I guess on that note, I'd say I'm an animation buff, but lots of animated shows recently have been annoying the hell out of me.
Are you really an animation buff, or just an anime buff? When I hear animation buff, I think of people who watch Winsor McCay's shorts, and geek out about Svenkmeyer meat and soviet hedgehog movies.
Since I'm currently playing the new Professor Layton game, pretty much everytime I figure out a puzzle I launch my right arm into the air and say, "Yeah!" >.>
I may not know the soviet hedgehog shorts, but Gertie the Dinosaur is one of my favorite cartoons for both historical and sentimental reasons as I had a VHS of it when I was a little kid.
I'd say what makes me weird is that my three biggest interests (in no particular order) are NHL hockey, poker, and the furry fandom. Though just liking the furry fandom makes me weird to some people and considering some of the people I know, and have even just heard about, I can see why.
I love to draw, but I don't do it every day. This is going to change.
The hardest thing to do is start. Just try to set aside some time each day where you start drawing, even for just five minutes. Once you start, you'll probably keep going.
Recently, while I've been out leafleting for my computer help company, I've run across a few of those ultrasonic cat repellent things and I can actually hear them. It's not a particularly painful sound but, it's really weird when you just hear this super high pitched whine coming out of nowhere. Can anyone else in their 20s hear these?
Recently, while I've been out leafleting for my computer help company, I've run across a few of those ultrasonic cat repellent things and I can actually hear them. It's not a particularly painful sound but, it's really weird when you just hear this super high pitched whine coming out of nowhere. Can anyone else in their 20s hear these?
My mother had an mosquito repellent that emits a high frequency noise. It didn't do shit, but it annoyed the hell out of me. My parents didn't hear. Then again, I'm only 16 so I've still got good hearing.
I need to stay away from concentrated caffeine and processed sugar. In the week or so since all the energy drinks and pepsi ran out, I have some how totally turned my life around which, at the time, seemed completely impossible.
Recently, while I've been out leafleting for my computer help company, I've run across a few of those ultrasonic cat repellent things and I can actually hear them. It's not a particularly painful sound but, it's really weird when you just hear this super high pitched whine coming out of nowhere. Can anyone else in their 20s hear these?
Sometimes when I start to write something, I can get really carried away. REALLY carried away. REALLY.
In joining another forum, I was asked to give a explanation why a handful of items appeared on someones desk. Most people answered with stuff like "Hurr, you bought it." But I wanted to write something creative. It was only supposed to be a paragraph or two, but it turned into a monster...
It was the 24th of February in Louisiana. The weather was just warm enough to be comfortable and with the festivities already under way, you wondered why you were still in your hotel room. As you made your way out of your room and through the lobby of the hotel, you rush out the front doors and enter the mass of people who have filled the streets. The smell of alcohol hangs in the air and the music in this part of town seems to be appealing only to the countless inebriated party-goers.
As you make your way through the darkness of the night, sidestepping hobos in the alleys you cross, you find a slightly less boisterous part of town. Something freezes you in your tracks. Lingering in the air are the sweet sounds of a piano and a saxophone playing together in a slow, jazzy rendition of "when the saints go marching in". You follow the music down the alley to an open, heavy duty, metal door. Above it, a small, blue, neon sign reading "Destiny" in a cursive style.
As you walk through the doorway, you find Jazz lounge dimly bathed in a dark blue light with a bar at one end, a stage on the other, and black leather couches of varying size scattered through out. A few people here and there are lounging on the the couches, often a couple leaning on each other, eyes closed, enjoying the soft music.
You make your way to the bar, the black marble counter-top chest high and surrounded by black metal bar chairs which could swivel to allow patrons to watch the stage as they enjoy their drink. Placing yourself in one of those seats, you ask the bartender, a man of average stature dressed in a white shirt and black vest, for a water.
"No beer?" He asks.
"There are enough people losing their heads tonight. One less won't be missed." You answer.
A woman in a black dress sits down next to you. "Isn't that the truth." She says, her voice smooth and sultry. She continues. "I take it you're not from around here."
"I thought most people in New Orleans this time of year aren't from around here."
She laughs lightly, "That's true. Still, most of the people out there, even if they're not 'from here' are here now. But why do I get the feeling you're still not 'here'."
"Maybe I didn't come here to get drunk and lose my mind." you respond.
"Well you certainly picked the wrong time of year to come if that's what you DIDN'T want to do. So, what did you come here for?" She asked from underneath a smile.
"I suppose I felt like having an adventure. One that didn't involve getting kidnapped by Luigi Vampa." You say with a smirk.
She seems taken aback, "'Count of Monte Cristo'? I didn't know people still read that. So that would make you Albert?"
"I consider myself to be more of an Edmond. And who would you be?"
"Haydee." She says with hardly a moment's thought.
This makes you curious. "Hayee? I would think more women would opt for Mercedes."
"I think Haydee fits me well."
"Why is that?"
"Because," She looks down at the counter as her smile slowly fades, "I'm a slave to this city."
You put your hand softly on her bare shoulder. "Remember, though, that someday you'll be free. A man will come with a smile, whisk you away from your entrapment, and show you a life you've only dreamed of."
Her smile returns as she turns her head to look at you. "So, Mr. Dantes, I suppose you're that man?"
You shrug, "Who knows? Maybe. I guess the point is-"
You are interrupted by the feeling of her warm lips pressed against yours. At first, you are overcome by shock, but then you give in. You stand up next to her, and wrap your arms around her slender body.
She breaks the kiss first, grabs your by the wrist and starts to pull you away from the bar.
"Cmon."
------------------------------
It's the next day. You wake up in your own hotel room. She's not there. There's no evidence she ever was. You find yourself not knowing if it was just a dream or if 'Haydee' even ever existed.
Getting dressed quickly, you try to retrace your steps. You eventually make it to the alley where you followed the music to. You see a closed door and feel a glimmer of hope. Running, you reach the door and look up.
The sign, which once read "Destiny" now says "DÂ…tÂ…ny". It's old. So is the door. It's rusted over with the occasional fleck of blue paint hanging on for dear life. The lock has been drilled through.
You reach for the handle and pull the door open.
As you walk in, your nose is filled with the smell of an old attic; dusty, slightly damp. The dust in the air, now made visible by the entering sunlight, seems to float in every direction. Next to the door you find a lightswitch and flick it on.
For a moment, the lights flicker but soon the whole room is once again bathed in a blue tone. Everything is visible now, but it's not what it once was. The scattered couches are now all covered with plastic tarps. A piano and a drum, which played beautifully only last night, are, too, encased in a thin plastic tomb.
As you walk from fixture to fixture, ripping the sheets off each, you hear the floor giving a low groan with every step like an old haunted house. Finally, you approach the bar. Uncovering the chair you once occupied, you take a seat once more, and slowly remove the plastic sheet spread across the top of the bar.
Scanning the mirrored back wall, you see shelve after shelve filled with nothing but dust and emptiness. You fold your arms and put your head down on the cold black countertop.
"I don't understandÂ…" You whisper to yourself.
Suddenly, in the mirrored wall, you notice the reflection of a box labeled "lost and found" underneath the bar. You climb on top of the counter and lower yourself down onto the raised floor behind the bar. Grabbing the box, you place it on top of the counter and open it. Within the box is a set of orange fuzzy dice, a strand of blue Mardi Gras beads, a small statue of a bear, a mini-chapstick, and an old book.
As you begin to inspect the items, you notice the book has no markings on any of its faces. Your heart begins to pound as you begin to open to book.
Slowly opening the cover, you turn the blank pages until you reach the first page with text.
"The Count of Monte Cristo"
In the distance, you hear a faint, rythmic pattern of footsteps. Suddenly they get faster and then stop as a silloughette stands in the doorwayÂ…
I like writing, in the physical sense. Not the act of expressing your ideas on a page (though I like that too), but the act of putting pen to paper itself. I've been writing a story and some little opinion pieces lately and I've been writing them in notebooks with my favorite pen, with the justification that it'll make me self-edit at least once while typing them up later. But really it's just for the joy of being able to write.
Comments
I'm 5'3". Not tall really, but I should weigh about 115 according to my doctor.
This is the one I was thinking of. I love the owl.
I need to stay away from concentrated caffeine and processed sugar. In the week or so since all the energy drinks and pepsi ran out, I have some how totally turned my life around which, at the time, seemed completely impossible.
In joining another forum, I was asked to give a explanation why a handful of items appeared on someones desk. Most people answered with stuff like "Hurr, you bought it." But I wanted to write something creative. It was only supposed to be a paragraph or two, but it turned into a monster... Five pages in MS Word. Yikes.