Archive for April, 2012

Castle Onceabasementdog

Monday, April 23rd, 2012

Hello to all pigeons rooting around in parks, sandcastles being stepped on by careless people, and green computer speakers.

The house I’m currently sitting in as I write this is hardly what you’d call amazing. As far as I know tourists don’t stop by just to gape and take pictures and I really doubt anyone’s ever paused to admire our brick duplex sitting on the corner of this street and that one, with its rocks and bush and tree and eight tulips poking out of the ground. And– as much as I’d like to believe it– I don’t think people gather outside just to try and catch a glimpse of Onceabasementdog, that girl who usually huddles in her basement writing stories that are heavily inspired by other stories. Sure, she has some original ideas, but… never mind. I hope I never run into copyright troubles with David Eddings, that’s all.

I need a better place to be. So, I had this thought: why don’t I build a castle?

Here’s the idea. Free labor, first of all: I’m thinking dispensable orcs or dwarves or something. I’ll ask them to find some big stones and pile them together and maybe glue them in or something, and then I’ll find the best architects and ask them to get to work on my crazy idea for a gigantic structure with soaring red roofs and turrets and statues of albatrosses that continually circle the spires. If that’s weird, just wait until you look over the plans for the inside: a labyrinth of colorful corridors all spiraling inward toward the Grand Central Chamber, which is secured right in the middle of the castle and made entirely of stained glass. There’s a throne in there, and fountains, and bookshelves like you’ve never seen. The castle’s built in the most remote regions of Iceland, and in the Concert Chamber, Arcade Fire, Of Monsters and Men, or Florence and the Machine are continuously playing their best songs. Also there’s a score of antechambers that are devoted to paintings, books, musical instruments, and maybe just maybe one that’s full of strawberry rhubarb pie and chocolate mint chip ice cream. If you’re not one of the dozen or so guards hired to protect the wonders of the Castle, you’ll inevitably get lost in there– unless you stumble on the map room, where you’ll find an assortment of maps depicting imaginary lands and the intricate hallways of the great Castle Onceabasementdog.

The flag is blue with a great gold ‘O’ on it. It’s surrounded by deep, dark forests, home to terrible beasts and maybe a wall of thorns for effect, or something.

There you have it. If you’re ever in Iceland, look around for the construction of an enormous structure being built by dwarves.

Cheerio!, Onceabasementdog.


If I Was A Cave-Person, It’d Be All Right

Thursday, April 19th, 2012

Hello to all long-forgotten jars of pickles at the very back of basement refrigerators, excellent stop-motion animation shorts set to The Shins music, violas, tulips, and quarters.

The other day, I left the Inside World for a while to go to the Outside World. Only because my friend came over and I like him a little bit. So I biked all the way into the southern reaches of town, (and by the way just two days before I set a record for barfing thirteen times in one night due to a *BLEH* rotten chicken sausage, so maybe it wasn’t the best idea in the world), but I wanted to go out. Anyway, I was enjoying myself greatly for a while, until we saw a little blue egg on the lawn. George Harrison picked it up, and determined maybe it was best to put it down again, and then in a startling show of genius I picked it up, was in the middle of saying,  ‘You know, it kind of looks like one of those plastic–‘ When it broke under my fingers and splattered egg juice all over me.

Some of it got on my face. After I spit a few times and washed my hands I laughed about it. Do you know how pleasant it is to still feel sick after a food poisoning epidemic and then spatter bird all over yourself? Not very. Just writing about it now makes my stomach hurt again.

It occurred to me I might’ve killed the bird, but I don’t think so, since it was on the ground and must’ve dropped from somewhere. But there’s no robin’s nest in George Harrison’s tree, so he thinks it was probably his evil little sister who carried it over from somewhere. Anyway, if I was a cave-man, that would be all right, that I broke a bird’s egg– I imagine they probably ate lots of raw eggs, and didn’t even feel sorry about it. But then again, they also lived to be eighteen and didn’t have computers and blogs.

I wish I had more to say, but I don’t. Hm… did you see Lind’s homerun the other night? You know I scored 5,498,930 on computer pinball?

I bet YOU didn’t score 5,498,930 on computer pinball. Yours forever so, so insincerely, Onceabasementdog.

Cats and Straws and Sweerming In Thee Sea

Saturday, April 7th, 2012

Hello to all one-dimensional lines, tree shadows, dogs from outer-space and cartoon characters from old 70s kids’ shows.

I write to you today on a patch of sunlight in the living room, having just dragged a straw around for a long time, as the cat hid behind the curtain and watched it with big yellow eyes. I threw it at the curtain and he leapt and caught it mid-dive. Our cat is some cat, I’m telling you– he did a somersault the other day for no apparent reason, he used to jump in the air, twist, and catch a flying dolphin when he was a kitten, and he regularly nabs flies out of the air with his mutated paws. He’s got six fingers on each paw. I think it’s delightful, not weird.

So, it’s one of those beautiful days out there in the Outside World. Good news: my hermitage seems almost to be getting better. Yesterday I drove out with the mom into the wild countryside just outside the suburbs, which is home to terrifying old people, and grass, and stuff. It wasn’t very exciting, but I did pretend to be tied to a train track. There was a caboose on the track they’d left there, and I sat on it and looked wistfully out at the distance while mom took pictures and in my head I was some 1912 person on her way to the big city– or something like that. I also got a peach-mango smoothie at Tim Hortons– I’m sure you care about that, Blog-Reader– and it was actually surprisingly good. I didn’t even know they HAD smoothies there. It was all very fascinating and worthy of mentioning here on the blog.

Anyway, it feels nice to be blogging again after a short interlude where I felt so stressed about the big fat zero on my views count that I couldn’t bring myself to write anything. I suppose you might say I’m a little too touchy about this, because I have a handful of followers whom I hope it isn’t too weird to say I love, and I should be very glad that people actually like these aimless monologues I spew out on occasions.

So, I downloaded an album the other day: a certain My Head Is An Animal, by Of Monsters And Men. If you don’t know who they are, that’s really not a surprise. They have one hit, Little Talks, but otherwise they’re a mostly unknown group of weirdos from Iceland. Their album is completely and utterly awesome: and their accents are just as awesome. Apparently they enjoy ‘sweerming in thee sea’. Also they ‘lav, lav, lav, when you know I can’t lav’, and so on. I wish I was Icelandic. “Hey, Onceabasementdog, what are you doing?” “Well, I’m sweerming in the sea, actually.”

Heh heh. I suppose I’ll sign out now. Yours sincerely, Onceabasementdog. (Read in Icelandic accent– that’s why it’s quirky.)