The One with the Video on It

No doubt you've seen this commercial before - well, at least something like it. Don't worry though - I'm not part of a coup trying to usurp and dethrone Google with Bing. I like Google. Google good. Bing bad. Whoa talk about serendipity. Did not plan for that to work so well. Anyways, what I want you to get from this is how the guys who represented the overload were able to jump on to a word or key phrase and quickly run with it to another direction. While I know that their replies are completely scripted, it actually makes for an interesting game.

Start a sentence, and spring to a whole new topic from the last word or phrase. Using the last words of that topic, spring to another, repeating the process until you can't think of anything anymore. While you're pretty much free to roam any topic, the challenge of course is trying to pull something remotely related to those last words out of your brain's sea of knowledge. If anything, this game teaches one to not only think outside the box but also to think quickly. These skills come in handy in writing when you're trying to forge connections from two seemingly unrelated thins (metaphors, reading interpretations, etc.) or trying to finish a timed writing.

Well, maybe. I don't exactly have data to back these claims up. But honestly, who needs any other incentive than that it's actually kind of fun? Give it a shot while you're out there boiling water for dinner or jumping rope or something.

Here. These are the basic rules for "word jumps":

1. 1.  A word jump must sound like an encyclopedic fact or an allusion.
   It can be a logo, a song lyric, a famous quote, you name it. But it can't simply be an inane attachment like "...Anything you say can and will be used –clothes are generally cheaper." That's boring, and you know it. Remember: the more pedantic or crazy the word jump is, the better your score.
   2.  A word jump must be long enough so that the allusion is recognizable.
   "...'the land down under' –Under the sea! Under the sea!/ Down here it's better..."
   3.  Homophones are fair game.
   "...H-I-J-K-LMN –ade. Aunt Michelle's homemade lemonade: Mix three cups..." 
   4.  Fake advertisements are permissible but should be avoided.
   It's gotta sound natural and credible though. "Let's go all the way tonight/ No regrets, just love –birds are 20% off this Valentine's Day only at PetCo. PetCo 'Where the pets go!'" 
   5.  You can jump from the subject as opposed to the last word.
   Be reasonable though. Don't jump all the way back six words just because it was the last noun or pronoun. 
   6.  You can list phrases that share the same word, idea, or even sound.
   Black as the pitch from pole to pole –fishing pole, flag pole, may pole –pole dancing, lap dancing –lap dogs, chihuahuas, Pekingese –Peking duck..."

You get the gist. So, essentially, with these short but important–

Yeah this game's kinda impossible. 

Mr. Octopush: Acridity in a Basic Story

Given my inability to actually sit down and materialize my thoughts into a recognizable and digestible story, I decided that I'd baby-step it and start with a children's picture book. The great thing about picture books - besides their obvious shortness - is that the goal is clearly defined. With an end product pinned visibly in my brain, I can confidently plan how I want to construct it in plain step-by-step fashion. And with pictures books, all my hard work can be confirmed every time I watch my"mouse-stroke" or my color-blending build my goal brick by brick. The hours of my life I spend are validated by a progress I can easily measure with a checklist. With picture books, I don't get disheartened like I sometimes do when I'm writing, when I feel like I'm expected to glibly lace every darn word with layers and layers of wit and introspection that sound so artificial. When I'm writing anything serious, I feel like a boy straining myself on the tip of my toes, craning to see every corner of the world from the height of a man's armpits. I mean, sure I feel a little taller, but I feel cramps too. And was I really that much taller than the other kids; did I see anything that they couldn't already? What did those few inches I so contorted myself to steal really mean to me?

Bah, I don't even know what I'm talking about now (except that I feel like I'm lacing my words again haha). Anyways, without further rambling, here's the kiddie story.

--//--

Mr. Octopush and his friend, Mr. Pear, are in front of poster advertising their middle school's talent show. Mr. Octopush admits to his friend that he's actually considered entering as a singer. Mr. Pear laughs, telling him that he can't sing. 

Just then Ms. Eraser jumps in. As the school's most recognized singer, she snidely informs Mr. Octopush that if anyone is going to steal the show it's going to be her. She then touts that she can probably lull the whole school to sleep with her mellifluous voice alone if she tried. Mr. Octopush cracks that that's not a very amazing feat with half the school already half asleep anyway. [Polite chuckle]. He and Mr. Pear roar with laughter. Ms. Eraser airily dismisses the two's existence before walking away, leaving Mr. Pear to try to dissuade Mr. Octopush from entering. Mr. Octopush adamantly refuses, determined to not only win  school recognition for himself but more importantly knock Ms. Eraser down a few pegs. Mr. Pear concedes and decides to help Mr. Octopush out as "Eye of the Tiger" naturally revs up in the background.

To help prepare for the talent show, Mr. Pear offers the help of his mom who is not only a high school chorus teacher but was also once part of an a cappella group, Gin and the Fruit Bowl, when she was in college. Mama Pear agrees to help coach Mr. Octopush, but only if Mr. Pear assumes some of her typical household chores as she is a busy mother. Mr. Pear reluctantly agrees, hoping the best for his friend.

Mama Octopush is also supportive of her son and agrees to drive him to his friend's house every afternoon for singing lessons. She also arranges some of family and friends to listen to Mr. Octopush perform to not only prepare him for the crowd but also to show their support. While Mr. Octopush admittedly does not sound that great, they hear some improvement over the weeks. Grampy Octopush   even offers him some seaweed oil that purportedly would improve his voice. Mr. Octopush politely declines.

Meanwhile, Ms. Eraser, confident of herself does not prepare for the show. She lazes around, eating chocolates and yelling at the T.V. during exciting soccer games. She does however pick out a dress to wear for the talent show.

Soon, the big day arrives. The contestants begin performing what they consider to be talents. Finally, it is Mr. Octopush's turn. He is nervous but he has prepared weeks for this. With growing confidence he opens his mouth and...

"Gurgle, goorgle, GURGLRRRRRR!"

The sound is barely bearable. He finishes his song, and everyone is silent. Mr. Octopush is devastated. Ms. Eraser yawns dismissively backstage. Suddenly Mr. Pear and the rest of the Pear and Octopush family stand up and wildly applaud for him. A weak applause flutters from the rest of audience; most wear polite smiles.

Ms. Eraser replaces him on the stage. Dusting of her sparkling blue dress, she takes a sweeping look at  the audience. She did not anticipate for there to be so many people. A little unnerved, she quickly and professionally regains her composure before exhaling a beautiful song, enchanting the whole audience and rapturing even Mr. Octopush himself. She then ends her song, coolly leaving the stage as the audience gives her a standing ovation. 

After a few more acts, the judges quiet the audience to crown the winner: Ms. Eraser.

The whole crowd cheers as Ms. Eraser performs her scripted thanks and bows. Backstage, Mr. Octopush is sulking. "But I worked real hard...I followed my dream and honestly believed in myself too. That's not how things are supposed to go! Is the American dream all a lie?!"

Out of nowhere, the Mr. Pear and the rest of the family come up with flowers, hugs, and white-out for that dialogue. They shower Mr. Octopush with praise, patting him proudly on the back and high-fiving him for a job well done. Suddenly, Mr. Octopush does not feel so bad.

So while Mr. Octopush may not have won the talent show, he was already a winner: He's got the love and support of an awesomesauce family and friends that can be said in a more eloquent way. The End!

--//--

I know, it's not the most inspiring story; there was definitely a lack of butterfly-filled cupcakes falling from rainbow clouds at the end. But I think it stays close to its French inspiration which, if you ask any French student, is pretty depressing. And to neutralize this post's admittedly bitter tone (haha sorry 'bout that), I promise to write a more appealing one next time.

An Afternoon From Xanadu

God, I love naps - especially when you know you have everything and the world due tomorrow. But you know what else I love? Procrastinating. Except I guess I can rationalize it this time by saying that typing this is technically doing homework - even if it is due much later than my other stuff. And besides, I just had a vivid dream that I have to jar right now before it flutters away. Dreams, amirite?

--//--

*Ignore the grammar errors and typos. Fingers get anxious when your trying to grasp onto all these grains of golden sand.*

`Arthur and d.w. are offered a deed to a patch of heavily forested land for x amount of money

`believing the vendor when he said that there was treasure there, they agree

`unfortunately, after combing the area with their friends, they found nothing

`they decide to recoup their finances, they reserve the area with its old benches, fences, and lamplights as a private park

`it works but only because of its novelty. people look really bored - even those being toured around by arthur's parents.

`arthur, d.w., and buster all look glum, thinking that the business would end in a bust and that they'd never break even financially

`suddenly, a man starts yelling and laughing hysterically, "whoever owns this place is going to be so rich!"

`buster goes to investigate and sees the man giddly pointing past a fence to what looked like a giant sewage pipe (as big as a cave mouth)

`buster initially dismisses it as something he's already looked at when he and his friends combed the place. the man's genuine hysteria though convinces him to have another look

`looking at it from a different angle, the sewer pipe was actually a cave; it turns out to be the treasure after all: trailing from the inside like a dried riverbed was a growth of solid gold mushrooms.

`after my little sister and i saw it, a mob of people suddenly spilled past the fence to grab some

`there were a couple of kids from school but i dont remember any of them. i do remember seeing daniel yoon though because, after plucking one of those mushrooms from the ground, a sinister twinkle came from his eyes as if an unsatiable greed had awoken in him. (Sorry, bro. I don't know how you got here either.)

`while everyone around us was ripping as many mushrooms as possible, i sternly forbade my sister from touching any.

`instead i suggested we follow the trail into the cave. springing from our deep mutual understanding, she agreed.

`we walked deep into the cavern which led to what looked like the secret corridors of an Arabian palace

`strangely we knew the place like we'd been there before. we were able to figure our way through the maze of rooms and hallways

`suddenly i realized what the treasure at the end was: it was the genies' lamp.

`as we moved deeper into the maze, we could hear Aladdin and Jasmine singing a duet head of us.

`aching for those wishes and pissed that they'd get the lamp before us, i cut into Jasmine's parts with my own song, "I dream to wish" (…don’t ask…). the tune sounded like a fusion of some song from tangled and the phantom of the opera. i sang it so loudly that Jasmine would stop and grunt with frustration.

`and to piss off aladdin too, i sang the bits of his song that i anticipated/remembered

`soon my sister and i pushed past the last hidden door...and i was woken up for dinner.

--//--

Yup, this is definitely gonna sit up there with... 

[A] that dream when my family had a confrontation in the park - as the Power Rangers (I was the yellow one...how fitting...)

[B] that dream when my little sister was airlifted in critical condition out of Mt. Rainer (you never really know how much you'll weep for a loved one until they get mauled by a giant ant the size of a tiger)

[C] that dream when I buried Mark Twain's Jim with last night's rotisserie chicken before skiing past Italian mercenaries disguised as shopkeepers

[D] that dream when I was in a house that turned out be a fantasy dungeon. (It was cool being a mage and shootin' great big balls of fire from mah fingatips...until I somehow ended up being support as a healer...)

and [E] that dream when I, after delivering Santa's gifts, skateboarded and free ran through Chincinnati just to para-glide off the Grand Canyon (yes, only in my dreams will I partake in such pointless, dangerous, tiring, exhilarating, and completely HOLY-COW-YOLO-BABY!-LET'S-GO-WHITEWATER-RAFTING! physical activity. Ahem.)

Oh look, you're still wading through this vomited mess of words and excitement.

If anything, I could definitely salvage that "golden mushroom trail" for future fantasy/mock-folklore stories I like to tinker with in my head. I can definitely use that as extension to the huldrekall story or maybe even include it in the background story of that twelve princesses story (yup - I was inspired by that Grimm fairy tale). Haha I tell myself that but I haven't actually fleshed a single story out!

As for that song - you're on your own if you want to pull that out.

Shots Before the Finals

Hmm... Turns out this project is actually two per week not two throughout the three weeks. Hmm... That does put a damper on things, with the APUSH project's due date and both that class and Wolfe's finals falling early next week. And that French project, if I overreach again (which - as with every art project - is inevitable), will gobble up a few more days than needed. Hmm... Yes, this definitely does put quite a damper on things.

But I gotta be fair (Darn you, logic!).This project is here to painlessly help cushion our grades, and we'll probably need some outlet for our exam/final stress. Besides, to be honest, I kinda was hoping (somewhere in the back of my heart) that we'd do more of these. I always have some musing fermenting in my mind, and this project pushes me just enough to pour some of it out to see what shape and color it takes against the light.

But no matter how I spin this project positively, it still won't fix the time crunch. And sadly, the thoughts I want to see are too long to pen type in scheduled sittings. For now, I guess, I can at least jot down some of the wordplay I tinker with while I'm sitting on the bus or brushing my teeth. If anything, I guess I can pool them together and maybe offer it as a sample of the weird, nerdy stuff I churn in my noggin.

--//--

The Angel

The angel has once again 7

Fallen from her realm. 5

Perfunctory in every step, 8

She climbs back up, unharmed. 6

26

The Ocean

The ocean lunges forward, 7

Greed guiding its blind hands. 6

But all the treasures it can grasp 8

Slip back into the sand. 6

27

The Valentine

I can't promise you the ocean;  8

I can't promise you the moon. 7

I can only promise you my heart 8

If you would give yours too. 6

29

The Pendulum

The pendulum swings to time, 7

Ticking for a chime. 5

It follows its mandate design 8

Though it does not know why. 6

26

The Islander

"Even though I'm from the Islands, I've never actually seen the ocean. And Uncle tells me that that's quite a shame then that I've never heard the ocean breathe. I've never heard her laugh in the summer, gasp during Lent, or sigh wistfully for the full moon every night. He says it's sad that I can't even hear the gossip of the leaves, which, I'm told, even the youngest toddler in my village can do."

--//--

I tried to polish them, but they're still very rough especially since I don't know how and where these fragments are going to fit. "The Islander" doesn't really flow as I'd like it to, especially between the second and third sentence. I could try this though

I've never heard her laugh like she does on a May day, when the kids are out to play. I've never heard her sob like she does during Lent, when the flagellants come to show their wounds. And I've never heard her sigh like she does at night, when she and the full moon are all alone together.

I like how when you say those sentences out loud it sort of sounds like a tide on the beach: your voice kinda swells up as you reach the middle, before ebbing back with the subordinate clause. Of course, I haven't exactly captured that rhythm; there's definitely a couple of ripples here and there. But it's nice to think that, with a little more editing and revising, I could've maybe captured that lullaby. And then (maybe) I could say that, even though I've never actually seen the ocean of my country, I can profess that I too still feel her heart beat inside me.

Wow, that was maudlin. I'll definitely save that for when I have to write some banal dime-novel.

As for the numbers on the poems, I keep falling into this short, lyrical pattern whenever I write try to scribble poetry and I'm trying to figure out what it is and where I got it. It sounds really familiar and simple though. Ah well, MS Word says I got about 500 words, so that should count as three paragraphs right? Haha, well it was worth a shot.