A reflection........

Blogging weekly for nearly all of this year has taught me two things about myself. First of all, I have learned that I tend to point out flaws and things I do not like in the books I read. These flaws usually become the subjects of my blog posts. Second, I have learned that I much prefer writing in a notebook to blogging. Notebooks, to me, seem more personal. I enjoy writing in notebooks more, I can write in them whenever I like, and I can write down whatever I want without worrying about what people will think. Speaking of worrying about what people think, I think many people on the internet don't, but should. Many people take advantage of the amount of freedom they have on the internet. These people are not only teenagers, but are adults as well. I've always thought that adults are just as immature as children, they just hide it better. As to whether or not people are themselves on the internet, people that take advantage of their internet freedom perhaps are a bit too much of themselves. Then again, there are all kinds of people who use the internet. Some show everything about themselves, some show a middle quantity, and some people just hide behind layers of webpages.

I'm probably going to delete my blog. I may start it over again, with a different purpose and a fresh start, but I am not sure yet.

The rules have been spurned.

I have begun to read "Mostly Harmless", by Douglas Adams. This is a fantastic book in a series of equally fantastic books about fantastic occurrences on fantastic planets. These books do not really follow a plot, so to speak, but have a seemingly never-ending series of unusual and humorous events that, at unexpected points in the book, converge towards a central occurrence. Therefore I cannot explain the "plot" of this book to you fully, but I will tell you what you need to know in order to understand this blog post.

Previously in this series of books, the earth was blown up to make way for a new hyperspace express bypass. There were only two human survivors of this explosion: Arthur Dent and Tricia McMillan. Arthur went on to devote his life to the fine art of sandwich-making. Tricia went on to becoming a sort of space-time traveling news reporter. She constantly travels through time and space, and each time her future is not altered. Douglas Adams' writing can get very confusing, so it is necessary to stop and think every once in a while while reading his books. So, as I was contemplating his writings on space-time travel, I realized he had broken all of the rules.

What I mean by this is that whenever a form of writing includes someone traveling through space-time, there are always consequences. Let's say I travel back in time and alter something, which then alters something else, which then alters something else, and by the time I get back to my home in my time, my world is completely different.

Another example is the whole "I went back in time and met my past self" scenario, popular with the movie series "Back to the Future". Going back in time and meeting your past self would just alter your past self and your past self's decisions, which would also, in time, (ha ha), alter your future. Your life would still be altered, albeit through a different way.

As a side note, there's also the fact that if I go back in time, then go back to my own time, then do the same entire thing again, I have left three of my past selves behind. There's my original past self, then there's my present self that went to the past the first time, then there's my present self that went back in time the second time. Basically, you count your original past self and the number of times you dipped into the past and you have the number of past selves you're left behind. This just goes to show how traveling into the past can influence your future in a major way.

Douglas Adams didn't think of any of these aforesaid rules. He just wrote. I suppose that was somewhat of a liberating experience, saved him a lot of time, and allowed him to write about occurrences that wouldn't normally be able to happen. It also made for a damn good book.

But I still feel like it was chicanery. At least a little bit.


Postscriptum -

Another thought is that every time you dip into the future, you're dipping into the past of that time's future. 

Just a thought.

Leather Interior.

I have finished reading The House of the Scorpion, by Nancy Farmer. This book follows the life of a boy named Matt who discovers he is the clone of a wealthy drug lord. In Matt's world, clones are generally regarded as the scum of the earth.

In part of the book, the wealthy drug lord who Matt is a clone of (who is very, very old), is in an extremely critical medical condition. He needs Matt's heart to be transplanted into him in order to survive. Matt is about to be butchered against his will to save this man, but then Matt's caretaker speaks up. It turns out that she has been secretly giving him doses of arsenic and foxglove (which are poisons) in his meals in order to make his organs unstable and therefore unable to be used for transplants. However, Matt's caretaker did not feed him enough poison to harm him permanently.

This got me thinking as to how much or how little our immoral actions "harden" our conscience. The wealthy drug lord is a mean old crow of a character, and built his entire drug empire on killing, brainwashing, and enslaving others. Was the drug lord's decision to preserve his own life and to end Matt's life partly influenced by his extensive immoral criminal activities? I think that all of his killing, brainwashing, enslaving, murdering, stealing, butchering, pillaging, slaughtering activities were just callusing his conscience more and more until he really didn't feel any remorse in unethical deeds. This makes me wonder how much everything around me has influenced my future decisions as well. I never liked the video game and movie rating system, since my mother still doesn't let me watch R movies or play M video games, but now I'm starting to wonder if they are crucial to keeping us sensitized to immoral acts and violence.

Don't be a schmuck.

In our philosophy unit at school, we are beginning to read books that will get us to ponder philosophical issues. The book that my group has decided to read is The House of the Scorpion by Nancy Farmer. this book is about a young boy names Matt who discovers he is a clone of a powerful drug lord. The book then follows Matt's life from then on.
As a clone, Matt is generally regarded as a unholy limb of Satan. In fact, in one chapter of the book, he is living in the equivalent of a chicken pen, if not in worse conditions, for several weeks.  This got me thinking as to why he was treated so badly. Yes, Matt is a clone, but he is generally a nice person, tries to do what is right, and has an ethics code of his own. He only represents the drug lord in appearance and DNA, not in personality, so if they don't like the drug lord then why should they hate him as well? Yes, he was created in a rather unusual way for a human, but is everyone's hatred of Matt just born out of ignorance of cloning? I believe that everyone doesn't like Matt just based on their beliefs that he was created in an unnatural and immoral way. If everyone that hated Matt thought about how many identical copies of organisms are out there, Matt would  have less of a hard time. Asexual reproduction (I'm using this as the rough equivalent of cloning) is used for the production of millions upon millions of plants and billions upon billions of bacteria. It's a completely natural thing that provides us with, for one, medicine. Also, without asexual reproduction, it is likely that ecosystems everywhere would fall apart without their base layer, plants. Cloning is helping us test products more efficiently, create cheap food, and is helping the world.

Books that are Dreaming in a City

Recently in the City of Dreaming Books, the main character, Optimus Yarnspinner, finds that there is a race of cyclopean organisms living in tunnel systems underneath the city of Bookholm. These creatures are intelligent, peaceful, practically worship books, and mine hundreds of diamonds that range from pumpkin size to apartment size. They also collect incredibly valuable books. They have a fearsome reputation, which was created in order to keep them untouched and safe from people who would do them harm.

While reading this, I thought that the creatures (called the Fearsome Booklings), perhaps didn't need to hide themselves away from all civilization at the risk of extinction. With their immense fortunes both of valuable books and diamonds, they could trade/sell their goods with the people aboveground. Then they would have money to do whatever they like: protect themselves, acquire more books,  acquire better mining technology, and promote the general well-being of their race. Since they could potentially fund just about all industry in Bookholm, this might also generate deep respect for the Booklings. Attacking them might eventually seem like attacking the government. If seriously attacked, their extinction could lead to the total collapse of society. Though exposure could improve their lives in many aspects, it could also lead to several problems. For instance, many people may immediately try to kill all of the Booklings and rob them of all of their possessions.

After thinking about this for a while, I've decided I don't think the Booklings should expose themselves. They already have a well-functioning life on their own that is pleasurable to them and doesn't have any problems or flaws. That is the perfect way to live: no problems, no concerns, no sadness.

Money Money Money.....If you start singing ABBA I'm gonna go crazy. Oh, and SPOILAH

I am currently reading The City of Dreaming Books by Walter Moers. In it, a Lindworm (Dinosaur type-thing) named Optimus Yarnspinner,  is bequeathed a fantastically written anonymous manuscript, by his late authorial godfather. Optimus then travels to Bookholm, a city totally devoted to literature, to try to find the author of the mysterious manuscript. Shortly after his arrival, he is directed to the abode of the city's most specialized book-expert, Voltozan Smyke. Now a bit later in the book, it is discovered that Smyke was approached by the manuscript's author at an earlier date. Smyke, who secretly owns almost all of the book industry in Bookholm, doesn't want this author to publish, as he is so good that Smyke thinks the author's works will dominate the market. This would affect Smyke's monopoly adversely, causing him to lose money. So, he performs extensive surgeries on the author, rendering him physically unable to live in daylight, and forced to live underground.

Upon thinking about this gruesome act further, I began to realize that Smyke's choice to horribly mutilate the author may have not been the most profitable choice, as money was what Smyke was after most. Instead of getting rid of a fantastic author and all the potential funds his work could bring in, Smyke could've done a range of different things For instance:

- Force (or bewilder) the author to sign a contract that Smyke is the sole dealer of all of the author's works and gets 90% (or a similarly ridiculous share) of the profits.

- Leave the author be, and once he thinks of publishing a work or two, murder him, steal all of his work, and publish it under a pseudonym. Then, Smyke would get all the profits.

- Play on the author's insecurity over whether he will ever be a successful author and persuade him to take a high-paying job in a different industry and desert writing (This choice wouldn't necessarily be more profitable, but would still get the author out of the picture without harming him.).

These are just a few different decisions Smyke could've made. I'm not entirely sure if he could've pulled one of them off, but I think with his connections (Since he owns most of the city's industry) he would be able to. I think the surgeries and banishment was a great plot twist, but perhaps not the most logical decision if you delve deeper into the book.

Crat Fat. Deep Fried and deeeeeeelicious! (Paula Deen certified)

I recently purchased and read Walter Moer's The Alchemaster's Apprentice. This book describes a crat named Echo. A crat, as I should explain, looks exactly like a cat but can speak in any language. Echo lives in Malaisea, a sickly, disease-infested town. After his owner dies, he is kicked out on the street and is promptly found by the unofficial ruler of Malaisea, Succumbius Ghoolion. Ghoolion is an alchemist, and wants Echo's fat to use in his life's work. Ghoolion offers to feed Echo fantastic food until the next full moon, and then kill him for his fat. Echo, who hasn't eaten in days, agrees and signs a contract with him. A happy tale of warped, dark-humored friendship. Having at least one brain cell, Echo eventually realizes he doesn't want to die, and tries to escape repeatedly.

This got me thinking. Is the best choice for Echo to escape? Echo has signed a contract with Ghoolion. If he escapes, Ghoolion's life work will be ruined, losing a crucial ingredient (Crat fat), but if he doesn't escape, Echo will die. So which decision makes the most sense when you look at both sides of the argument? Should Echo act in his best interests, break a contract, and ruin someone's life work, or should he stick to the contract, help Ghoolion reach his goal, and possibly help with a new alchemical discovery?

I started to apply these thoughts to my philosophy unit, which explores many different outlooks on life. So without further ado, here are philosophical takes on Echo's dilemma:

From a Nihilist's perspective, life doesn't really matter, and neither does anything else. So Echo should just die.

From a Hedonist's perspective, he should do whatever is happier for him. So Echo should escape and preserve his life.

From a Skepticist's perspective, how do we even know Ghoolion's going to kill him? How do we know there's a contract? How do we know Echo's even a crat? So I suppose a Skepticist would assume that Ghoolion wouldn't kill him. But he does, so Echo would die.

From a Pragmatist's perspective, escape is more beneficial. So Echo should escape.

From an Existentialist's perspective, Echo is totally free to do as he pleases, so he can leave at any time. Another vote for escape.

An Essentialist would say that since Echo is a crat, he signed the contract because he wanted to be domesticated again, as it is his custom. So die, Echo, die!

A Communitarianist would say that Echo should die for all other crats, as they are more important than just one crat. Echo would stay then.

And finally, a Fatalist would say cryptically, "It was FATE". So Echo would die.

I tallied up the votes! The results: Echo dies - 5 votes. Echo lives - 3 votes.

Philosophy says - Echo DIES.

Personally, I don't know what to decide on this issue. Since reading the book connects you somewhat to the character, I've grown fond of Echo, even if he is just ink and paper, so I think he should escape. However, from a logical point of view it makes more sense for Echo to die for the good of many (as pertaining to the alchemical experiment) and because he signed a contract, albeit in a somewhat delirious and weakened state.
So I suppose this makes me both a Communitarianist and a Hedonist.

Comment! Vote! Eat fish-tomatoes! Goodnight!

Genetically Modified..............PEOPLE.

I recently picked up "The Lab" by Jack Heath again. It follows a secret agent-type character, called Agent Six of Hearts, in a world where one company controls an entire city and has encased it in an enormous wall. Six, as I'll call him for lack of a better nickname, was a genetic experiment carried out by a division of the same company that controls the city, ChaoSonic. He has no idea of his origins apart from that fact and would like to learn more about himself, but ChaoSonic is seeking him so he can be vivisected, assessed, psychologically tested, etc. by the people who created him. Fun stuff.
Six is a great agent, always brings in the bad guys, does crazy stunts, can't die easily, and all that jazz, but primarily because of the fact that he was engineered, so to speak, for the task at hand. This fact spurred my thinking onwards towards the genetically modified foods movement, and the controversy surrounding it. So I began to separate the pros and cons of GMOs and compare them to the book's insight on Six. On the positive side, GMOs can be altered for resistance to insects, temperature, pH, pesticides and herbicides, really anything that would normally kill a plant. Also, more and more nutrients can be added to GMOs to make people healthier. GMOs can also be produced in larger quantities. However, GMOs also have a severe downside. Some genetically modified components of different plants can harm or kill animals, insects, or plant species unintentionally. Genetic modifications can unwittingly transfer to other plant species as well. Increased allergenicity is also an issue, and the fact that since GMOs haven't been fully researched, nobody knows the full range of effects they could have over time.
Six also has special genetic resistance to all sorts of things: pain, decreased visibility, cuts and wounds and broken bones, etc. He can also be cloned repeatedly in his futuristic world, and then his clones can be sold off to be employed elsewhere as bodyguards and assassins and the like. Those are the more desirable qualitites of his modifications. The less desirable qualities of his modifications are that he has practically no social interaction, no strong emotions, and avoids long conversations at all costs. So like GMOs, It's hard to tell what negative effects he'll have on the city in the future as a result of his modifications.
Personally, I don't really like the thought that my food has been specifically grown with genes from different animals and custom fit to look a certain way or grown twice as large. For instance, GM tomatoes were created to be more resistant to cold temperatures by inserting a gene from flounder. Yes, the fish. There is fish in your tomato.
I'm not quite sure where I was going with this discussion, but I think I've mapped out my thoughts quite a bit.

Kool and the Gang is what I'm listenin' to.

I am currently reading Crispin on a whim, as I had no book and decided to pick it up. I remember reading it in sixth grade, and being satisfied with it, but now that I am getting somewhere with the plot, I'm a little dissapointed in my sixth grade thoughts of a good novel. Anyways, in Crispin, a boy with no name's mother dies. She wasn't liked at all by anybody in their community, so, neither was her son. Once she dies, the evil landlord guy comes and yells at the kid for a bit, pushes him around, and then burns down his house and all of his belongings. I don't believe I mentioned this earlier, but this book takes place during medieval times. Otherwise this story would sound a bit ridiculous. After being declared fair game, No-Name-Boy runs away and continues to find comfort in two things: his only friend, who is a priest, and his prayers.

Now this got me thinking a bit. I only wonder, what are the forces that cause people to believe in one deity or another, or a lack thereof? Is it your upbringing? But if it is, then where did your parents receive their faith from? I suppose some people may have had miraculous occurrences in their lives that spurred on their beliefs. Or maybe they read a holy book and decided upon that particular religion. But if I had never been told that the Bible was a holy book and the truth, I would've mistaken it for a work of fiction. I'm only asking, where does this deep-rooted belief come from? Some religions don't fit in with people's morals and ethics either. I suppose that's a factor that can be set apart from the rest, as it doesn't tie in with history or other people's thinking, only your own.

If anyone else can think of a title, just tell me.

In the book "Small Miracles" by Edward M. Lerner, one of the main characters continually wears glasses that give him the illusion he is on a virtual island where everything goes his way and he has a nice pet cat that lulls him to sleep. Why, you may ask, is this important? Because you know such people that are always in their little worlds, thinking of their special hypno-cat thing and swaying palm trees. I think Lerner is trying to represent these types of people in his books, and also is making a very general stereotype. The character, whose name evades me right now, is continually in his own little world, plotting to murder people and perform crazy medical experiments on people. Lerner seems to also associate the character to radical groups, as the character wants to rebuild society, change humans into some sort of super-race, yadda yadda yadda. Lerner may not have been intending to associate the two, but his is my interpretation at 10:40 on a Thursday night.

Blehbers. Blubber. Blooobheers. Bluhbars. Bluebears. REVISED! WOOHOO!

Well I'm reading the 13 1/2 lives of Captain Bluebear again. And in this fantabulous novel, there is a bear that is blue that goes on all sorts of crazy adventures, and I quote: "What about the Minipirates? What about the Hobgoblins, the Spiderwitch, the Babbling Billows, the Troglotroll, the Mountain Maggot? What about the Alpine Imp, the headless Bollogg, the Bolloggless head, the nomadic Muggs, the Captive Mirage, the Yetis and Bluddums, the Eternal Tornado, the Rickshaw Demons?". He also has a run-in with a carnivorous island, a giant pool of earwax, and a mustached dwarf. As you can imagine, this book is a bit kaleidoscopic. Also, Bluebear teaches the reader some life lessons, such as why not to venture through a Bollogg's head and to never, ever, trust a Troglotroll. One of these life lessons I found, which I don't think was intended to be a life lesson at all, was as follows: "They taught me that a good white lie is often considerably more exciting than the truth. Telling one is like dressing up reality in its Sunday best." This was just about all he included on the topic except for another twenty or so pages devoted to a duel of lies.
Now I don't completely go along with this theory, as if you lied about everything then nobody would have any idea what was going on in the world - it'd be social anarchy. People would constantly be mucking about, trying to figure out what was actually going on in the world, what their boss wanted them to do, if their friend could hang out. Nothing would be concrete. Even if somebody said "I'm not lying", that could be a lie. Or it could be the truth, but if it was the truth that they were lying then they're still lying. But I do believe that there shouldn't be so much hubbub about telling a small lie. As long as you don't pull a Ferris Bueller and tell all the ridiculously gullible people you know that you need a new kidney, you'll be fine. Besides, the truth can be hard to handle, unwanted, or better for people not to know. It all depends on the situation. Eating Oreos before dinner? Excuse: the dog got into the pantry. National Security? Well, that complicates matters, as some people believe that everyone should know the truth about our country's secret goings-on,  while others believe that some things should be shielded from the general public. Some things are better not to know, as bad things just cause problems. I suppose I'm just rattling on now. Goodnight, dear reader. The few of you.

So confused

Lately in 2012, one of the main characters, Wylie, has been nabbed by aliens. But upon being kidnapped, he discovers he's not human. He's also an alien, but just hasn't known it. But then he rubs cream onto himself and turns human again. So does his wife, which he didn't even know he had. But it turns out she was his human wife too. And this is what's puzzling me. I've just been wondering what Strieber is trying to tell his readers from this installment. My belief is that he's telling his readers that sometimes they're blind to what's in front of them. They'll have the means to find something out, but just won't pursue it, or even acknowledge that it's there. Just think of how many times you've blamed something on the closest person to you, with no evidence. Then later on you find out somehting new and it turns out they're not even the one to blame.

2012.......bum bum BUM.........

In the book 2012, there is a lot of violence. As usual in books of a science fiction nature, this violence comes in the form of massive hairy beasts having their brains blown out by tough-guy survivors with shotguns. Blood. Looooots of blood. But I think Strieber stresses in this book that the monsters (which become alert at fear) aren't so different from a lot of people that are in today's world. All sorts of people are always watching out for any weaknesses (those bullies. psh.) Honestly, just about everyone can count the one person that seems to be completely devoid of compassion. No smiling, no laughing, no compliments, and always has to be a hater. And also, his multi-dimension plot suggests that he thinks these people aren't so different from ourselves. But I think Strieber is also throwing a dig at everyone who made fun of him when he was "abducted by aliens".

Blehbers. Blubber. Blooobheers. Bluhbars. Bluebears. Got it.

Well I'm reading the 13 1/2 lives of Captain Bluebear again. And in this fantabulous novel, there is a bear that is blue that teaches its readers some life lessons. One of these life lessons I found, which I don't think was intended to be a life lesson at all, was as follows: "They taught me that a good white lie is often considerably more exciting than the truth. Telling one is like dressing up reality in its Sunday best."
Now I don't completely go along with this theory, as if you lied about everything then nobody would have any idea what was going on in the world - it'd be social anarchy. But I do believe that there shouldn't be so much hubbub about telling a small lie. As long as you don't pull a Ferris Bueller and tell all the ridiculously gullible people you know that you need a new kidney, you'll be fine. Besides, the truth can be hard to handle, unwanted, or better for people not to know. It all depends on the situation. Eating Oreos before dinner? The dog ate one and left a trail of crumbs. National Security? Well, that complicates matters, as some people believe that everyone should know the truth about our country,  while others believe that some things should be shielded from the general public, and for good reason sometimes. I suppose I'm just rattling on now.

Parallel universes make my head spin a bit.

Currently I am reading "2012" by Whitley Strieber. In it, Strieber tells the tale of two men. One, Wylie Dale, is a writer that has fallen upon hard times and had supposedly been subjected to a, and I hate to say it, rectal probe by aliens. He then seems to be possessed and starts to write a book, under unknown influence, about a "second earth", a parallel dimension. In that dimension we come across Martin Winters, an archaeologist whose world has been invaded by aliens from another dimension, a third parallel earth. Wylie continually is ridiculed by his family and friends as his claims to alien contact had been rejected repeatedly. Wylie also seems to see the characters that he writes about in his book. However many times he tries to delete the writing on his computer, it comes back within a short time span. He tries to show this to his wife, but she also thinks he is crazy and rejects his claims before he can show her any evidence.

Whitley Strieber also claims to have been abducted by aliens that he refers to as "The Visitors". Many of his books have been based upon his experiences during this. I believe that Strieber is simply illustrating his despair and embarrassment upon announcing his claims of extraterrestrial contact in "2012". I also think that his books just simply suggest that people, instead of rejecting ideals immediately, should be open to seeing evidence and hearing what people have to say. So many times, I've rejected people's statements or claims as fiction without fully taking a look at what they back it up with. I then tend to find that the claim is true.

Post of a Post

http://anorderlyuniverse.blogspot.com/2011/01/small-creatures-that-scurry-around-and.html

Lilabet's blog continues to surprise me, and so I love it. She has a clear, well-defined writing style that is both ridiculously humorous, plainly outlines her point of view, and occasionally uses more sophisticated vocabulary to more clearly make her points. However, she also writes just like an average person, not like an incredibly sophisticated individual. In this post, she wrote about a book that I have read as well, "The Thirteen and a Half Lives of Captain Bluebear". The author, Walter Moers, is German and has had to have had his works translated into English. He also illustrates all of his books personally. This book is centered around a Bluebear named Bluebear, and gives an account of his adventures within the first half of his life, which is 13.5 lives. In it he meets a strange professor, who often performs experiments on Leyden Manikins, which are small, fictitious, almost doll-like organisms which are used for all sorts of different uses within science. In her post, Lilabet discussed how the Manikins represent animals, and namely how we abuse animals as the professor did the Leyden Manikins. I agree with Lilabet on her opinion that as these Manikins are said to not have feelings or thoughts of any sort, they still seem to display some sort of emotion and  free will and are symbolic to animals in the fact that both have been subjected to some pretty gruesome treatment. Nowadays animal cruelty and poor animal treatment is lessening, but still remains problematic. Like the Manikins, they are both abused, killed, and tested on. People seem to think they're doing wonderful things such as going vegan when they are also buying processed ground beef for their family. That cow may have been horribly tortured and caged in it's lifetime and then slaughtered unmercifully. I mean, I'm not saying eating meat is a terrible, horrible, disgusting, unforgivable crime. I'm not saying going vegan is stupid either. I'm just using this as an example.


Goodnight, dear reader.

The Alchemist

When I think of books about alchemy, I usually think something along the lines of "dark and mysterious, lots of bubbling potions, creepy old men, even older dusty books, and lots and lots of lead and gold." When I think of inspirational novels, i think something along the lines of "horrible tragedy, horrible hardships, blood, sweat, tears, and then a happy ending." When I think of the two together, I think of an alchemist who has gone through terrible hardships and become even more creepy and mysterious than he was in order to overcome. Which is pretty much the storyline of "The Alchemist". However, it does inspire you, even if it is through long speeches about Souls of God and the World and the Wind and the Sun and the Hand Who Wrote It All. It provides insight that, (and this is going to sound horribly cliche,) if you believe in something and you're not totally blind to the world around you, you can achieve your goals.

CLICHE SWEEPING VIOLIN INSPIRATIONAL MUSIC COMMENCE!

Back to boring old books posts. Not that books are boring.

well to spice things up a bit i have decided to do away with punctuation in the first sentence

Now that that's behind us, in "The True Meaning of Smekday", we experience a twist within the classic alien invasion story.

Main character: can be tough, has a sensitive side, has experienced loss.
Alien: has some quirks, can be sort of tough-ish. Is a bit of an outcast.

BUT WAIT!

Main character: drives underage with corn cans on her feet. * surprise!*
Alien: eats urinal deodorizers. *surprise!*

Adam Rex is a fantastic author. He has taken a classic story and just tweaked it a bit towards the funny side. Instead of a ripped, shirtless, trigger-happy moronic weight-eater, we have the short, average teenage girl.
Instead of the enigmatic, heartless, creepily tall alien guy, we have a short "boov" that speaks in sheep noises and bubble wrap noises. He smells like fish.

What is happening to our stereotypes?!

But anyways, you get my point. Since when has a good book been written that is so refreshingly unusual?

I love poetry. Really, I do.

I'd like to thank you for turning on your confuser tonight (confuser = computer)
Before we begin on this lovely winter evening, I'd like to take the opportunity to say that in tonight's choice rant, I mean no offense to any author or literary work, books nor magazines, silent films, billboards, or any other such written material. Thank you.

And so the fun begins.

I have heard Edgar Allen Poe too many times for my taste. I have endured endless praise for Mark Twain endlessly. If the Wild called me I would politely decline. I do not know why a tree grows in Brooklyn nor do I know why this particular tree would be exceptionally fascinating. Robert Frost's ability to have his poems permeate every single school in the United States both astounds me and turns my mood rather frosty.
I DON'T GIVE A WHIT ABOUT WALT WHITMAN. HE IS COLD AND DEAD. SO ARE HIS POEMS. HE MAKES ME FEEL COLD AND DEAD INSIDE.

Why do we have to endure such torture as to hear literature repeated over and over and over? Why do the same poems, the same stories, the same authors have such a social stranglehold on schools?

I don't see how every teacher seems to love the same literature. And then, their procedures for teaching said literature to their students isn't unlike flogging them with a rusty yardstick. Do all job requirements for English teachers say "Must love classic literature with a fiery passion and must have same passion for passing on their passion for classic literature to pupils?" Really?

Poems and stories are good the first few times. I respect authors, poets, publishers, the like. I even enjoy some of the works of the authors I mentioned earlier. It's just that I have heard their works, usually the same work, in fact, repeatedly throughout the years. Also, teachers seem to find satisfaction in making reading classic literature mandatory. It's like adding insult to injury and making it routine to boot. Also, if teachers think that a book/poem/work is wonderful, that's their opinion. Not the opinion of the thirty-some-odd students in their care.

The only book I've seemed to enjoy while in English class was S.E. Hinton's "The Outsiders.", and even then we had to memorize the whole 'stay gold' poem. Not that it was a long poem, it was just frustrating. "Island of  the Blue Dolphins" wasn't bad either, nor was "My Side of the Mountain" or "Hatchet".

Goodnight reader.

Why poetry readings reeeally bug me. Part II.

As I was saying, they quickly thrash out who'll carpool with whom and head over to the nearest Chinese restaurant, packed together as tightly as rice in a stuffed grape leaf in their vehicle, as though a giant is about to pick up the outsized, "artistically" graffitied van and take a bite. They soon reach the Chinese restaurant and order as much Dim Sum as they think they can stomach. The group decides to read another poem while they wait at their giant, lotus-flowered table surrounded by bamboo screens. The poem is neither morbid nor heartfelt, neither emotional nor deep. The poem is as such:

"If you go to the park

On a Saturday eve

The stars look so small

They could fit through a sieve. 

If you had a telescope

Of old worn bronze

You could look for the sun

As soon as it dawns

However, if you look through your 'scope

At the sun as it dawns

YOUR EYES WILL SHRIVEL UP, DRIBBLE BODILY FLUID ALL OVER YOUR FACE AND FALL OUT OF YOUR HEAD AND YOU WILL DIE A HORRIBLE PROLONGED GORE-RIDDEN DEATH"

Now the writing quality of theses poems has improved, though the last bit may, ah, need some, *ahem*, revisions. Extensive revisions. Anyways, the previous author is shoved to the side. The entire group converges on this new literary prodigy with a hunger for knowledge only comparable to cannibals, zombies, or shrieking, brainwashed, preposterous concert fans. The group is about to torture the perplexed author for every single one of his short story plotlines and witty rhymes when the Dim Sum arrives! The group quickly hides away their clicky pens and extensive stacks of post-its, (weapons of choice), until the unnerved waiter quickly deposits his load of soy sauce smothered rice noodles and dumplings. Then they whip them back out and lean forward, each poised over their own plate of eastern pabulum, inhaling deeply, eyes closed. Nothing seems to happen for the longest time. Not a single bite is eaten. Then a poet's eyes flash open and his mouth seems to move all of its own: 

"Enter the extensive realm of my creative complexes,

Penrose tile, multifarious Lemoine hexes,

Superimposed hypotheses, interdependable but nevertheless,

Talk to me while I'm thinking and I'll break your mesenteric plexus"

The poet in question stops short and looks down at his mouth, astonished. The rest of the group is likewise befuddled, every member completely flabbergasted that such a thing could come out of the mouth of a consort. They had only heard of rap, only caught rumors of it's reputation spoken in hushed tones. They had only speculated as to what the hip-hop crusade entailed. They now drew back, alarmed.

But this didn't seem to be mindless bragging about fictitious accomplishments and seventh wives. This couldn't be the rap of which they had descried. No, this was most definitely a subdivision. This was Nerdcore.

It is past my bedtime.

I bid thee a good night, dear reader.

Why poetry readings reeeally bug me. Prepare yourself.

Poetry readings usually start with someone reading their poem. They get nervous, blush a bit, maybe shuffle their feet and get modest all of a sudden. And the poem will then be something either incredibly heartfelt, emotional, and morbid, or something like this:

"I was playing with a ball and bat

When I saw a black cat

I couldn't see through the fog

So I fell in a bog

It was cold in the bog

I started to jog

I saw a monster in there

It had funny hair

Then I found Tim

And then we saw Jim

Then I asked Tim the time

Out of the bog we did climb"

And then the whole poetry group will clap and cheer and eat stale cookies provided by some old lady who dug them out of the back of her pantry. They'll shower the reader with all sorts of compliments, adulations, throw themselves on their knees, kiss the reader's boots, bestow upon them all sorts of tributes, etc., etc.

Anyways, the discussion comes next. And of course, each member has to contribute a comment about how deep and histrionic and passionate the reader is. The conversation gets started, each member spurred on by the sugar rush from horrible, concrete cookies and their extensive lack of hobbies, unless you count locking yourself in a gloomy, musty closet for hours and vomiting onto a page (*from the archives of Ms. Rear) a hobby. The members of the poetry group contribute their opinions of what the deeper meaning behind "I couldn't see through the fog/So I fell in a bog" could be. Could "bog" be a reference to intense, clouding emotional discomfort? Indecision on the reader's place in life? Shock from a traumatic experience? Or maybe the reader simply discovered an unknown world beneath our feet, a world never explored before, a world so filled with paranormal creatures and dangerous, malignant fauna that no creature, be it man or beast, has ever explored past three feet into the cloudy marshlike climate. 

The reader mentions that he/she wrote the poem while eating several pounds of Dim Sum. The group is ecstatic! They work themselves into a frenzy, piling speculation upon conjecture upon hypothesis upon presumption upon surmission! Dim Sum vapors may increase writer's creative, intellectual, or imaginative capacity! Now they quickly thrash out who'll carpool with whom and head over to the nearest Chinese restaurant, packed together as tightly as rice in a stuffed grape leaf in their vehicle, as though a giant is about to pick up the outsized, "artistically" graffitied van and take a bite.

It is now past my bedtime. 

Goodnight.

-To Be Continued.............................(muahahahahehehehahahacoughcoughcoughhackwheeze)

Flying Whales! Hooray! (Hehehe)

Now what if I were to ask you "What is Science Fiction?"

What would you say?

Now I get that fiction isn't based on real events, people, places, things, nouns, blah blah blah, because otherwise all fiction writers would be sued for everything but their inspirational Snuggie ( I can't find the symbol for the little circley R thing). However, I pose to you this ponderous question: "Why can't Science Fiction be based off of technology that is actually achievable?" Whoa. Don't get too excited. But really, why? I know that lately I've sort of been sort of insulting towards books in general, and really, I apologize. Actually, no I don't. Anyways, is it so terrible of me to ask for just a grain of truth in some gruesome, gory, alien infested realm envisioned by some guy whose computer is his best friend? I mean, if you spend enough time on the computer to write a book, then you have enough time to do some serious astrophysics research, or whichever exceptionally unheard-of topic you're injecting in-between pages of appalling, deplorable,   zombie apocalypse. Not that I have anything against gory death scenes. In fact, quite the opposite (Though "The Hot Zone" was just a bit too in-depth for my taste). Right now, I'm halfway through "Invasive Procedures" by Orson Scott Card and Aaron Johnston, a book which I've been searching for for the past few months. I had read it previosly, I just forgot everything but the plot. Anyways, just about everything that occurs in this fantastic novel could occur. This novel both envisions a complex, convoluted plotline filled with gore and extensive action scenes, and provides background information and scientific facts of an unparalleled quality about a subject, which, when twisted into the plot, is still able to be used as a suitable nonfiction base for events.

I know that was hard to decipher. So I'll make it bigger for you people with a lack of acumen.

This novel both envisions a complex, convoluted plotline filled with gore and extensive action scenes, and provides background information and scientific facts of an unparalleled quality about a subject, which, when twisted into the plot, is still able to be used as a suitable nonfiction base for events.

Happy?

Good. Because, who really wants to read a book about a group of people who build a flying mechanical whale and fly it into an alternate dimension where the main currency is scraps of purple yarn and social status is determined by how many ladles you own?

(Actually, that doesn't sound too bad.)

But now you get my point.

*Acumen -

–noun

keen insight; shrewdness: remarkable acumen in business matters.

http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/acumen