Oh. I Have a Blog? ...Oh.

Well, it's certainly been a while. There's a very complicated explanation for that, but as it involves me being knifed in the stomach twice, I don't think it's appropriate to get into that here. (Don't worry, it was done by professionals.)

I have been making some cakes lately, so here's some pictures of the latest one to clog up the page.

A Mirrormask cake, with things from the movie modelled in gumpaste.

Eustreptospondylus, discovered in England

Someday I think I'll be a paleontologist. Dinosaurs, yeah, dinosaurs are cool. I love dinosaurs. My dream as a child was to be a stegosaurus. (I have yet to achieve this goal.) But even more than that, I love making Jurassic Park references.
So I imagine my team will grow quite frustrated with me after a while. I'll be digging something up and directly quote the dig scene from the first bit of the movie. I'll start talking to someone about velociraptors and use the morbid "velociraptors will kill you, you know. And it'll hurt," speech he uses to terrify the kid. (I always wondered why he was there, anyways.) But we'll be digging up a eustreptospondylus or something. (That's my favourite dinosaur, in case anyone's curious.) My team of highly skilled paleontologists would become fed up with me almost immediately. For a while they would just look at me and shake their heads, but after about a week they would surround me as I spoke, and hold out their little spades.
"One more quote," they would say in worrying unison, "and you will regret it." I would stare, and blink. "We all have these little spades, see." I would continue digging, suspecting only a bit that they planned to kill me in my sleep. I would respond then, "If you don't kill me, someone else will. Because NATURE WILL FIND A WAY!"

I think that'll be the end of me.

I think I shouldn't be a paleontologist.

Some Ideas for the Future...

In the future, there shouldn't be cars. This isn't just because of my intense hatred of driving.


Okay. It is.


But they're not helping with the environmental problem, or the gas crisis. Anything that has "problem" or "crisis" after it certainly can't be good. That means it must be stopped.


While we are failing to find new energy sources, we are doing very well in the area of genetics.


Scientists should be trying to engineer large groundhogs. Not just "I saw the BIGGEST groundhog the other day, big as a cat!" big. Bigger than the average mini-van big. And we would ride them.


The worst traffic accident would be the accidental collision between two groundhogs who both simultaniously went for the same very large bug.


Rich people could even pay for coloured, pure-bred, groundhogs. They could form little clubs for different varieties.


Poor people could live on the groundhogs.


And police-- police would have the most durable groundhogs, genetically engineered for high-speed groundhog chases through hostile cityscapes and over the edges of cliffs into nearly bottomless ravines. But even if they couldn't properly genetically engineer a super-fast groundhog, it would be fine, because groundhogs are tend to be quite speedy, I hear, when the motivation is fighting crime. That and oatmeal.





Here's a picture, drawn in MSpaint, (because photoshop would rather use the mouse to suck my soul out through my palm that operate well as an art program) to demonstrate.

If that doesn't convince you, I don't know what will.

Another thing I definitely want in the future is the option to turn myself into a cyborg. We could have cellphones, computers, televisions right in our brains. (Of course, this would cause most people to sit around accessing porn in public without anyone knowing rather than interact, which would indirectly bring about the end of the human race.) But it's not having the entire internet in my brain and a camera on my forehead that excites me. It's the possible attachments.

If I were a cyborg, the first attachment I would get would be the shoulder-toaster. I would have it built on to look like some sort of muscle-enhancing super blast gun of some sort, but then the lid would flip off and it would be a toaster. I'd put it on the shoulder so I could just turn my head and bite it as it popped out.

Even better would be the large variety of settings on my shoulder-toaster. It would have the "why did you even toast this if you wanted it this light" setting, "black as death," "perfectly done"and all the basic ones you find on other toasters. But in addition to this there would be others. My favourite of the others would have to be the one that would be listed at the very bottom in bright red capital letters that read "INCINERATE."

Because the greatest thing about toasters is you can put anything in there, it doesn't have to be bread.

My least favourite would be the "spurt flame" setting, but only if I happened to have my head turned toward the toaster. If the flame missed my head it would be my second favourite.

Still Alive, Despite Government Interference

It's a brand new day, apparently, according to my computer clock, which reads in tiny, yet rather irate looking black numbers: 1:54.

Oops.

I raided the internet and found several sites with some great sheet music for violin.
Yes. This means "Still Alive" on the violin. Needless to say I'm super excited.

Just my luck I would discover this fabulousness at 2 in the morning, when most neighbors would complain about hearing screechy violin playing. (Why they don't complain about greasy rockband reject neighborman playing his guitar loudly and very near constantly is a minor mystery.)

In any case, the other songs I found that I'm super excited about are:

"Tabi no Tochuu" from Spice and Wolf
"Sakura Kiss" from Host Club
"Gamble Rumble" from Initial D (I'm pretty sure I'm the only person alive that remembers that series...)
"Ai no Melody" from Gin-iro no Kami no Agito
"Houki Boshi" by Younha (It was the OP of Bleach at some point, I think.)
"Ai no Rinkaku" from Brain Powerd
...and half a million others.
I got them from http://www.freewebs.com/infinityex/violinsheets.htm, and I officially love the lovely people that run that site.

But what would really make me super ecstatically happy would be to be able to play anything from Katekyo Hitman Reborn, or the Dr. Horrible songs, because I'm the biggest nerd on the planet.

Look forward to my frustrated updates that will explain in great detail how it's "physically impossible" to play whichever song is irking me and how I "give up forever." I expect these to contain extensive use of the phrase, "CARKING HEMSTITCH!" in angry capital letters.

But I'll probably get it eventually.

There's four references in here. Cookies if you can find them all.

Brand New Blog Has Brand New Blog Smell

Ah, a nice fresh blog to defile with my ridiculous attempts at being amusing. I bet you're all terrified.

That's something people do a lot on the internet, it seems; typing like they're talking to people, when the fact of the matter is that no one will look at most of those things.

But it seems to be a tradition, so there it is. There's nothing for it, gotta go through with it if it's tradition. (Until said tradition has been made illegal or judged unconstitutional, at least.)

Well. November is approaching soon, and this year I'll be doing NaNoWriMo, which in its non-abbreviated form is National Novel Writing Month. I will have the entirety of November to write 50,000 words. I'm quite frightened by this.

I wrote out my plot idea today and frankly, I didn't think I could stretch it into 50,000 words, so I added some unnecessary subplots. As I did so I thought of my novel as a metaphor, as a piece of bread. A sad, thin little piece of bread, from the days when there was no wonder bread and you had to spend all day kneading and mixing and waiting for the yeast to do its job, and by the time the bread finishes you've got the worst hand cramps this side of the 'verse and can't manage to cut more than a thin little deformed slice. But on this bread is a microbe. A tiny, evil little microbe that can think of nothing but destroying what's yours. But you can't blame him, it's his purpose. To him it's just reproduction and living, not ruining the fruits of your labor, leaving you with nothing but a green fluffy square. This little microbe is my plot. As it reproduces it produces little sub-plots. As with any family, there's at least one little microbe that's going to be the black sheep of the family, and this would be the one subplot that screws up the whole business and the one that'll make me want to shove my entire metaphorical novel into the metaphorical inferno of a metaphorical toaster.
But then there'd certainly be some sort of residue left in the toaster and ruin my mood whenever I went to make metaphorical toast.

More info on this when November starts, and I start listing word count in every entry I put on this lonely little blog.
Depending on how ashamed I am of it, I may post bits of the actual novel occasionally.