Productivity or No?

I’m writing this blog post to describe a difference in experience.

Earlier today I was the timer for a Scholastic Bowl tournament. Feeling creative, I started writing a story in the margins of the score sheet. I had no intention of saving this story; I merely wanted to pass the time, and I could always make another story.

A few of my distant friends who were also timers or moderators enjoyed the story I wrote over 4 sheets. But there was something fundamentally different about this experience than the other times when I was a timer and didn’t write a story. Even though I was more productive in the short term, and just as unproductive in the long term, I am much more unhappy than I would have been if I hadn’t written that story.

Is it the dissatisfaction of leaving the story behind? I left the story open-ended to ease the transition between rounds, and I already have ideas for where the characters could go next. Would it have been better if I had not created any characters, and not created any story, and therefore would not be distressed about what would happen next, and spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been?

Indeed, I live with many regrets of past projects. Most of them were formed when I was young, and I can assure myself that those projects were immature and silly. But as I grow older, I have better ideas that crowd up my mind. And I have to choose a few to keep, and the rest to let go. If only I had a friend who could tell me which ones were worth saving!

New Years Resolution

I am typing this from my bed for a good reason.

I have done so little to show who I am to the world. And every moment I dwell on that fact, a fear inside me burns deeper and deeper. I go to sleep to forget about it, and it works, but soon those nights themselves burn deeper within me, and I realize that I’m wasting my life.

I have ideas. Bold ideas. I don’t know if they’re great ideas, but I think they’re great. What I want is to show them to everyone else. But I can’t. They’re trapped in my mind.

Those ideas in my mind used to be toys to me when I was little. I didn’t need to play with anyone else, because I had my own toys to play with.

What a selfish fool I was.

Ever since I matured, and my powers of empathy swelled, I realize that no one else knows what I’ve been thinking. I can’t trust anyone to tell me that I am great because the puerile work I gave them when I was young is still up to snuff. I want to show them my dreams. I want to show them my toys. But they’re like fossils, perfectly formed, and up to me and only me to dig out, careful not to crack them, careful to get them clean.

And it takes so long to know how to use the right axe. But I can’t go asking people for tools, because they don’t know me. I can’t show it to them, because only I know their form in the rock, and to let someone else dig them up would inevitably break them.

So it’s just me, with my little knife, digging things up.

Honesty. How can I be honest? I don’t know what’s right or wrong in this world. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t part of this world. Why is it so hard to share my toys with the world?

……

I wish I could go to the Illinois Institute of Art. I wish I could let them accept me. I have to go to art school. It’s not just a hypothetical fantasy. It’s the only thing I have left to live on. I need to know how to use those tools. I need to get those tools.

And I don’t really care about Mal and Belle anymore. The Sims 3 is less exciting than I thought. I don’t care about Pet Tamers, either. It’s just not the sort of thing I like.

My goal by the end of the year? Make some spectacular. Something that will make me known. Even just in an obscure way to a community, or even to a single person, would be good enough for me.

Oh Taliban, Oh Taliban

From this old forum post comes a parody of Oh Tannebaum. No one gave it enough love, so I’ll put it here, with some changes to the verses to fit the meter:

Oh Taliban, Oh Taliban
How stupid are your leaders
Oh Taliban, Oh Taliban
For hiding evil deeders
The choice you made was asinine
Upon your soil, our troops will shine
Oh Taliban, Oh Taliban
The day has come for reckoning

Oh Taliban, Oh Taliban
Your final days are coming near.
Oh Taliban, Oh Taliban
You took away what we held dear.
Our troops won't rest before they're done,
When justice for our dead is won
Oh Taliban, Oh Taliban
The day has come for reckoning

Oh Taliban, Oh Taliban
Remember what our leader's said
Oh Taliban, Oh Taliban
We won't rest till Bin Laden's dead
You pick your fights and so do we
We'll fight to keep our country free.
Oh Taliban, Oh Taliban
The days has come for reckoning

Can you tell that this was written in early 2001?

Pet Tamers, Episode 12

Yeah, I usually average two in a month, so sorry about not putting any up in November. Here’s our long-expected installment:

PET TAMERS

Episode 12: Hot Fudge Syrup

EXT. OUTHOUSE. JASON, CHRIS, CHELSEA, MILES, and RUSS stand outside. CHEE sits on the car hood. The thunder and rain gently rap against the car.

CHELSEA: Where’s “here”? Where are they?

JASON: They’re in that building right there.

CHELSEA: In the bathroom?

JASON: Watch.

Jason walks up to the outhouse.

RUSS (whispers): You want to ditch these kids right now?

MILES (back): Not yet. Let’s wait until they go inside.

Jason opens the outhouse door. Nothing is inside, not even a toilet; all there is is an empty floor.

CHRIS: Well, that was a waste of time. Do you want to head back?

JASON: No. They have to be here. Chee can’t be wrong.

CHRIS: We only have your word for that. And that dead old guy.

JASON: Perhaps… It’s underneath us. Chris, get Ticonderoga.

CHRIS: What?

JASON: My dog. Get him.

CHRIS: You mean Tiberius?

JASON: No, his name is Ticonderoga. Get him out here now.

Chris gets Tiberius Ticonderoga and leads him out of the car. Chelsea, Miles and Russ look on credulously.

CHELSEA: What are you doing?

CHRIS: Stand back.

JASON pulls out his whistle and blows it.

Cue the rock music, the spinning, and the transformation of the dog into a wolf.

CHELSEA (backing up): Whoa… disturbing.

MILES: What the—what was—how did—?

RUSS: That was incredible! (whispering) Almost like the dinosaur…

JASON: Go sniff out that outhouse, Ticonderoga!

Ticonderoga traipses over to the building, sniffs it, and growls.

JASON: What is it, boy? You smell something?

CHRIS (to CHELSEA): Yes, this is how it always is. (to MILES and RUSS) What are you two doing?

MILES: Nothing!

RUSS (whispering): No miniature dinosaurs. But these guys are still suspicious…

JASON: Something’s not right with the outhouse, is it?

Ticonderoga paws at the floor. A chink of the floorboard falls away.

JASON: That’s it… I see! It’s hollow underneath! Dig, Ticonderoga, dig!

Ticonderoga bashes at the floorboards with his paws, and the boards begin to come loose.

INT. THE DINING ROOM. MS. VAN DELL is still talking, while almost everyone else waits impatiently with boredom. BENKLEY, however, listens with fascination. MS. VAN DELL is now showing off a map of various air bases.

MS. VAN DELL: …provided we have enough funds, of course. Now, these red dots, those are the locations of our sympathizers; and they would have the…

RUBINO: Ahem!

RUBINO has lost most of his patience by this point. He glares at Ms. Van Dell.

RUBINO: Thank you for the information, ma’am, but I was under the impression you had some items to show us.

MS. VAN DELL: Well, sir, as I explained earlier, we know the locations of these items, and all we need to retrieve them is a group of volunteers, such as the men around this table, to provide funds and…

RUBINO: If you do not have something to share with us, then sit down and let’s move on.

MS. VAN DELL: Just use security clearance IH-309…

RUBINO: Sit, or my partner here will make you sit.

MAURICE stands at attention, exposing his rifle.

MS. VAN DELL: I see.

She withdraws her holographic gun and sits.

RUBINO: Thank you. Now then, Dylan Quint, I hope you’ve got something worth saying.

DYLAN: Yes, I do!

DYLAN pounds his fists on the table, causing the wine glasses to splash.

DYLAN: We have assassins who are after us! We don’t have time for scavenger hunts! I say we fight them now! Find them, or get out your weapons and shoot them when they find you!

Dylan springs upon his revolver and draws it out, causing the dinner party to recoil instinctively.

DYLAN: We’re up against animals! We’ve fought worse enemies before! We’ve bested the law, the government, and business rivals! Why should we be afraid of these dumb brutes? I say, we fight now, before…

Dylan is interrupted by a noise from the corridor outside the dining room.

DYLAN: It’s too late! They’re already here! Get out your guns, men! We’ll end this today!

RUBINO: Mr. Quint, calm down! Maurice, go investigate.

DYLAN: Did anyone else remember to pack a gun? Or am I going to take them down myself?

Maurice strides to the door while everyone else sits quietly.

MS. VAN DELL: Paris.

PARIS steps forth with a suitcase. She puts it on the table and opens it. The briefcase is filled with handguns.

Dylan grabs a fistful of guns and tosses them across the room.

DYLAN: Let’s go, men! For valor!

Dylan charges out the door, screaming wildly. Most of the other members follow him. The only ones who stay are the CEO, Benkley, Ms. Van Dell, Paris, EDWARD CASA, and Rubino.

CEO: I don’t do gunfights. It ain’t proper business.

Edward walks to the corner and pushes a brick. A section of the wall slides open.

EDWARD: Let’s see what’s up.

RUBINO: Impressive. How many secret passages did you install?

EDWARD: Plenty.

Edward and Rubino exit through the passage. The CEO follows on their heels, and Benkley follows him.

MS. VAN DELL: Come on, Paris.

Paris closes the briefcase and follows Ms. Van Dell after them.

INT. one corridor in a maze of corridors. CHRIS is confronting JASON over a fallen suit of armor that TICONDEROGA is sniffing. CHELSEA stands nearby, holding BALDWIN, CHEE, LUCY, and CHRIS’S LIZARD.

CHRIS: Can’t you keep quiet for just one minute?

JASON: He couldn’t help it.

CHRIS: There goes our element of surprise.

CHELSEA: What do we do if someone finds us?

JASON: Let’s split up. Chelsea, you’d better come with me. You two – where did those two men go?

CHRIS: They ditched us!

MAURICE (from a corner in the hallway): Hey! You!

JASON: Change of plan! Ticonderoga, get him!

Ticonderoga charges forward. MAURICE draws his rifle and shoots wildly at him.

CHELSEA (running down a hallway): Oh G(bang!), I’m gonna die!

CHRIS (hiding behind a suit of armor): Chelsea, come back! Dang! Jason, do something!

Ticonderoga faces off against Maurice, but Maurice swipes his rifle at him every time he draws near.

JASON: Come on, Ticonderoga!

DYLAN (distant): There they are! I see them! Let’s go! (guns go off in the distance)

JASON: It’s no use! Run!

Jason and Ticonderoga run away from Maurice down the opposite hallway. Maurice chases after him.

CHRIS: Wait! What do I—?

He cuts short as Dylan and several other gun-shooting mobsters rampage down the hallway, and discreetly hides behind the armor holding his breath.

CUT TO a camera view of Chris hiding behind the armor.

EDWARD: So, we have some schoolchildren vandalizing our property? I’ll have to install an electric fence.

INT. the surveillance room. RUBINO, BENKLEY, and MS. VAN DELL watch over EDWARD, who is seated and watching the cameras. PARIS and the CEO stand against the wall, uninterested in the action.

RUBINO: That boy with the wolf… where’s he going?

EDWARD: Headed down the east wing, nearing the armory.

BENKLEY: Why is the wolf following him?

RUBINO: Who cares? (pulls out a mike hidden in his shirt collar) Maurice, restrain the wolf, then capture the boy and put him with the others.

EDWARD: Speaking of which…

Edward points to a camera of Chelsea running down a hallway.

INT. the hallway in real-life. Chelsea furtively looks behind her to the distant sounds of gunshots and people screaming. She opens a rather conspicuously placed door and enters.

INT. a staircase. Chelsea closes the door behind her, sighing in relief. Lucy squirms out of Chelsea’s arms and descends the staircase.

CHELSEA: Hey! Come back here!

MAGGIE (from afar): Chelsea! Is that you?

INT. the dungeon. Lucy enters and runs toward Maggie.

CHELSEA: Maggie? What—Why—people are shooting each other!

MAGGIE: Yeah, we heard.

CHELSEA (noticing the chains): You need any help there?

MAGGIE: Oh no, we were just about to escape on our own.

PETE: Do you have Baldwin?

CHELSEA: Oh, uh… which one is him?

PETE: The hamster. I have the whistle in my pocket.

CHELSEA: Whistle?

MAGGIE: Yeah, uh, you know what I was telling you, about the group I told you I joined?

CHELSEA: No, not really. I just heard you got kidnapped.

MAGGIE: Well, you see…

The distant cellar door opens and echoes. Footsteps approach.

MAGGIE: Quick! The whistle on my neck! Get it, Chelsea!

VOICE: Who’s down here?

Chelsea drops the pets and rushes to Maggie. She picks up the whistle and starts to take it off.

MAGGIE: No! In here! (opening her mouth)

The footsteps reach the door. A random bad-guy stands, looking hostilely at Chelsea.

BAD-GUY: You! You’re not going anywhere, you!

Chelsea pushes the whistle into Maggie’s mouth, whereupon she blows furiously upon the whistle.

Lucy takes on an equally hostile look, fixing her eyes on the bad-guy. She races to him, growing larger with every step to a panther.

BAD-GUY: Whoa! Wahhh!!!

The bad-guy turns his heel and flees upstairs, Lucy chasing after him.

CHELSEA: That was even more disturbing.

MAGGIE: Any time you want to free us. No pressure.

CHELSEA: Well, what do I do?

PETE: The whistle in my pocket.

CHELSEA: Which pocket?

PETE: The right one.

Chelsea steps up to Pete, and stops.

CHELSEA (wrinkling her nose): You stink.

MAGGIE: Chelsea!

CHELSEA: When was the last time you showered?

MAGGIE: We don’t have time for this, Chelsea! Just do it!

CHELSEA: Yuck! I don’t want to touch him!

MAGGIE: For Pete’s sake! And mine!

Chelsea reaches out and puts her hand into the pocket. She pulls out a whistle with her fingers and throws it at Pete.

MAGGIE: Put it in his mouth!

CHELSEA: No! This is disgusting!

MAGGIE: Fine! Put it in my mouth!

CHELSEA: I’m sorry, this is too disgusting for me!

MAGGGIE: Chelsea, we’re chained up in a dungeon! Could you at least act like this is a serious situation?

CHELSEA: I’m sorry, this is just… I can’t handle this! I was just getting shot at a few minutes!

SHANA: Pete, kick it over.

PETE: What?

Shana is slipping off her shoes and socks, exposing her feet. She holds her foot out, her toes wriggling.

SHANA: Come on, I’ll catch it.

Pete, incredulous, slides the whistle off his shirt and onto the ground, and then kicks it over to Shana. Shana delicately picks up the whistle with her toes, and with incredible flexibility, brings the whistle up to her mouth and blows.

Baldwin turns into a bear, and in a single blow to the chains, Pete becomes free. Two more blows, and Maggie and Shana lower their arms with relief.

PETE: Since when were you so acrobatic?

SHANA: Well, I’m foreign. We foreigners know all sorts of things normal people don’t know.

CHELSEA: Uh, what?

SHANA: Let’s not stay here! Let’s get Lucy and then get out of here!

MAGGIE: So, Chelsea, how did you get here anyway? How did you find us?

CHELSEA: It’s a long story…

Everyone hurries up the stairs.

The saddest forum thread ever

There are a certain breed of forum posts: the kind no one responds to. This by far tops them all:

(Thursday Oct 29) Evan: well i was born with autism and last year i decided to fight it and i did not feel at all like i was gonna drift off into m own world alot and back in march i got the feeling that it would happen again but in july it wore off me now im feeling like its gonna happen please help

(Thursday Oct 29) Evan: i mean my but um i hope it wares off me soon

(Thursday Oct 29) Evan: can anyone help i have improved

(Thursday Oct 29) Evan: im not drifting off into my own world

My Deep Thoughts

• Don’t let other people tell you what you’re worth; don’t be famous. If you are famous, then ignore your fame as much as you can.
• For every great mind that dies, there’s another great mind to take its place.
• Greatness is based upon what people like and how they react; there is no absolute greatness.
• Always learn the old tricks before you invent new tricks.
• Every day is like a small lifetime. There are good ones and not-so-good ones, but they all have the opportunity to be good ones.
• You can find joy in watching paint dry, but you’ll find more joy in painting.

Life’s meaning is unintelligible. Its absence more so.

No updates? This is not good! Terrible things will happen if there are no updates! My house could be razed! Famine could ensue! I could be run over by a truck and die alone in a hospital! I MUST pursue the ever-lasting dream of weblogging!

Reasons? You want reasons for why I’ve been away? I’ve been busy, okay? I’ve been trying out new things, getting involved in a community, working on fun projects. Why should I blog about my miscellany of (what’s an m-word meaning “random stuff”?) miscellanea?

A few days ago, I bought Spore. Three days later, I bought the expansion pack. When you ignore the whole lack of gameplay, it’s actually pretty fun. There’s no way I could ever make a game that could best it, and that’s certainly worth my money, right?

I make a terrible critic.

So, yes, personal junk I can throw on here. Let’s see what I got…

Oh, yeah, I got a DeviantArt page here. Right now, only thing I got is a sketch I made of some cartoon faces. It’s in my scrapbook.

Yeah, I should do more, but I feel uncomfortable following my desires whenever my college graduate brother comes in, listens to anime music, and watches TF2 videos. Which is every single day in existence.

Well, that’s about it. I’m working off and on on the little stuff. Like Pet Tamers. Miscellaneous comics. Tell me what you want me to do. Anything. Come on, anything! A good burst of communal activity could energize me, and increase my devotion, my dedication, and more updates could ensue!