia, Melpomene and Cleo (specialists in comedy, tragedy and history, respectively). No disrespect to the rest of the group, but, while I greatly enjoy it, I’ve just never been all that inclined to write poetry or music. So, I’m tapping these other three in, if they’re feeling so inclined as to help me out.
I’ll admit, I haven’t heard back from them yet, regarding my invitation to join me in literary creation, but I figure it’s only a matter of time. Right?
Until they contact me, I'll muddle along on my own, and count the days until I’m done with school and can finally get to my non-degree reading list. At the top of which is Gary Corby’s The Pericles Commission. An investigator solving mysteries on “the mean streets of Classical Athens”?? Count me in.
I suddenly have “Zero to Hero,” from Disney’s Hercules stuck in my head. Awesome.
If now you do, too…..you’re welcome.
As I drifted off into sleep, I would think of the monsters that I would like to battle. The hydra and Cerberus were always favorites. (Apparently, I had a thing for creatures with too many heads.) Due to my prowess as a detective, I figured I could outthink the sphinx. Same went for the labyrinth. I was a little nervous about the whole Minotaur situation, but I figured I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. Most likely with the help of a valiant steed.
I was fully confident that as soon as I got my own winged horse, I’d be good to go. (Despite having never actually gotten my winged horse, I still feel this way. So, if you happen upon such a creature and want to point him in my direction, I would be much obliged.)
Nowadays, I have a growing interest in the Muses, particularly Thalia, Melpomene and Cleo (specialists in comedy, tragedy and history, respectively). No disrespect to the rest of the group, but, while I greatly enjoy it, I’ve just never been all that inclined to write poetry or music. So, I’m tapping these other three in, if they’re feeling so inclined as to help me out.
I’ll admit, I haven’t heard back from them yet, regarding my invitation to join me in literary creation, but I figure it’s only a matter of time. Right?
Until they contact me, I'll muddle along on my own, and count the days until I’m done with school and can finally get to my non-degree reading list. At the top of which is Gary Corby’s The Pericles Commission. An investigator solving mysteries on “the mean streets of Classical Athens”?? Count me in.
I suddenly have “Zero to Hero,” from Disney’s Hercules stuck in my head. Awesome.
If now you do, too…..you’re welcome.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Blow Out the Candles and Make a Wish....
Wishes are powerful things.
The average person makes about a floppity-jillion wishes in his or her lifetime (yes, I know, there’s a reason I’m not a statistician...but, still, it's probably fairly accurate). From the mundane – wishing that your Friday afternoon at work would move just a bit faster – to the larger, change-my-life, Cinderella-level kinds.
When it comes to the actual wishing, there are a variety of options to choose from. Birthday candles, shooting stars, wishing wells, throwing coins in a fountain, blowing on dandelions…. Some people think it makes the wish more likely to come true if you keep it a secret. Others believe sharing it with those around them makes it more powerful.
My sister and I often used to get the honor of the wishbone after Thanksgiving dinner. We both wanted to make sure our wish came true. And the best way to do that? Hedge our bets. So, we decided long ago that we would not only both wish for the same thing, but we would keep that same thing consistent always. We were simple kids. All we wanted was a bigger sugar rush than we already had. Not too much to ask. Which is why, for the past twenty or so years, my sister and I have made countless wishes for….. a glass of chocolate milk the size of the world.
Each time it was made, the wish conjured up a wonderful image. My sister and I on pool floats (mine would be in the shape of a whale), as we slurped from endlessly long crazy straws.
Despite the power of the double wish and the frequency with which this particular wish was made, we have yet to see this glass. But this does not mean that the wish didn’t come true. I’m pretty sure whoever is in charge of granting wishes realized, in their infinite wisdom, that a glass of chocolate milk the size of the world would be more problematic than we realized when we first made our wish pact. I can see now some of the issues we might run into. Finding a coaster big enough to set it on, to begin with (don’t even want to think about the rings that would leave). And then there’s the whole drowning in our wish issue – something I’m happy we avoided.
Yes, the wish giver was smarter than we were, but we were not ignored. Over my lifetime, I feel pretty confident in saying that, between my sister and I, we’ve drank enough chocolate milk to fill a glass the size of the world. Not all at once, no. But if we added up every cup, I think we’d get there. I feel very lucky that I can say there’s never been a point in my life where I’ve wanted chocolate milk and haven’t had some way to acquire it.
This is proof enough for me.
Our wish did come true. It just was more spread out that we envisioned. I have found this to be true with most wishes. They come true more frequently that we notice, I think. It’s just the fact that they’re virtually never in the time frame that we expect that screws us up. Too fast or too slow. Keeps us doubting the power of the wish.
So, on this very special Friday in March, I encourage you all to keep making your wishes and keep your eyes open. They’re coming, but they’re probably going to look a little different that you expected.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my morning chocolate milk.
The average person makes about a floppity-jillion wishes in his or her lifetime (yes, I know, there’s a reason I’m not a statistician...but, still, it's probably fairly accurate). From the mundane – wishing that your Friday afternoon at work would move just a bit faster – to the larger, change-my-life, Cinderella-level kinds.
When it comes to the actual wishing, there are a variety of options to choose from. Birthday candles, shooting stars, wishing wells, throwing coins in a fountain, blowing on dandelions…. Some people think it makes the wish more likely to come true if you keep it a secret. Others believe sharing it with those around them makes it more powerful.
My sister and I often used to get the honor of the wishbone after Thanksgiving dinner. We both wanted to make sure our wish came true. And the best way to do that? Hedge our bets. So, we decided long ago that we would not only both wish for the same thing, but we would keep that same thing consistent always. We were simple kids. All we wanted was a bigger sugar rush than we already had. Not too much to ask. Which is why, for the past twenty or so years, my sister and I have made countless wishes for….. a glass of chocolate milk the size of the world.
Each time it was made, the wish conjured up a wonderful image. My sister and I on pool floats (mine would be in the shape of a whale), as we slurped from endlessly long crazy straws.
Despite the power of the double wish and the frequency with which this particular wish was made, we have yet to see this glass. But this does not mean that the wish didn’t come true. I’m pretty sure whoever is in charge of granting wishes realized, in their infinite wisdom, that a glass of chocolate milk the size of the world would be more problematic than we realized when we first made our wish pact. I can see now some of the issues we might run into. Finding a coaster big enough to set it on, to begin with (don’t even want to think about the rings that would leave). And then there’s the whole drowning in our wish issue – something I’m happy we avoided.
Yes, the wish giver was smarter than we were, but we were not ignored. Over my lifetime, I feel pretty confident in saying that, between my sister and I, we’ve drank enough chocolate milk to fill a glass the size of the world. Not all at once, no. But if we added up every cup, I think we’d get there. I feel very lucky that I can say there’s never been a point in my life where I’ve wanted chocolate milk and haven’t had some way to acquire it.
This is proof enough for me.
Our wish did come true. It just was more spread out that we envisioned. I have found this to be true with most wishes. They come true more frequently that we notice, I think. It’s just the fact that they’re virtually never in the time frame that we expect that screws us up. Too fast or too slow. Keeps us doubting the power of the wish.
So, on this very special Friday in March, I encourage you all to keep making your wishes and keep your eyes open. They’re coming, but they’re probably going to look a little different that you expected.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my morning chocolate milk.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Secret Lives
Do you think that characters in books have lives that even their authors don’t know about?
Like maybe Elizabeth Bennet had a mild gambling problem that she tried to keep hidden from Jane Austen. Or Abel Magwitch is a wizard at needlepoint and never clued Dickens in. And was it just me or did Melanie Wilkes seem like someone who might have a bonsai tree collection? Just me? Fine.
Anyway, I’ve always liked this thought. It’s one of the reasons I enjoyed Jasper Fforde’s Thursday Next series. All those supposedly fictional characters walking around, causing problems and changing plots. One of my favorite moments in the series is in Something Rotten when the other characters in Hamlet are trying to start a coup so that they will get the attention rather than the young prince. Who wouldn’t want to read “The Tragedy of the Very Witty and Not Remotely Boring Polonius, Father of the Noble Laertes, Who Avenges His Fair Sister, Ophelia, Driven Mad by the Callous, Murderous and Outrageously Disrespectful Hamlet, Prince of Denmark”? I mean, it just rolls off the tongue.
Occasionally when I’m writing I get a feeling of great power. I’m creating these characters, giving them life. Their likes, dislikes, strengths, weaknesses and quirks all come from me. I am mighty. Nothing can stop me.
I start planning world domination in the illustrious style of Pinky and the Brain.
Then, out of nowhere, I get this image of these individuals I’ve been writing about sitting around a table, laughing. They find my arrogance funny.
“She thinks she created us. Like we weren’t all just doing our things, waiting to let her know what was going on.”
“Seriously. You try to be nice, you try to wait until someone’s ready to know that you exist, and what happens?”
“She gets a god complex.”
“Exactly!”
“What a dinkus.”
It’s a humbling conversation and one that pulls me back from my power high to reality (well, my version of reality, at least). I take off my Master of the Universe crown and put down my Ruler of All that Prevails scepter. And I go back to writing, more clear-headed now that all the maniacal egotism has subsided. Thankful that the story people pulled me back from the brink of literary destruction.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
You Look Kinda Familiar....
In recent years, I have been told by an increasing number of friends and family that they’ve just seen someone who looks exactly like me. I don’t know if I just have “one of those faces,” or if the fact that I make a lot of faces makes my loved ones more likely to see similarities between me and this sea of other people. Sometimes, it’s just someone who they saw out during their day. Other times, it’s people on TV. The following people are just some of those who have been accused of being my doppelgangers: Sara Bareilles, Cristina Parks, Lana Parilla and Robert Carlyle (though, my sister swears she just meant his mannerisms).
Okay, I know what you’re thinking. None of those people really look alike, so how can I look like all of them? I honestly couldn’t tell you. I never see the similarities. Which I suppose is a good thing, as I’m pretty sure that seeing your own doppelganger is an omen of illness or death.
However, in honor of my doppelganger (wherever you are), here are my top five television doppelganger storylines:
5. Stefan Urquelle (Family Matters)
- Who would have guessed that next door to such a normal family, the neighbor would create a machine that would not only turn him into his suave alter ego from time to time, but would eventually create his own permanent doppelganger? Really makes you wonder what the people next door to you are up to, doesn’t it?
4. Mexican Wrestler Ted (How I Met Your Mother)
- The search for all of the main characters’ doppelgangers is fantastic. However, Ted’s wins for me. I think a large part of this has to do with the fact that his doppelganger fights robots. And it doesn’t get too much cooler than that.
3. Russ (Friends)
- Rachel’s short lived gentleman caller Russ and her long term love interest Ross were “as different as night….and later that night.”
2. Sydney Bristow (Alias)
- Now, technically I don’t think that you can really call someone who underwent an extremely painful gene mutation process a doppelganger, but, seriously, how fun was it to see Jennifer Gardner playing Anna Espinosa playing Sydney Bristow? Ruling: Pretty fun.
1. Vampire Willow (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)
- Seeing everyone react to evil Willow would have been enough for me, but my absolute favorite part of this episode? When evil Willow gets knocked out and good Willow switches clothes with her so the gang can trick some vampires. Why? Because someone chose to put good Willow’s tights on evil Willow. Tights are annoying enough to put on yourself, who is taking the time to put them on someone else when the Bronze is (once again) being held hostage by the undead?
Final note, if my real doppelganger is actually out there? Well, maybe we could just stay out of each other’s ways.
Okay, I know what you’re thinking. None of those people really look alike, so how can I look like all of them? I honestly couldn’t tell you. I never see the similarities. Which I suppose is a good thing, as I’m pretty sure that seeing your own doppelganger is an omen of illness or death.
However, in honor of my doppelganger (wherever you are), here are my top five television doppelganger storylines:
5. Stefan Urquelle (Family Matters)
- Who would have guessed that next door to such a normal family, the neighbor would create a machine that would not only turn him into his suave alter ego from time to time, but would eventually create his own permanent doppelganger? Really makes you wonder what the people next door to you are up to, doesn’t it?
4. Mexican Wrestler Ted (How I Met Your Mother)
- The search for all of the main characters’ doppelgangers is fantastic. However, Ted’s wins for me. I think a large part of this has to do with the fact that his doppelganger fights robots. And it doesn’t get too much cooler than that.
3. Russ (Friends)
- Rachel’s short lived gentleman caller Russ and her long term love interest Ross were “as different as night….and later that night.”
2. Sydney Bristow (Alias)
- Now, technically I don’t think that you can really call someone who underwent an extremely painful gene mutation process a doppelganger, but, seriously, how fun was it to see Jennifer Gardner playing Anna Espinosa playing Sydney Bristow? Ruling: Pretty fun.
1. Vampire Willow (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)
- Seeing everyone react to evil Willow would have been enough for me, but my absolute favorite part of this episode? When evil Willow gets knocked out and good Willow switches clothes with her so the gang can trick some vampires. Why? Because someone chose to put good Willow’s tights on evil Willow. Tights are annoying enough to put on yourself, who is taking the time to put them on someone else when the Bronze is (once again) being held hostage by the undead?
Final note, if my real doppelganger is actually out there? Well, maybe we could just stay out of each other’s ways.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
An Age Old Question
I was hanging out with some friends this weekend and, not surprisingly, we circled around to an inevitable topic of conversation: Pirates vs. Ninjas.
The arguments on both sides were well thought out and valid.
- Ninjas are highly trained, while pirates are drunk lay-abouts without any sort of unifying factor.
o Advantage: Ninja
- Ninjas have a code of honor. This weakens them. Pirates with cheat and fight dirty.
o Advantage: Pirate
- It takes a really long time to reload a single shot musket. You know what doesn’t need to be reloaded? The talent for pure stealth.
o Advantage: Ninja
- Pirates spend most of their time on the water. Ninjas are renowned for their sea sickness.
o Advantage: Pirate
This goes on for awhile.
There was one exception to the logical arguments being laid out, a comment made that pirates would win because ninjas don’t exist, nor have they ever existed. The poor, misguided gentleman (name redacted to protect him from any ninjas who might happen upon this post) likened them to unicorns.
Even those siding with pirates couldn’t support this train of thought.
Now, some of you may be reading this and thinking, Of course, I know which side would win. It’s so obvious! How can anyone not know immediately which side is right??
To you, I say, Calm down. Don’t get cocky. It's unbecoming.
For all of you who are still on the fence about it, I would like to recommend a couple of books that a pair of lovely friends were kind enough to present me with on the last anniversary of my birth:
- Ask A Ninja Presents:The Ninja Handbook (Douglas Sarine and Kent Nichols)
- Pirate Haiku: Bilge-Sucking Poems of Booty, Grog and Wenches For Scurvy Sea Dogs (Michael P. Spradlin)
Both are extremely well thought out works, that will, arguably, change your very life.
And yes, you’re very welcome. It has been my pleasure enriching your existences.
The arguments on both sides were well thought out and valid.
- Ninjas are highly trained, while pirates are drunk lay-abouts without any sort of unifying factor.
o Advantage: Ninja
- Ninjas have a code of honor. This weakens them. Pirates with cheat and fight dirty.
o Advantage: Pirate
- It takes a really long time to reload a single shot musket. You know what doesn’t need to be reloaded? The talent for pure stealth.
o Advantage: Ninja
- Pirates spend most of their time on the water. Ninjas are renowned for their sea sickness.
o Advantage: Pirate
This goes on for awhile.
There was one exception to the logical arguments being laid out, a comment made that pirates would win because ninjas don’t exist, nor have they ever existed. The poor, misguided gentleman (name redacted to protect him from any ninjas who might happen upon this post) likened them to unicorns.
Even those siding with pirates couldn’t support this train of thought.
Now, some of you may be reading this and thinking, Of course, I know which side would win. It’s so obvious! How can anyone not know immediately which side is right??
To you, I say, Calm down. Don’t get cocky. It's unbecoming.
For all of you who are still on the fence about it, I would like to recommend a couple of books that a pair of lovely friends were kind enough to present me with on the last anniversary of my birth:
- Ask A Ninja Presents:The Ninja Handbook (Douglas Sarine and Kent Nichols)
- Pirate Haiku: Bilge-Sucking Poems of Booty, Grog and Wenches For Scurvy Sea Dogs (Michael P. Spradlin)
Both are extremely well thought out works, that will, arguably, change your very life.
And yes, you’re very welcome. It has been my pleasure enriching your existences.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Now, Just Hold Your Horses
My mom said this to me the other day and I had sudden flashbacks of my youth.
I’m sure every adult has some phrase that they remember their parents saying to them when they were a child. Mine is: “Hold your horses.”
I wasn’t a super rowdy kid, but when there was something I wanted to do, I wanted to do it five minutes ago. Particularly if it was watching a movie or eating macaroni and cheese. If it was watching a movie whilst eating macaroni and cheese? Well then, I would be downright wired. There would be a lot of jumping up and down involved, perhaps a little singing. And my parents would laugh and say, “Hold your horses.”
Now, I’ve mentioned before that my thinking pattern tends to be a visual/audible mixture. There have always been pictures involved. For whatever reason, though, when I heard this, I never got any pictures of horses. I do now, but it’s still not the right picture. I don’t see myself or anybody else sitting at the reins of a carriage, holding the horses still. Nope, I first picture myself actually holding a horse, like in swaddling. Very weird, yes. But that’s where my mind goes first. This is a recent development, as a kid there was nothing. Not one picture.
Somewhere along the line, though, I got it into my head that “hold your horses” meant “hold your shoulders.” For the very life of me, I can not explain to you why. I have no recollection of when I first came to this decision. My best guess is that maybe one of my parents put their hands on my shoulders to stop me from bouncing through the ceiling once when they were saying it. Regardless of the origin of this weird thought process, I was convinced.
Every time my parents said “hold your horses,” my hands would immediate go to my shoulders. I would stand there, bursting with barely controlled energy, but, you know, still holding my horses.
After awhile, my sister started doing it as well (one more example of me leading her away from the path of logic and truth, and miring her solidly in the wild jungle of my imaginings). My parents, of course, took notice of the strange behavior and asked what we were doing. I looked up at them, laughed, and said, “Holding our horses.” I’ll admit, I was a little confused why they would ask when we were doing what they just told us to do.
My favorite part of this whole story is that, at this point, my parents did not correct us. We went on for another few years grabbing our shoulders every time they said “hold your horses.” Later, when I finally came to the realization that I was, in fact, a lunatic, I asked them why they hadn’t informed me of this earlier. The prevailing response was, “It was so cute.”
I did, of course, grow out of this habit. Mostly. But on the rare occasion that I hear someone uttering that magic phrase, there is still a tiny part of me that has to stifle the urge to rest my hands upon my shoulders. And on those very rare days that my six year old self overpowers the grown-up me and I do find my hands in that general vicinity? Well, then, I turn that bad boy into a full arm stretch and hope no one asks about the hesitation around the clavicle area.
I’m sure every adult has some phrase that they remember their parents saying to them when they were a child. Mine is: “Hold your horses.”
I wasn’t a super rowdy kid, but when there was something I wanted to do, I wanted to do it five minutes ago. Particularly if it was watching a movie or eating macaroni and cheese. If it was watching a movie whilst eating macaroni and cheese? Well then, I would be downright wired. There would be a lot of jumping up and down involved, perhaps a little singing. And my parents would laugh and say, “Hold your horses.”
Now, I’ve mentioned before that my thinking pattern tends to be a visual/audible mixture. There have always been pictures involved. For whatever reason, though, when I heard this, I never got any pictures of horses. I do now, but it’s still not the right picture. I don’t see myself or anybody else sitting at the reins of a carriage, holding the horses still. Nope, I first picture myself actually holding a horse, like in swaddling. Very weird, yes. But that’s where my mind goes first. This is a recent development, as a kid there was nothing. Not one picture.
Somewhere along the line, though, I got it into my head that “hold your horses” meant “hold your shoulders.” For the very life of me, I can not explain to you why. I have no recollection of when I first came to this decision. My best guess is that maybe one of my parents put their hands on my shoulders to stop me from bouncing through the ceiling once when they were saying it. Regardless of the origin of this weird thought process, I was convinced.
Every time my parents said “hold your horses,” my hands would immediate go to my shoulders. I would stand there, bursting with barely controlled energy, but, you know, still holding my horses.
After awhile, my sister started doing it as well (one more example of me leading her away from the path of logic and truth, and miring her solidly in the wild jungle of my imaginings). My parents, of course, took notice of the strange behavior and asked what we were doing. I looked up at them, laughed, and said, “Holding our horses.” I’ll admit, I was a little confused why they would ask when we were doing what they just told us to do.
My favorite part of this whole story is that, at this point, my parents did not correct us. We went on for another few years grabbing our shoulders every time they said “hold your horses.” Later, when I finally came to the realization that I was, in fact, a lunatic, I asked them why they hadn’t informed me of this earlier. The prevailing response was, “It was so cute.”
I did, of course, grow out of this habit. Mostly. But on the rare occasion that I hear someone uttering that magic phrase, there is still a tiny part of me that has to stifle the urge to rest my hands upon my shoulders. And on those very rare days that my six year old self overpowers the grown-up me and I do find my hands in that general vicinity? Well, then, I turn that bad boy into a full arm stretch and hope no one asks about the hesitation around the clavicle area.
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