Boom. Boom. Boom. 

That's the sound of my doldrums a callin'. 

Okay, yeah, that was corny I know, but I'm not feeling the best today. Just called my school and despite changing to a cheaper room for next semester I'm still looking at a rather large overdraft that will have to be covered with a loan. I have no co-signers, no credit history, nothing that any loan company would consider giving me money for. 

I just don't feel good. 

I want to go back to this school, I do, but only for the experience that it has given me, not because I'm extremely in love with the city or made a bunch of new friends. I just have this dark, gross, disgusting feeling that If I quit right now and come back home I'll never leave. I'm so afraid of losing sight of what I want to do in life--it's scaring the living hell out of me. I see my future: I'm a twenty something still at home with Mom, a little overweight, sad, depressed, not a friend of companion to my name, and filling my boring days that aren't occupied with my droll 9-5 job with Netflix and too much Pepsi. I'm anxious, nervous, and I've sorta failed at life. My mom is sympathetic, but nothing can change the fact that I was the one bird she had that never left the nest. 

I'm being melodramatic, I'm being truthful, I'm really scared to death of what's in store for me. 

My brother old me I'm my own worst enemy and I believe he's right. I may be able to defeat the debt but I don't know how to defeat the her that is me. She's too powerful, she has my heart and mind, doubt is her Excalibur. 

"Don't let me get me."

Am I a Spiritual Person?

I guess my answer to that question would have to be, well, no. At least not right now. 

Not right now--at all. Currently, I'm more concerned with getting back into school and not drowning prematurely into debt; publishing a worthwhile piece of fiction and jump starting my career as an author; figuring out if I really want to go into television screenwriting along with the realization that it would mean I would have to live in dreaded LA; providing for my family in the long run, making sure they're all okay; for once having a normal social life and real friends to talk to and love; having a boyfriend again and regularly...well...you know. That kind of stuff. Not gaining too much weight, trying to look less dowdy and more my age...hell, worrying about if I'm finally going to get to eat at my favorite Asian restaurant in my hometown after having to push it back to scrimp and scrap for school next semester. I'm not worried about God, about heaven or hell, if they all even exist--I just want to live my life and worry about all that stuff when the time comes-- if the time comes. 

This "time" now being a concept I'm wondering about the true existence of. 

See, all my life I was taught to fear God, to love God, to serve God, and to believe that Jesus was his son, he's our Savior, the Holy Ghost, the Spirit, the whatever thing that makes all the old arthritic ladies at my church shove aside their walkers and do the Cupid Shuffle up and down the aisle of the chapel, their eyes rolled in the backs of their heads, the whites of their eyeballs glowing. I was always taught that this was right, that I should strive for this in my life. That one day I should be one of these ladies, kicking up my heels and acting out a seizure so that I could go to heaven and ride on the backs of lions and drink milk and honey. 

Then, my older brother converted to Islam and I started to believe that there was only one true God that I should serve. That my mother's Christian faith was a bunch of hoo-hah that I'd been wasting my time on, that I should be on my hands and knees everyday facing the East and wearing hyjab. 

Then I realized that I didn't want either of these ideologies. I didn't want to pray, I didn't want to go to mosque or church, I didn't want to care about God or Jesus or Mohammed, and why the hell they should be so damn important to me. 

I also realized that I never truly cared. 

I always went to church because I was told that it was indisputably the right thing to do, that I had to be a Christian and that I had to pray to this God and this Jesus who died on a cross for my sins. I started to read the Qu'ran and believe in Allah and smirk at the poor sad souls who testified that they slipped off their diets because they were tempted by the Devil, that their sons and daughters being in jail was the work of demons, and that God was the only thing that would save them and they were just "so glad to be here this morning."

I did all those things, but in the back of my mind I always had this little voice of doubt talking to me. "You sure about this?" It would often say. "I mean, are you sure about this?" 

I never was, but then again I was always taught that because I was a child I had no right questioning these things anyway. I could pick what I wanted to wear in the morning (and sometimes even that was hard with my mother), I could choose between Honey Nut Cheerios or Frosted Flakes for breakfast, but I never, NEVER could speak up about what I wanted religiously. Oh, no. No, that was strictly for Mom and Dad to decide and it was all for my own good. 


So now here I am. On the precipice of this great blank space when it comes to religion. Is it a place of torment? No, not at all. Just a space that I have yet to fill with what I want to denote my spirituality, my beliefs in a higher power or else wise. I don't walk around feeling guilty about my lack of care toward religion. I'm perfectly happy choosing what I want to put my faith into.

So yeah. Blame this little gem here for sparking this random thought. I actually completely forgot to mention this game anywhere in this post, or my thoughts about Buddhism, but I'm sure it will come up later. Just need a healthy reaffirmation once in a while.  





 

Of Roasted Chicken and Half Vampires

Mom's house was so different than Father's, and that was putting it lightly.
 
Like the kitchen for instance. I was in the kitchen. Each surface seemed to shine, glow with this ethereal light that reflected the sunlight streaming into the room. The counters were made of hardwood, polished and sanded to perfection. The frigerator was a metallic behemoth that I knew was stuffed to the brim with fresh lunch meats, tuberware full of potato salad and ambrosia, with the shelves lined with neatly capped bottles of ketchup, mustard, relish, and mayonnaise coupled with an odd low-fat yogurt or two. Just to prove myself right, just because I couldn't help it, I ran over and wrenched open the door to confirm that there was indeed a freshly made coconut cream pie sitting smack dab in the middle of the center shelf, just like I hoped it would be. Pristine, rich-looking, the coconut shavings were like shards of glass on a bed of whipped cream.
 
I could smell something like berries or lemons in the air and spotted a strawberry-colored candle sitting on one of those warmers next to the microwave. I walked over to it to see what flavor it was: pink lemonade, it was called. Her kitchen smelled like pink lemonade.
 
Father didn't have a kitchen, or at least I was forbidden to call the space that was supposed to be the kitchen a kitchen. In that space, there sat nothing more than an old, beaten-looking wooden table that was rough and full of holes. Behind it was one of those large, eighteenth century stoves that ate up most of the wall and required a fully fledged camp fire to get it going. Above it hung an assortment of copper pots and pans that were sharp with rust and clanged like gongs any time the kitchen door was slammed too hard (which wasn't often, because Father doesn't like noises). We didn't have a frigerator in there, no microwave, no oven. All of that stuff, at least the fridge and microwave anyway, was up in my room. Father wanted no reminders of my half-vampirism, nothing that told him that I was a weak little half-breed who still required a Hot Pocket and Gatorade to get him through the day.

Everyone sat down for dinner. Mom, Jonathan, and Quincy. They all sat down and ate together.
Vampires don't do that. They have no concept of sharing a meal, unless they're part of a nest, and then most of the time nesting vampires only eat together to make sure no one is eating better than the other. So it's not really to share quality time with each other, it's just a way for vampires to be more greedy. Or less greedy, I guess.
 
The first thing Mom did was say grace. Grace. A prayer, a blessing over the food. Thanking a god for providing the roast chicken, homemade mashed potatoes, steamed peas and honeyed carrots, and freshly baked croissants that she made. Father and Catalina always told me there was no god, no such thing as heaven or hell. That vampires were creatures created just as animals were, just as humans were. They said vampires were just another link in the great cycle of life, and that it was only a petty human quandry that they happened to come beneath us when it came to who's eating who on the food chain. Catalina, in a rare moment of kindness, told me that we (or they) were kind of like lions and that humans were the antelope. She knew I liked lions, she was trying to make me feel better. It did make me feel better too...until she bought a lion home and ate it in front of me. If I didn't like meat so much I'd totally be a vegetarian right now.
 
After blessing the food, or making it cleaner, or whatever, they all started passing around plates to each other, saying thank you when someone handed over a tureen of gravy or dished a few extra carrots on a plate. They were all so friendly with each other, smiling and laughing--communicating. Catalina, when she wasn't sleeping, would usually have a snarky comment or two for me, seeped into some lesson about vampirism and the greatness of vampires over humans; Andrei spoke to me in much the same way, though everything he said was usually just an insult; Elisabetha and Father slept most of the day, and even if they were up they never spent time talking to me, much as I spent time avoiding talking to them. Nobody asked how their day was going, what they were feeling like, mostly because everyone at Father's house assumed everyone was thinking and feeling the same thing: when is the next kill coming? How long until the sun rises? What places are full of healthy humans but lacking high security?
 
I mostly just sat and watched them. Mom talking about her job at the clinic, giggling and patiently buttering a croissant for Marcie; Jonathan talking about his lawyer stuff, cases and his clients, while he chewed through the chicken; Quincy harping on about his basketball team and all the friends he had, how normal and perfect he was...at least, that's what most of what he was saying sounded like anyway: "Mom, did you know that coach needs a new front for the team? Did you know he said something about me being the front, Mom? Did you know that I'm possibly on my way to being VP next semester, Dad?" As if him succeeding at everything was news to anyone.
 
Nobody said anything to me until Mom looked over and saw that I wasn't eating.
 
"Oh...Dracen, honey, is something wrong?" She asked me, the corners of her eyes wrinkled with concern. "You not hungry or something?"
 
I stared at her, a dumb look on my face, I knew, but I couldn't help it--she was so beautiful. Her face was so alive-looking, pumping with blood and vibrancy. Her blue eyes were warm, her light brown hair pulled back from her heart-shaped face into a messy ponytail. She was so different from Elisabetha, whose face was unlined, sleek as porcelain, dead and cruel-looking. I liked that Mom's age showed in the lines by her mouth, the crinkles around her eyes. Whereas Elisabetha was over a hundred years old, still so young-looking but nothing more than a cold corpse full of somebody else's blood.
 
"Dracen?" She said again, that age-old fear creeping into her voice. I cringed at it. She was still afraid of me, still scared of the half-vampire son that she didn't really know much about---that she didn't really want to know too much about.
 
"What, you don't like carrots?" Qunicy piped up, pointedly shoving a forkful into his mouth. Jackass.
 
"Yeah, is that it, Dracen? Do you not like carrots?" Mom asked, tapping her fork nervously.
Is it blood you want, they all wanted to ask me. You don't need blood, do you? God, we're not going to have to give you some of our blood, do we?
 
"Uh, no, no," I said quickly, dumbly, as I picked up my fork and stabbed through the thigh of my chicken. I pulled off a piece and plopped it into my mouth. It tasted like heaven, like life. Well, dead chicken life, but you know.
 
"Mmm," I murmured, meaning it. "Mm, it's so good, Mom. Really, I love it. I haven't had roasted chicken in a while."
 
She smiled, thinly veiled relief spreading out over her face. "Oh...well, good, honey. I'm glad you like it. I...well, I'm glad you like it."
 
Yeah, I bet she was. In her mind, had I been unhappy I'd have been over the table with my teeth at her neck in seconds, sucking out every last bit of her blood to satisfy myself. Nevermind, that I was a half vampire, incapable of tearing through human skin with my skimpy little fangs and claws. Nevermind that the thought of blood, dark, and full of clots washing down my throat and into my stomach disgusted me. Nevermind that there was still a part of me that was a part of her swimming around in my body, that my blood was her blood, even if Father's poisonous bile was intermingled with it. I was still a monster to her, a foreign guest that she had to put up with every other week per her guilty conscience and government regulations. Mom loved me, sure, but she liked loving me from afar where I didn't remind her of the fatal mistake she made fourteen years ago when she found her way into Father's coffin.
 
Sometimes I think she pitied me more than she loved me. And that she feared me more than she could ever love or pity me. Whether I was in her house, clean and smelling of lemonade and life and light, or whether I was shut up in my enormous, Victorian-styled room in my Father's house that was dank, dark, and void of any human impression whatsoever, I was always going to be in the middle somewhere. Neither vampire, nor human. Not really a son to anyone.
 
A loud burp sounded across the table. It carried a gross combination of chicken, vegetables, and Dr. Pepper. I looked up at Quincy, smirking at me. I'll admit it, it was at least comforting to know that he wasn't really intimidated by my otherworldy-ness. To him I was still no different than the nerdy kids he probably picked on in school, just another life form not blessed with his great looks and beguiling charm, just someone else to lord it over.
 
I frowned at him, taking in his stereotypically jocky face that was all square jawed and chiseled. He was good-looking in an arrogant, asshole kind of way, his eyebrows arched so that he always looked pleasantly surprised.
 
Meanwhile, I was skinny, still too pale for a human, with my sorta-pointy ears, long nose, and black, black hair that refused to spike up for any brand of hair gel. As I watched him, running his hand through his hair, nonchalantly texting underneath the table and smirking at the letters, I thought that I could make a better son than him. I could make her love me.

If she'd give me the chance. 


I actually don't have many bad things to say about this one. Other than some awkward sentences and maybe the general angsty tone to the whole piece, I think it's pretty good. Dracen (or Drace) is a character of mine from this little series I had going on involving the teenage boy offsprings of well-known monsters--ie. Dracula, Frankenstein's monster, etc. Drace, if you couldn't tell, is the son of Dracula and Mina Harker, effectively making him a tortured half vampire who doesn't fit the category of human or vampire. Out of all the characters, he's a little more intriguing to me, mostly because of the fact that writing about the half human son of Dracula brings up a lot of interesting possibilities. He is rather angsty and whiny, but I don't shy away from this fact. He's at once poetic and thoughtful along with being pouty and melodramatic. I love him for it, what can I say. 


Yeah, this isn't my post about the love confession which was actually between he and another character, his best friend. Not really sure I like that angle anymore, at least when it involves his best friend. Seriously, I need to stop writing so many "oh-I'm gay-I-like-my-straight-best-friend" stories. They're becoming a little redundant.

Urrgh...

Well, as of right now I've majorly screwed up the design of my blog. Initially, I only meant to update the background image to something other than the Cowboy Bebop logo, but I didn't know that the whole template and stuff would reset itself. I have YET to understand how these blogs work! 

So in the meantime I will be trying to rectify my mistakes and get it back to looking near decent again. Truthfully, I have wanted to change it but this time around I'll make sure to put more time into its appearance and make it look more like I want it to. It's gonna take some time...

Good news though! I have corrected some major wrongs in my growing bill for college! Whoo! Unfortunately, I'll be back in a suite with another roommate this year instead of getting my own room, but at least I won't have a horrifying overdraft to worry about anymore (I think I deserve a cupcake!)

Can definitely say that I've learned my lesson about jumping the gun when it comes to school, not planning and whatnot. This time round, I'll make sure to be more careful about what I say yes to before doing something. On another note, I have a piece of prose to post on here.  

Um, is it, like, yaoi month or something? I've got a serious hankering for reading, watching, and producing yaoi for some odd reason. Even more so than before. Found this awesome blog that has a compilation of links to some of my favorite yaoi webcomics along with a few that I've never heard of before. 

Anyway, the post that I plan on getting up before the night is over is little scene between two characters of mine. One of them is confessing their feelings toward the other with much drama and angst to accompany it. It's nothing special, just a little something I whipped up to satisfy my self imposed writing quota. 

Not that I satisfy it much...

Whoo. 

Yeah, so I feel the need to apologize about my 'Korra' review entry. Long story--that really isn't a long story--short, I was incredibly tired yesterday. I spent most of my weekend at a very festive family reunion with my other-mama and by the time I actually got back in front of a computer I was beat. So that's why the review is full of spelling and grammatical errors. I was just too pooped. 

Anyway, I plan on possibly re-posting the review with some edited changes, but before that I feel the need to kind of summarize what I was rambling about in my exhausted stupor. It will be real short this time, I promise. 

So I had been following all that the Avatarverse has had to offer since it first premiered way back when in like, what, 2005 or something? After such a great experience watching Avatar the Last Airbender, I had high hopes for The Legend of Korra. While her first few episodes were pretty promising (with a few of the latter ones being kind of iffy) unfortunately the season finale left me feeling pretty glum. I think the pacing of the season is what proved to really kill things for me because there were so many elements of the plot and character's that just didn't unfold completely. There were so many questions left unanswered about Amon and the sensitive social situation between benders and non-benders, but in such a way that I felt like there was a lot of missed opportunity for some great moments to occur in the show. Yes, I know the second season hasn't even premiered yet and there's still plenty of time for some Q&A, but with Korra effectively ending the whole "taking your bending away" problem I'm just dully wondering what else to expect. Say there is going to be a new enemy for her to face--do we just get the finale as our final resolution to all of Amon's craziness? 


Character development was pretty weak, blah, blah. I'll just say that one of the most charming things I find about Avatar is it's acknowledgement that it can't laugh off some of it's obvious corniness. Each of the characters in the first series had their stereotypical, annoying tropes but it was combated by character growth that challenged those tropes and made them a little compelling. With Korra, everyone's cookie-cutter archetype fell flat and left much to be desired. 


So, I feel like I'm rambling now, and frankly I'm kind of tired about talking about this (hello, the second part of the Promise Trilogy is on it's way!). Really, I'm afraid I've begun to beat a dead horse that unfortunately had a little left left in it for season two. 


So, yeah. Disappointed, but you already knew that, right? 'Course you did (I have go to stop talking to myself on here...)


Anyway, I may write some more musings and/or post of my writing mayhaps, but I shall get off for now. 


Later until...tonight?

Legend of Korra: Review of the Finale

Yo. 

So, I figure I best write about this before another urge to rewatch an episode of King of the Hill overtakes me again. Welp, I've been keeping up with this show-- :

--Along with hoards of other fans of this awesome universe that is Avatar the Last Airbender, and Saturday it's first season finale aired although I was currently indisposed at the time, subsequently missing it. Anyway, I finally managed to watch it a few hours ago after daydreaming about it throughout the week before and I must say I was UTTERLY...

...disappointed.  

Yeah. 

Man, let me just say that there is nothing more upsetting than religiously following a series to only be bitterly disappointed by its ending when everything comes to a head. I mean, you wake up every day at a certain time to catch it on TV; you sit at the edge of your seat whilst it's playing, marveling at its brilliance while tolerantly cringing at some rough patches before brushing said patches off with a trusted assurance that when everything is said and done all will be amended and equalized (yeah, I had to go there), only to find out that, nope, all of your optimism and hope was completely for naught. You basically-kinda-got-screwed. 


So, yes, I did indeed feel a little screwed with the ending of The Legend of Korra. Here's why: 

Amon (I'm going to do the list thing here) 


So for anyone else who happens to come across this blog and who also happened to watch the show, uh, WHAT THE FUCK? After we've been treated to this image, this belief that Amon was a mysterious, super insanely talented non-bender who has the odd ability to siphon away bending, we instead get hit with a revelation that he's actually just a pissed off, super insanely talented water bender who's Dad was kinda a jerk and kinda made him blood bend some animals and then kinda made him so mad he ran away to be come this cold, masked avenger for all the "oppressed" non-bending peoples in Republic City. Now here's the thing: 


I'm actually okay with that. Sorta. 


I'm okay with Amon's past, him actually being a bender, his abusive power hungry dad, and OH YEAH, Tarrlok actually being his brother. That doesn't really bother me, what bothers me is that I never knew why he was so pissed at benders, why he decided that he, a bender, had the right to start a revolution that would effectively end bending. Instead, with the extra reveal that Amon made up his whole cock-and-bull story about his parents being murdered by fire benders, him going all Batman, and the subsequent scar that ended up on his face as a result of his parent's attack, Amon left me feeling like he was more than just a fraud who saw it fit to manipulate people. Him running away and kind of punking out on Korra's newfound air bending abilities just made him cheap. This being a bad thing, when the series really built him up to be more than what he actually was, and then not tie up some of the loose ends in his story so that  at least everything he did from the beginning seemed justified. I'm rambling and making no sense I know, but I guess what I'm trying to say is that Amon's end didn't really justify his means. I still have no idea why he feels the need to start a revolution against benders...I mean did his father's assholery, abuse, and power hungry ideals convince him that all benders needed to have their bending taken away? When he left his family, was he constantly bombarded with the sight of benders taking advantage of non-benders? I mean, what the hell was this guy's hang up? 


All in all, I would have to say that his character was cheapened to me at the end, and only because the series asked too many questions that weren't answered in its twelve episode span. Yes, I know there's still a season two, and, yeah, I can acknowledge that Amon will come up at least once maybe, and YEAH, I still kinda think he might be alive, but come ON. Really? That's all we get? 


The Politics and the Supposed Bender vs. Non-Bender Thing

Uh, where was that anyway? Amon's whole driving force behind his campaign was to raise up all of his non-bending "brethren" against all of these evil, element bloated benders who wanted to see them all crushed under their all opposing thumbs. Unfortunately, I felt like there wasn't enough evidence to show why benders were so bad and why there was at least some reason to sympathize with the non-benders. 

Sure, they were some pretty bad bending gangs that inhabited Republic City, but they weren't really talked about much or shown enough to suggest that they were singularly what was wrong with all benders. I'm sure there were plenty non-bender gangs in the city and I'd like to think that they ruled their roosts with the same ruthlessness. 

And sure---it's not at all hard to believe that benders are arrogant because of their powers and feel it's within their right to lord it over non-benders but, again, evidence? There was only one time when I felt that this whole bender supremacy was introduced in the series and that was during this episode. Korra interrupts Tarrlok during an arrest of an entire neighborhood of non-benders under the false accusation that they were Equalists and Korra, after having been shouted at by a woman that she was "their Avatar too" that I could see where non-benders definitely have to unfairly bear the brunt of sharing a word where some people can shoot fireballs out of their palms. Otherwise, it was sort of left up to the audience to kind of go along with the reasoning that non-benders would naturally want to overthrow benders because one, the Council was made up of benders, and two, hey, it kind of sucks not having elemental powers. 

It was the lack of really developing this problem and all of it's political implications that once again left me feeling rather underwhelmed. 

Makorra and Character Development  (yes, I have to go here!)

Okay, so 'Makorra' is a minor irritation for the most part. Did I know that Korra and Mako were most likely going to end up together? YES. Did I know Asami being thrown into the mix to cock-block Korra from hooking up too quickly with Mako was intentional? YES. Did I expect Mako to be all concerned about Korra's protection after having been all up in Asami's mansion and her pool and her noodles? (noodles?) YES. So, really, Makorra's coupling didn't really disturb me, just the way they eventually coupled. 


You know, I'd like to think that Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko have a sense of humor and really there's plenty of evidence to support that. Hell, these guys definitely have a sense of humor and The Ember Island Players is all one needs to see to know that the creators of the Avatar series can definitely poke fun at themselves. I'm okay with that. In fact, I kind of suspect that The Spirit of Competition was indeed another episode where the guys are intentionally corn-balling up the teen romance angle to show how okay they are with toying with the obvious cliches. Personally, I guess I would have liked to see Korra with Bolin at first to sort of deepen the inescapable love triangle aspect, along with sparking a bit of sibling rivalry between Mako and Bolin. 


So, speaking of sibling rivlary...character development. Yeah. That. Sibling rivalry betwixt Mako and Bolin would have been interesting, right? They, who had been through running errands for triads and Shady Shinner's and the like, who had been through so much, find themselves at odds with the arrival of Avatar Korra into their love lives. Or how about the whole Asami thing? I would have liked to see Asami a little more defiant toward Mako's sudden fickleness when it came to Korra. Okay, so I'm ranting now, but what I'm trying to articulate is that I can't help but feel that the characters didn't really develop as hugely as they did in A:TLA. 

YESSSS, I KNOW that the first series was three seasons long, more time, blah, blah, but after coming from there I guess I was expecting more in the personal growth department when it came to Korra and co like her predecessors before her. Probably my folly, expecting some of the exact same things from a sixty one episode series that had much more time on it's hands but, hey, the bar was set pretty high and I can't help but fume about the expectations that weren't met. Everything felt really slap-dashed throughout every episode before the finale, but I guess I just figured it would all to make sense in the end. Like Iroh for instance? Um, hello, he was Zuko's grandson, right? Erm, why didn't we get to see him more in action? Yeah, he took down Amon's planes and everything and helped out for the most part, but not by much. He spent a fair amount of time locked up with Asami and Bolin and everything about his appearance was just mediocre. I'm thinking that maybe he was just supposed to be a guest character, considering Dante Basco was the only original actor from the main cast to return to the series, but it wasn't a hugely impacted cameo, just a cool little tidbit. 


So to wrap this up because I'm rambling and not being very concise about this, everyone just felt really underdeveloped and too nice. Or maybe too supportive is the word I'm looking for. Asami didn't turn out to be a bitchy rich chick who was a rival/foil to Korra, which was okay because it was nice to see them getting along, but I can't help but feel like things would have been more interesting if they had acknowledged the stake they both had in Mako. 


Tenzin, god, was HE a disappointment. Not really the more interesting one of Aang's children. I felt like he was a pretty crappy mentor to Korra considering all the times she was captured by Amon or injured as a result of her bad choices. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't expecting him to hold her hand throughout the series, but there were plenty of times I felt like he would merely henpick over Korra yet she'd still end up none the better for it. I guess it would have been cooler to see him step up sometime and really guide her when she needed it. He always seem more concerned with other things which I guess he was. 


There's more but I'll just move onto my last points--


Airbending and the Ending 

Right, Korra is in a no-win situation against Amon and suddenly she learns how to airbend? THAT was when it was most important? 

All right, all right so Mako was about to have his bending taken away and Korra had to save him and something had to be done, blah, blah, I GET it. Yet, her sudden spurt of airbending coupled with the fact that she suddenly, after having HER bending taken away, connects with Aang and the other avatars and gains the ability to restore someone's lost bending? Come on, peeps. 


Deus ex machina is the word to use here. The writers deus the HELL out of this episode. Again, it just left me disappointed and unimpressed that such a cheap solution was used to solve Korra's problem. I held the belief that maybe Korra would lose her bending, sure, but that would prove as one of the challenges for her to overcome in season 2. Overreaching I know, but Aang suddenly showing up out of nowhere when Korra has done little meditating that we the viewers have seen to help her really made me consider that Korra didn't really earn the title of Avatar for me. When Tenzin called her "Avatar Korra" it really didn't feel like that for me, like she got to that level. At the end of A: TLA Aang had proven that he had been through enough trial and hardship when it came to mastering the four elements and all the other crap that surrounded him, that he finally deserved to be called "Avatar Aang" when the time came. For Korra it was all just rather slap-dashed. 


Okay, so I'm going to have to stop here. I have tons more to say, always, but I would just like to leave this thing and wait on season 2. Am I pessimistic? Yeah, a little, but just as hopeful as well. I'm hoping they'll pull out some of the brilliance that made the first series so memorable but who knows? At the very least, they'd better not pull any more Spirit World tropes that magically end up saving the day. Kinda getting tired of that shit. 


So, night for now. I've got baby-sitting in the morning.

I want to write about my ex-boyfriends. I'll explain later but I've got to get it out now. 

So, when I was sixteen I had my first boyfriend named "Lance" (not his real name--it's the internet peeps). I had known him for years though quite anonymously. We went to the same elementary school, but then he was just some kid I would see in the halls from time to time. In fact, I have this memory of him way back in the fourth grade or so, I think. I was throwing something away in the trash, he was there, and someone shouted that there was a spider in the can or something. He got this really faux concentrated, serious look on his face (faux because he was always trying to seem really 'cool') and then he suddenly shot out his hand and squashed the spider-- or something like that. 

Then there was this other time that we went to this wildlife preserve--it was a class field trip, and this was back in like the seventh grade--and I was looking at this snake in a glass cage. He came over and stuck his tongue out at it, hissed at it, and it shot up and hissed back at him. Everyone was all "oohing" and "aahing" in a rather uneasy way because people all assumed he was some weird kid who was secretly psycho and that he was due to go all Columbine on us eventually. I'll admit, I thought the same thing too, but who would have known that about four years after that I would be making out with this kid in his car, fogging up the windows. 

Yeah. My junior year of high school I finally worked up the courage to talk to Lance and gave him my email address (because giving him my number would have solidified that I was trying to hook up with him) and we started chatting with one another. A few weeks after that, he asked me to the homecoming dance though we ended up going to the movies instead (mostly because I had gained some weight and after having looked like a lumpy piece of clay in a dress at the mall I decided I wouldn't go through with the humiliation of trying to look all cute for a dance when I felt like a bloated piece of crap). 

The movies. We went out to eat, saw How to Meet Friends and Alienate People (which was really bad and British--not that that was bad) and I had my first kiss by the end of the night. I was feeling really happy--which wasn't often during those years. 

So we dated. Broke up due to him being completely distant (months would go by before I heard anything from him and it was almost like I didn't really have a boyfriend) and nothing else happened. Senior year, we started dating again and got really heavy handed, meaning almost every day after school we were feeling each other up and trying out oral sex for the first time. Later on in the year I finally, after months of fruitless coercing, lost my virginity to him one weekend while his parents were away. It was my first sex, so it wasn't great--far from it--but I was so happy to lose my v-card before I was in college I dealt with the awkward thrusts and me cooing and aahing, trying desperately to emulate all those women I'd seen in pornos (yeah, I admit it). 


We dated his first year of college but once again he got so incredibly distant and unconcerned, I said goodbye to Lance for the final time and was left feeling kind of let down and sad. 


Right, but what Lance looked like. Gotta mention this: He was a short kid, lanky, skinny, devoid of any muscle whatsoever (not that this was a bad thing, of course). He had a long nose, coppery brown eyes that shone so beautifully when he was excited or animated, and Leon Kennedy hair (I'm such a nerd!). 


Okay, well, the hair might be something of stretch but Lance was...well, such a nerd. And I don't really mean this in a pejorative sense, but all of his hobbies, his 'way of thinking' it all came from video games. He watched TV for long hours at a time, gorged himself on MMO's, sugar cookies, and Mountain Dew. He dressed blandly, slept all the time, and was also a genius to boot. I mean, the kid was SMART. Really smart. Like Harvard graduate neurosurgeon PHD smart (not that he went to Harvard). 

Despite all of this, I kind of found his know-it-all, sudden spurts of coolness and lucidity very charming and kind of sexy. He wasn't an overt jocky type or even the sensitive artist that I've been craving to date, but he was a sweet guy and a good first boyfriend. 


So, that was "Lance." Next is "Gabe". 


I met Gabe online. We chatted a bit, finally went out on a date after a few weeks of chatting, and then started dating. He lived a ways from my hometown, it was always a drive to go see him. We had outgoing dates compared to my quieter, typical ones with Lance. On our first date he took me to a petting zoo and introduced me to the fun brilliance to be found in attending a Renaissance fair. He was a musician and he'd always play old school rock on his radio during car rides along with elaborate symphonies-- of which he'd try to describe to me the technicalities and intricacies behind every trumpet and violin-- while I sat with a clueless smile, trying to keep my practiced yet detached look of interest from sliding of my face like a runny egg. Gabe liked to talk a lot--about himself, his music, his life, his experiences, his opinions, his interpretation of everything from a book he read to an episode of South Park. Alas, this didn't always make what he had to say interesting. 

Gabe was a stout, plumpish twenty-something with a full beard and almond shaped brown eyes. What I liked best about him was...well, I won't go into here, but let's just say that he knew how to put his tongue to good use, and mostly when it wasn't flapping around while he yapped about how he felt.   


Gabe and I broke up not too long after I began school. It hurt to admit that I missed him, but it hurt even more to admit that I only missed him because I was so desperate for someone in my life that I was willing to put up with a guy who blasted Pink Floyd in my ears until I was grinding my teeth together in the hopes that I could fend off the impending headache I always got. 


So, I don't know why I wrote this. Earlier, I was listening to a certain someone's account of their run-in with their significant other's ex and I hopped on here to talk about my own experiences with past "loves". Now, I wonder if there's something more to this, something I needed to get out. 


Maybe-- not really. I've thought about my relationships with each of these men to death and I don't think there's anything else to talk about. One guy was sweet but ridiculously aloof, one was thoughtful but self absorbed. They're all the experiences I can chalk up in my dating gamut, so maybe that's why they feel so tangible, so poignant. I haven't dated hoards of guys, even though I always wanted to at this point in my life, so I think about these guys every once in a while, the latter almost often. Not really because I miss them, or even loved them, but because they're there, and until I find someone else I guess they'll just be figments of my bitching until I date, fuck, and break up with some other guy. 

Huh. We'll see. 

Babysitting as of RIGHT now. Over my charge's house, trying not to go insane, trying to feel all big and important and writer-y by simultaneously watching them and trying to get some stuff done. Not working. Not only can I not take my eyes off of them for very long, but I don't have shit to write about. Which is actually bullshit, because if I really THOUGHT about it I'm sure I could figure out something but I'm way too distracted when I'm over here--

Ughhhhh. Ideas or no, I CAN NOT do anything when I'm over here of that nature. I can't. Gotta watch these kids...before they maul each other with Wii remotes. 

Maybe more later...

The Bec Letters Series: Entry 1: Cold Space

Bec 1-1 

Victoria, 

Right...well, this is weird. I mean...not weird but I'm just not use to doing stuff like this. I know it might be corny (in fact, I'm more certain you'll never see this because I'm not entirely sure I want to send it to you) but I had to write you--the old fashioned way. 

These past few weeks without you have been hard. I'm surrounded by people and they all want the same thing from me--guidance. Everyone expects me to have all the answers to any problem that arise and I can't for one second hesitate and make them think I'm doubtful. I have to maintain control and it kills me. I know I sound like a pussy saying this but sometimes all I want to do is get out of here and go back to the way things use to be. Of course, then I remember everything again: my mother passed out all day from being drunk; her in our crappy-ass apartment with all those roaches crawling over everything; working five jobs from noon to morning of the next day and still only earning minimum wage. When it gets tough all of these things come rushing back to me and I know I can't fail. I have too much riding on me, my mom depending on me to stay in the military and make things better for us. 

Even still, doubt plagues my mind continuously and sometimes I stay up all night just wishing everyone would go away, stop expecting me to lead them, and leave me the hell alone. Sorry babe, I know it sounds like I'm whining but you know you're the only person who will put up with me when I'm like this. You're always the one person I can depend on to deal with my bitching. 

God, do I miss you. I think about you every night. You're the only beautiful image I have to cling onto because out here in space there's nothing but endless plains of blackness and metal and machines. I miss how your long brown legs cling tightly around my waist, the way your wide chocolate colored eyes bright up when you smile and laugh. Vicki (sorry, I know you hate me calling you that but you know it's hard not too) I love you so much. I just hope you know that. I love with all my heart and soul and I promise I'll show you that I'm the kind of man who can take care and protect you when I finally get out of here and get back down to earth. I promise I'll show your father that I'm a good man who will love you forever and never hurt you. Just remember that, baby: that I love you and that I'm doing this for you too. 

Anyway, I've got twenty minutes to report to CC so I better get going. Sweet dreams, babe. 

Bec 

Okay...so, not the most compelling thing ever but I had to post it just because I said I would. I don't know...I'm just trying to get more proactive here. You gotta deal with it. 

So, I just thought of something. I really need to work on writing daily and the best way to do that is to keep a journal or diary, right? Welp, I'm thinking that I'll just start posting this little series of journal entries from my character Bec (effectively--or tentatively?-- called "The Bec Letters"...love the sound of that). So, yeah, thinking that I'll start posting some of his "letters" (if such a thing still exists in his time period) and see what happens from there. 

Not to mention, I sort of feel that I don't have as much of an idea about Bec's feelings when he's serving in the military. The timeline there is pretty unforeseeable. I just want to do some 'splorin'. 


Well, I'll probably post it a little later on (know what? All of a sudden I don't want to do it--why the hell does that always happen?) 


Seriously, one minute I'm psyched about writing something new and a SECOND later I don't want to write it anymore. What do you call that? Is there a term for this writing-related illness? An Idea One Minute, The Next Netflix syndrome? AIOMTNNS (bad disease name). 


Well, I'm just going to have to hate it because I will post it. I will.

Okay, just had a quick brain blast--or maybe it's a revelation. Yeah, that's it. 

So...I'm tired of my characters. All of them. 

See, I think they've gotten kind of old. Not old, old but old enough in the way my mind works. I still love them all dearly but I have no desire to really write about any of them. Other than a few retconned bios with some of my lesser Thaddeus characters, I don't care much about them anymore, sad as it is to admit it. 

I'm not even really all that interested in the newer ones either.

I don't know what it is--I haven't been happy with my writing in a long time and it seems like every time I bring it up with one of my instructors or classmates in school they just kind of blow it off and tell me to do a few prompts and work through it. Don't get me wrong; I know that those solutions can work and maybe they're the answer anyway but...well, no. No, I've tired those solutions, I really have, and honestly I think it's deeper than that. You know, it's funny...one of my instructors during my first semester told me that the fic department I'm in has been likened to a "cult". In a weird way, I sort of feel like I've got a lapse in "faith" now with the greater purpose my "cult" seems to be working toward. I'm not there anymore and it's been like this a long time. Kind of like a sickness. I sit down, write, but there's no joy. I have a few bursts of inspirations, a few happy writing sessions, but then it all just wanes and I'm back to feeling depressed and unfulfilled. 

Just thought of something else too: in Kiki's Delivery Service--a movie by Hayao Miyazaki--Kiki, the main character, is a witch and suddenly one night she just kind of loses her powers. She can't fly her broom, she can't talk to her black cat Jiji...she just doesn't have it anymore. Nothing magical happened to make her lose it, no big battles with rival witches and enemies, her mood just got really dark and then it was gone. I kind of feel like that is what's happened to me. In the movie, she just sort of chilled and hung out with this artist chick to sort of reevaluate her life and put things into perspective. Is that what I need to do? Sit back a while, chill, and just let it all come back to me? Really hard to when the whole friggin department is constantly pushing you to generate, generate, generate. And you know what sucks!? That is the perfect motivator for someone like me! PERFECT. So why the hell isn't it taking? WHY AM I NOT MOTIVATED!!!!!?????

Ahh. I feel lost. My writing is one of the most worthwhile things I have going for me. I can't do a whole slew of other stuff. If I lose it...I'm afraid of what will happen.

All right. Enough of that for now. I'm going to just...I don't know...something...

So, my older brother was over a few days ago and he totally said something that made me go, "Duuude. That is so true!" and that was, and I quote, "Christina, you still playing this game, man? It's almost fifteen years old!" That game in question being Final Fantasy 10. 

Ahhh. FF 10. How great is that game? 

It's not just the story, the characters, the gameplay, the oh-so satisfying sphere grid, the music (GOD the music) and the beautiful landscapes you traverse in order to guide and protect the gentle but strong-willed Yuna through her pilgrimage to defeat the whale-like titan Sin...oh, wait. It IS all of those things. Seriously, that game is amazing, one of my favorite Final Fantasies. 

Yeah, that's what I've been doing in my spare time lately (my spare, spare time). Playing FFX, watching reruns of stuff on Netflix (who doesn't these days? Seriously, just about everyone I know has a Netflix subscription) and occasionally baby sitting. Oh, and of course trying hard to grit my teeth and bare the extra thousand dollars I have to add to my ever growing financial track record for college. Ugghh...

Sometimes I wonder if all of this will pay off. All of this money for school, all of this struggling, all of this working hard (well, sometimes) and wishing for something better. Sans the latter statement, I have a feeling it will. Kinda, sorta, yeah, it will. I'm just working toward that day, one hour, one minute, one second, one level up on the sphere grid at a time.    

Uggghhh...

Today I am not feeling the best (big surprise there). I'm bloaty, I'm tired, I'm feeling like crap, it seems like it's taking forever to complete this application, the odds seem like they're against me, blah, blah, etc, etc...

I want to write something new today, and maybe I'll post something later, but right now I'm just not up to all fives. I have to babysit as well...

Heh...babybend.  

So more later...

Kal's Very Bad Day

*Takes deep breath* Okay, here goes: 

My short story "Kal's Very Bad Day". It's not permanent or anything like that. I mean, it's probably not edited as well as it should be but I just need to put it out here. In fact, I KNOW it's not edited as well as it should be (shame on the aspiring fictional author) but it has to leave my desktop and go out into internet land. Seriously, I needed to post this or I would have thrown up (though that's probably all the barbequed chicken I had for dinner...) 

So here it is. Really.  

Kal's Very Bad Day

Mom and Dad and your little brother. Family, but you don't have that anymore. Maybe you never really did. What you've got is a proficiency with weapons and machines, a whole bunch of tattoos that hurt like hell, and a screwed up childhood that sometimes even you can't believe you really went through. You're one of those kids.       
    But yeah. Here you are. Sitting on this stupid little bench in this stupid little park watching all these stupid little Earth kids and their parents having fun and shit. Laughing, playing, having picnics and enjoying each other's company. All you really wanted was to just have your lunch--stir fried Tamarian gillywens with croute sauce and tomatoes--in peace while you waited for your next job to start, but now you've got an eyeful of familial happiness and a lot of bad memories that you thought you'd gotten real good at pretending didn't exist. 
    Like that time when you ran away from your uncle's house. When you got tired of it all one night and decided that you weren't going to wake up and face the same hell you'd been going through for the last five years. You weren't going to be hit across the face with a leather thong, or have your step-aunt throwing hot grease on you when you slept in too late for her liking. You weren't going to keep picking scabs you got from the throny weeds you tore out the ground day in and day out on your uncle’s fennel farm until your palms got bloody. You weren't going to keep smelling the liquor on your uncle's breath as he held you in front of his face and warned you not mess up any of your chores. Then there was your cousins...your cousins and the horrible shit they did to you when the lights were out and the house was quiet.  Yeah, you really got tired of that crap.
    That's why you left. That's why you stole all your asshole uncle's earnings out his safe, picked the cooler of all its food, and ran through the grass and trees and sand until you finally managed to bribe your way onto a cargo ship that was headed straight for the Twelfth Planet. That's when shit started getting real hard, really real, but you knew that no matter what happened you would never, EVER, go back to that house again; to those people who were supposed to be your family but lacked that ability in every sense of the word.
     Then there was that tenure with that crater face smuggler who was supposed to be a mentor to you, maybe a father-figure, but turned you into a servant instead. Him, that douche. The one who made you live with him in the hallowed out ship that he called a home, the one who made you hustle old power batteries in the worst parts of downtown, the one who ate the last scraps of food, then made you sit near his ass while he slept and farted in your face. Not to mention, there was the time he took you along with him to shake down that Azurian for cash. Remember that? That job where you had to hold down that man who owed him money while he gutted a hole in his stomach. How that poor bastard's blood splattered in your face, how you watched it pour out a fist sized hole along with his intestine, how you held your mouth shut until you were finally out of that Azurian’s pissy ass apartment, out of that bastard smuggler’s sight, where you then vomited your insides out and cried and cried as rain poured over your back and washed the puke away. Wanna know what was really fucked up about all that too? When you finally came back to that bastard he laughed and pointed to your shirt and asked, what's that? And before you could answer he knocked you to the floor and kicked and kicked you until you felt a rib crack, and then he just laughed as you laid there crying, and he said, Gotta learn to take the good with the bad, kid. Then he threw the credits you earned from the job on top of you, but took a few extra because you still had "expenses" you needed to pay off. Good with the bad your ass.
    But you left him, right? Yeah, you left. You ran away from him like you ran away from your uncle’s place and then you got mixed up with some more shit that earned you some ugly scars that you could see on your body and feel inside your heart. That's when you got harder too, but then maybe you've always been hard. Maybe you've never really been a nice guy, maybe there's never been anything innocent about you--Mom, Dad, and Kaelo's deaths aside. Cause in truth you really can't remember what it was like to have them close to you, to have that family, so for all you know you've always been fucked up.
   So you're back to the park now. Out your head and watching these fucking Earthling families having fun and shit. You watch as the fathers throw footballs to the sons, as the mothers brush the daughters’ hair and rub their faces into the curls. The fathers and sons go back to the blanket they've laid out in the grass when the game is done and the mother opens the basket she brought along and hands everybody sandwiches. They're smiling even through peanut butter and jelly, even when one of the littler kids spills some on their newly pressed shirts--and here’s where it gets really, REALLY fucked up-- the mother just smiles at the mess and laughs as she cleans them up. See that? They don't get beaten, they don't get humiliated, they don't get raped, they're still a family and not just when it suits them. You wonder where is the justice in the world.
     But you can't eat anymore, no. No. You close your container of food and feel the dressing and sauces gurgle in your stomach. You feel that impulse to run away and throw up, to cry, to scream, but you fight it this time. You fight it because you're not some little kid anymore, scared, alone, and vulnerable. You know how to take care of yourself, how to get money, how to get food, and how to make sure nobody ever, EVER, treats you like you're less than human ever again. You can fight back, you can endure, and you can certainly sit in a crowded park on a summer’s day and watch the family that you know you’ll never have.
 

Mmmhmm. There it is. Well, on a more positive note I'm actually kind of happy with this one if only for the fact that it's my first attempt at a full movement completely in second person. I think I did pretty good, but most likely I'll keep this here awhile and then post a more properly edited version. We'll see what happens.

So yesterday I happened to come by this article on YA author's Justine Larbalestier's website: 

It's here.  

It was definitely very illuminating, even shedding some light on a character of mine who suffered a violent sexual assault in his childhood. I briefly struggled with notions of portraying him in a convincing and justifiable way that would explain his trauma, but I think I've got it covered. As Cassandra mentioned in her article, there is no "wrong" or "right" way for someone to act in the aftermath of sexual assault. An emotional response is different in everyone, no two people are alike. Definitely swayed some initial thinking that I previously had. Of course, what was even more unsettling was links in her article that went into an explanation of rape culture and just how misguided it has made people. Pretty tough pills to swallow, but I'm glad I took the time to read into it. 


Anyway, this is a short post but I really don't have much more to say about it. At least right now. Hoping that a little later on today I can post my short story, "Kal's Very Bad Day" which briefly touches upon his own trauma that he unfortunately experienced in his childhood. Sad stuff.

Heh. Day two and I'm already bitching about my life. But that's what blogs are for, amirite!!!!

So, like any young almost-twenty something home from college during the summer, I NEED A JOB. Like really badly. 

Long story short, got an opportunity to do some work at a school as a teacher's aide and I think I botched it. I waited too long to fill the post and I think it's filled now. Or something. Friend of the family was really on my ass about it and I didn't not take the bait. Boo for me. 


I would lay out a pound of excuses here about why I chose to procrastinate, blah, blah, but I don't really have any good ones other than the fact that I pretty much detest anyone who is under the age of 18. 

That's mean, I know. 


I don't know what it is about kids and teenagers. Hell, I'M technically still a teenager but being on the verge of twenty has given me major contempt for anyone three years younger --'cept for my little brother-- I just can't do it. I can't go back there. I can't care about papercuts, boo-boo's, spilled apple juice inside of backpacks, snotty noses, or the occasional kid who pisses on themselves. I can't do it. For teens, I could give a shit about "your crush on so-and-so that didn't work out" or...well, whatever teens bitch about these days! I can't do it. 


All right, so I'm generalizing here. I know. Not every kid or teen is the same and, heck, in each annoying gaggle there ARE a few good ones. I just don't have the patience to weed through all the smart mouthed, crazy ones to find those gems.


Not to mention, this position would bring up my long fought battle to absolutely NOT have anything to do with teaching. 


I'm nobody's teacher. I can barely teach myself how to brush my teeth (kay, not true) or play chess, or find all my missing Riddler trophies on Batman: AC. My patience I've come to realize, as I get older, is gradually wearing thin. I can't sit down long enough to learn how to play a new game, let alone make sure some kid knows how to use semi-colons correctly (and, yeah, I STILL have problems with them myself). So what good would I be bestowing if I was somebody's teacher's aide? 


'Course, that's my problem right there. I spend too much time thinking about "what-if" instead of just doing something and coming up with my own answer. Sigh...


Anyway, the fam needs some money and I need to get my ass into gear and find something to do that doesn't consist of watching Batman: TAS all day and eating. 

I am pitiful. 


On a side note, I WILL post something about writing here. I WILL.

Is it worth mentioning that I've never started a blog before? Until now? 

Cause I haven't. 

Anyway, this is my first one and I'm not sure I'm doing it right. I just write about stuff, right? About my life and maybe my own writing and...other stuff, right? Right? Sure. Okay. Why not...

Well, here it is. My blog about...stuff. Geez...

As of right now I really don't have anything to say. My mom suggested to me the other night that I write about what it's like being home from college after my first year and I guess that works. It's either that or bitch about something totally asinine so...

So what's it like being home from college the first time? It's okay. Sad thing is, my life hasn't changed dramatically from being in college to coming back home. I pretty much do at home what I did in college (you know...eating, watching stuff on the internet, sitting around...) 

I definitely feel a little more mature, I suppose. Like I've done something pretty great. I will even admit to a slight guilty pleasure out of talking to those who haven't entered college yet--you know, younger kids who are still in high school or just graduated (did I just say kids?). I may be a LITTLE cocky. Not a whole lot, but a little. 

All right. That's it. I'm done. On to bitching about my writing now.