Archive for the ‘humor’ Tag

The Terrible Teen Section, Part Two

Friday, July 12th, 2013

Hello to all elephants standing on mushrooms, caterpillar men also on mushrooms, and half-eaten bowls of raspberries sitting on my computer desk.
I don’t know if you recall the first time I went over the Terrible Teen Section. It was quite a while ago, and now I’m living in a different part of town and going to a whole different library. However, despite my best efforts, I have been unable to glean any information out of the librarians as to WHY, exactly, no matter where I go I just can’t escape the terrible teen section. It’s like it follows me. I can’t avoid it, it and its horrible books.
Don’t you know what I mean? Haven’t you ever walked around the teen section? All you get are blaring eyefuls of vampire-romance this and kissy-lovey-dovey relationship crap that. I feel like there must be good teen books somewhere, but they’re buried three hundred feet underground in a cave infested with man-eating bats in a treasure chest, and there’s a note that says ‘Only the Worthy Are Allowed Here.’
Because look. I’m tired of crappy books. I go to the library to find worthwhile books, not to gaze helplessly at the cover of “The Vampire Story Where They Make Out In A Valley Every Five and a Half Pages”. I’ve read that one. It’s not so good.
But I don’t know what to do about it. I think the world just needs stricter publishing cridentials, that’s all: like for instance, only publishing books that have at least some semblance of quality to them. If that happened, we’d never run into this kind of monstrosity:

Oh Gawwwd...

I mean WHY!?! Why? Why why why why why why whyyyy? This is the sort of thing that makes me want to find some sand and stick my head in it until I can face the world again, which would probably take quite a while. I just can’t believe people read this sort of thing. Granted, I didn’t actually open the book and read any of it (my brain would have been instaneously vaporized probably), but I can tell, all right, just by that cover. I can tell quite profusely that it isn’t the sort of thing I like to read.
What’s even worse about it was that there was a whole shelf full of these books, all by the same author, with titles that varied in degrees of utter horror. 1 being mild gagging sensations and nausea, 10 being instant vaporization due to exposure to lameness.

And then I saw this thing. At first glance, it doesn’t seem so horrible– and I agree, it isn’t. Until you read what’s over the title.

Is he a boy? Or… is he… a beast?
Omygawd I don’t care.

Now the last one is the worst, in my opinion. It outdoes Boys R Us in every way– which, I know, you wouldn’t think would be even remotely possible. But it does. There’s just something about it– I think it’s the complete and utter lack of any sort of creativity or originality. Everything about it goes against what I live for, what I fight for, what I would gladly die for, which is the appreciation of good books. Obviously whoever let this get published was not an appreciator. It’s just… it’s just so bad. It hurts me at a profound level. The frilly title, the models on the cover, it all fills me with a sadness I can barely explain. It’s like the worst after school special ever that two fifty year old men in suits think kids will like.
It is…

Everything is wrong with this.

Gah. Bleh.
(That’s the sound of me dying.)
No, but really. I mean, who lets this stuff get published? I think whoever it is, they need to be thrown into the underground cavern with the man eating bats and the treasure chest of good books and left there for a while to regain their wits.
I guess some people just don’t mind as much what they read. But I do. I most certainly do. I am a literature snob who goes around sneakily taking pictures of silly books in the public library and giggling to myself like an escaped lunatic. Maybe the point of all this isn’t that there needs to be less terrible books in the world, but that I need desperately to find something valuable to do with my time.

Oh, well. Such is life. Good-bye, and Blog-Reader, before you go– remember that there ARE good books out there, no matter how scarce, and that among the fields of First Dates and Boys R Uses and Werelings there can be found the shining golden form of something worthwhile to read.
Yours truly as never, mwahaha, ~Onceabasementdog


My Brain, and Other Curiosities

Saturday, May 11th, 2013

Hello to all cats, valiantly attempting to find the newly sprouted bean plants and eat them, slippers on floors, and harmonicas in the key of C.

Part of the reason I haven’t been blogging much lately is because I got this video game called Skyrim, became desperately obsessed with it, sucked up all the internet time, and then lay shivering in a corner from Skyrim-withdrawal. It was a dark time. Also, it’s spring, and I’ve been enjoying the springiness. I’m going to start softball on Wednesday, and boy am I nervous– last night I had one of my super-realistic anxiety-ridden dreams about it. I went to some sort of tryout in a large abandoned parking lot in Montreal, where I had to wait in line all day for various skill assessments and never got a turn, and then there was a giant squid that ate everyone except me and the coach, who blamed it on me and killed me with a softball made of fire.
I figure Wednesday won’t be QUITE that bad.
Anyway, spring is nice– it feels more like summer than anything, though. Spring no longer exists in this part of Ontario– it’s been burned away by global warming, is what I figure. It’s nice to be out and about, though, and tomorrow my friends and I are going to Comiccon to be nerdy and stuff. Wil Wheaton from Big Bang Theory (and Star Trek TNG) is going to be there and I’m going to try and get his autograph, possibly on my hat. I’ve got another hat that was signed by Brett Spiner last year. I am so cool, man. I’m going to take pictures, too. I won’t even be embarrassed by the fact that my entourage is three nerdy teenage boys, two with braces, all in shorts and sandals. One possibly in shorts and sandals with socks. I love my friends.

I’ve been feeling good lately. The world seems promising to me. Everything seems funnier, too– I could fill up a whole volume with funny things I’ve noticed, which I guess is sort of what this blog is, but I swear– there’s funny coming out of my nose lately. I can’t keep it in. There’s way too much funny. And most of it isn’t even funny, it just is in my brain, but the minute I say it out loud I realize how non-funny it really is, and then everyone looks at me and politely doesn’t say anything. Up there in my brain, it’s like a never-ending, not entirely well-directed B movie.
In fact, if you took a diagram of my brain, it would probably look a bit like this:
my brain

I forgot stuff like for instance “family” and “friends” and “good-heartedness” but let’s say they take up the other side. This side that you see is the left hemisphere or something.
So I’ll see ya later, Blog-Reader. I’ll probably put some pictures up from Nerdfest tomorrow, and who knows, maybe you’ll even get a post about how Wednesday will go. If there’s giant squids…
… I promise I’ll tell you about it.
Yours truly, the most truest of them all, ~Onceabasementdog

The Dubious Coming of Spring and Softball

Sunday, April 14th, 2013

Hello to all dogs running in excited circles, rocks being thrown at windows, and reindeer standing in backyards.
It’s sort of spring now. Sort of. There’s a two foot high pile of snow in the backyard, but you know. Spring.
I haven’t blogged in a while, because I’m embarrassed about my previous post, where I rambled on about God only knows what for five minutes or so. I THINK I was trying to get across some point about green energy but I’m not even sure anymore. Anyway, I’ve finally faced the embarrassment and here I am, bloggeging again. (That’s definitely how you spell it.) Anyways, a lot of stuff has happened in the last few months, which I’ve neglected to write about– less than a week ago there was a SNOWSTORM, because you know, IT’S SPRING AND EVERYTHING, but the good news is that the sun is melting most of it away and winter seems, finally, to be retreating to let spring take over. There are flowers growing in the yard and squirrels running to and fro. I like spring a lot, because it always feels like you’re waking up from a long cold dream.
This year I’m going to be playing softball. Let it be known that I despise softball. But I’m not even sure if there’s a baseball league for girls my age, or if there is it’s probably not in Canada– and I really wanted to play some sort of game involving a ball and a bat and a baseball field. I settled for softball, and I’m excited. And nervous. I keep having these unfortunate softball dreams to reflect my anxiety– in one I was on a team where everyone else was dead, except me. They were still playing and running around and stuff. Just… they were dead. Last night I had a dream where I forgot to bring my glove to a game and couldn’t find one that fit me; I was forced to put on this tiny pink glove and it didn’t end well.
I think I’ll be all right. I’ve played baseball for five years (with the exception of last year) and I am by no means an awful player.
I’m already all out of words. I’m serious. The words just aren’t flowing today. Maybe I’ll write a poem, and call it a day:

An Ode to Softball

Softball, softball,
A ball large and green
Never such an unsightly thing
Have I ever seen.
Thou art far too big for my hand
And also difficult to throw;
I want a regular baseball
You get me? Y’know?
But alas, there’s no league
For a girl to play baseball,
And I don’t know what rhymes well with baseball
Except maybe, “face stall”.
This year as the spring comes,
And to the diamond all us softball players run
There will be no baseball
And definitely no face stalls.
Whatever a face stall is.

There’s my half-hearted poem. Happy spring. This was a terrible blog post. Don’t hurt me. ~Onceabasementdog

Why, Hello Spring

Saturday, March 9th, 2013

Hello spring, today I will say hello to no other, for thou art the center of mine attention at present.
Ha! It’s spring! Well, not officially, not until the twenty first of April (unless you’re one of those weird people who defy the calendar and think it’s the twenty-third), but boy does it feel like it already is. I went out with the Mother for a long walk around Onceabasementdogville, and I actually got too hot to wear my spring jacket. No, not too hot to wear my WINTER jacket– too hot to wear my SPRING jacket.
My SPRING jacket.
Can you comprehend how unbelievable this is? Where I live, spring only hesitantly pops its head around the corner around mid-April, when finally the snow stops falling and things start melting. But this is March ninth! Dude, it’s not supposed to be spring yet! Us poor, poor, frozen Canadians always expect the frigidity and the evilness of winter to only melt away after Easter, never before. I’m probably jinxing the entire country by being so positive that it’s already spring, but who cares. It’s spring dammit.
I just finished reading Neil Gaiman’s ‘The Graveyard Book.’ I wasn’t actually very impressed, which is kind of surprising, since I would’ve thought I would really enjoy his writing. I mean, I love him on principle because he’s dark and depressing and writes about graveyards. But I did not totally enjoy The Graveyard Book. Also I think he’s stealing my ideas, because I wrote a book that is uncannily similiar to his. People have to stop stealing my ideas, seriously– I had the idea for Avatar (the animated show) waaaayyy before it got on TV. I mean it. I wonder if Neil Gaiman and others have put a camera in my head so they always know what I’m writing about. Seems unlikely, but who knows? Writers have connections, man.

Anyway. I realize it’s been a month since I’ve last bloggeded. (That’s how you spell it: bloggeded.) I think I’m either getting lazy or just can’t find inspiration as easily any more– I’m still writing a lot of stories, but the waters of the blogging well have become dangerously shallow. Yes, I have a blogging well. Don’t you? I dug it last year, it’s right outside, but not for public use.
So what HAVE I been doing lately, if not blogging? Well, I’ve written lots o’ songs. I have one of those Bandcamp things, and put up one of my recordings. As I said I’m also writing pretty steadily, trying to finish off my one trillion page fantasy story, and I just realized something amazing: a mustache emoticon is possible to make. Like this:


Do you see? The equal sign is the eyes, the semi-colon is the mustache! That HAS to catch on. How could it possibly not catch on.
I don’t have much else to say, because it’s SPRING here in Onceabasementdogville and I’ve got to go and appreciate the sunlight some more because I’m sure I’ve jinxed Canada and tomorrow it’s going to be minus twenty.
Yours forever I, ~Onceabasementdog

Gregariously Awful Fan Art

Wednesday, January 23rd, 2013

Hello to all fruit trucks passing by (note: obscure music reference), holes in the carpet, catnip mice, and bumps on the ceiling.
Well, it’s yet another ridiculously frigid day here in Onceabasementdogville. I got a call from the people who work in our co-op this morning, and the guy talked to me in French for a few minutes, before I had the chance to tell him I was only understanding twenty percent of what he was saying. What I got from the conversation was, ‘les toilettes sont geles’ and something about the heaters not working. So great. That’s awesome.
Anyway, so as I write this he’s in here poking around looking at the frozen toilets, or whatever.
I was going to talk about gregariously awful fan art. Yes, that’s right.
Well, you see, I draw sometimes. Nothing special. I draw dragons and guys with swords and vests and cool haircuts– I’m no master artist, but I am in some way talented, I do believe. Anyhow, I have an account on Instagram, and DeviantArt. What I find on both sites is that there’s a heckuva lot of fan art. Now what is fan art, exactly? Basically it’s a whole lot of teenagers scribbling out kissing characters from Japanese manga. Sometimes it can be pretty good– other times, it isn’t very good at all. Sometimes it’s so bad I want to run outside in the snow in my bare feet, hit my head against a tree, and scream at nothing in particular.
Like, for instance. The other day I was glancing at fan art for The Kane Chronicles. For no… particular reason. And what did I see? Well, for one, lots of kissing. Shudder. And what else? Lots. Of. ANUBIS.
Who’s Anubis? It’s actually a jackal-headed Egyptian god. But in this age, it’s been reinvented as a very dreamy hero from a kid’s series of books by Rick Riordan, author of Percy Jackson. And he’s SOOO dreamy that all the fourteen and fifteen year old girls just can’t help drawing him and putting him up on fan art sites. And that’s fine. On one level I enjoy staring at endless pictures of a dreamy death god. But on another level, it makes me want to scrape my brains out.
I was going to show you some examples of terrible fan art, but Instagram won’t let me steal its pictures. Jerks.
There’s actually little point to this blog post… in case you haven’t noticed. I feel like I need to vent about how bad fan art can be, and how ridiculous it is that there’s 586 thousand and something pictures of Naruto (a Japanese manga and anime) on Instagram all by, probably, teenagers, and most of them are pretty gregariously awful. The kissing. The KISSING! Yeeeauauuughgghhhhhh…
All right, let me just say this. Let me just– just listen. Okay? Just sit yourself down and listen to this.
In comparison to all those never-ending hordes of hormone-crazed fifteen year old girls, (the Hydes to my Jekyll), I feel oddly superior. I’m probably not, but it feels like it. I’m probably hopelessly conceited. But I don’t spend my time trying to think up the most painfully embarrassing drawing I can possibly create. I have healthier obessions. (I guess.)
My Healthier Obessions:
1. Star Trek: The Next Generation.
2. Collecting books.
3. Arcade Fire.
4. Baseball stats. (Joe Mauer hit .354…)
5. Dreamy death gods.
6. The openings to TV shows. I have the entire Avatar The Last Airbender opening down by heart. Even the punctuation…
‘Long ago, the four nations lived together in peace. Then, everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked. Only the avatar, master of all four elements, could stop them. But when the world needed him most… he vanished. A hundred years passed, and my brother and I discovered the new avatar, an airbender named Aang. Although Aang’s airbending skills are great, he still has a lot to learn before he’s ready to save anyone. But I believe… Aang can save the world.’

Wow, am I off topic or what? I’d better get out of here. ~Onceabasementdog

Impersonating Fictional Characters Is Fun!

Thursday, December 13th, 2012

Hello to all feathers, drifting softly through the sunlit air, coconuts on beaches, and airships caught in hurricanes.

If you’re on an airship caught in a hurricane: first, check to make sure you’re not just a reference of Skybreaker. If you’re not, then try flying above the hurricane into clearer sky. If this is not possible, batton down the hatches, or whatever you do on airships, get ready the parachutes or lifeboats, in case you’re flying over the sea. Send out a distress signal for help. And take a picture while you’re at it– I need stuff to blog about, thanks.

So, it’s a moderately cold Tuesday (or… Wednesday?) here in Onceabasementdogville, and obviously I’m VERY up to date, because I really do know what day it is and everything. Lately I’ve been avoiding my blog as much as possible, due to, well, stress mainly, because I’ve got like TWO DOZEN followers holy moly, jeez, where’d you all come from? And that’s a lot of expectations to satisfy. I feel like I have to be funny every time I blog, and sometimes it just doesn’t come to me. I try, but the funny plays a wicked game– sometimes I can write for ages and all of it’s mildly amusing, and sometimes I just stare deeply into the screen trying to desperately come up with a way to make something funny out of the word bookmark. Maybe I shouldn’t have been trying to make something funny out of the word bookmark. It’s just… not a funny word. Book-mark. Book… mark. It marks books, okay? That’s all it does.

Anyway, today I was getting into politics. I could like, talk about that… but no. I have something more interesting to relay to you, dear Blog-Reader.

It’s no secret two thirds of my waking life is taken up with staring at walls and scribbling sketches of dreamy fantasy heroes and then throwing them out because I feel like no one should ever look at them. (I’m probably right. Even MY eyes hurt when I look at them, and I created them.) So often, in the midst of this extreme wall-staring boredom, I do crazy things. Sometimes I interview the ladies who work at the local bookstore with my camera and pretend I’m doing a ‘documentary about bookstores’ so it isn’t so weird. Sometimes I dance in frightful, spasmatic circles in my room while I listen to Arcade Fire songs. Often, I take up residence on the chair in my room and gaze at the walls. Today, though, I held an interview– with myself.

Except, it wasn’t technically with myself. I mean, it was. But I was pretending to be this character from a Kenneth Oppel book. It was fun. I must be losing my mind, but it really was fun– I think I’ve got some strange, best-kept-secret talent for impersonating random characters from fantasy books, or sometimes from TV shows. I do a mean Drusilla from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Anyway, it was the middle of the day and the house was empty, and my sister Little Girl of Horrors was out with my dad, and I had a sudden itch to interview myself with my old analog camera. I’ve done that in the past– conjured up imaginary characters and interviewed them. You don’t even want to know how weird it’s gotten. So I pulled on a black coat and assumed the persona of a fantasy character. I owned it, seriously. I hear they’re making a movie.


Yes, yes, I was assuming the character of Victor Frankenstein. Maybe that’s the absolute height of weirdness, but who cares? It was fun and as long as nobody ever sees that video, I won’t mind that it exists.

There’s probably something else of interest to talk about. Dunno. If you like books, then you’ll be glad to know I like books, too, and I’m reading this one called ‘The Scorpio Races’ by the lady who wrote that series that tried to imitate Twilight, except it was about werewolves. I never picked up that series, but The Scorpio Races is pretty good, so far. There’s something to it, anyway. I don’t like that the heroine is kind of lame, but she has her moments of coolness, so that sort of makes up for that. The hero is the usual teen fiction romantic interest stereotype. Calm, collected, powerful– can command man-eating horses. And by the way he would ‘be almost handsome if his features weren’t quite so sharp.’ Well, that’s that. I’m glad I know.

So, that book I’m trying to get published is still floating around not being published yet, and I’m still waiting for the possible rejection letter. The heroine in it is NOT lame at all, and I wish more heroines would be that way. They say girls are being better represented in books these days, but I still don’t quite believe it.

Anyway. I feel all sleepy and bored. I was going to write a poem about bookmarks, but all I can come up with is this meager offering:

Once I owned me a bookmark;

Twas eaten along with me book

By an angry book-eating shark.

There you are. ~Onceabasementdog

The Terrible Teen Section

Friday, November 23rd, 2012

Hello to all USB sticks sitting in places where I’ll definitely forget about them, dogs on airplanes, and solar-powered monkeys.

Ah! It’s almost winter again! Don’t you just love winter? What with the holidays and the snow and the ice and the darkness and the NEVER-ENDING FRIGIDITY–

Never mind. I hate Onceabasementdogville. I want to live in a volcano or something. I bet it would be nice and warm THERE.

So, I like libraries. I do. I think I like them because they’re quiet, and familiar, and they always smell like books. (Well, that’s a surprise.) There’s a library pretty close to my house, and I bike there sometimes to peruse the various sections that I find an interest in. Usually I end up gazing blankly at the teen section, trying to decide which book I should take out, My Love Is A Beautiful Vampire, or The Day Everyone Turned Into Robots, solely on the basis of which one looks less horrible. Because, see, the teen section at my public library is an actual hell of paper and ink. I’ve only taken out maybe three good books from that wall of blatant torture, and they weren’t even fantastic or anything. I don’t know why the teen section has to be so horrible, it just is. I still have suspicions about the librarian hiding all the good books from me when I drop by.

Anyway, a while back I took these pictures of some books from the Terrible Teen Section. Assuming they don’t burn out your eyes the minute you look at them, I think you’ll be able to examine them and understand why exactly my faith in literature and human kind in general is plummeting:

Oh, but this is just a taste of the many horrors of the Terrible Teen Section, my dear Blog-Reader!

I almost have no words for this one. But I’ll try. So, you’ve got this invisible boyfriend. And you know, it causes all sorts of complications, I assume. I mean, all the other girls can SEE their boyfriends! But she can’t! Oh my God it’s so awkward!

Next one. It’s almost worse… somehow.

But what does that even MEAN? Is she more real than your average Joe? Or what? I can tell you one thing, though, with absolute honesty:

This is the best title I’ve ever seen.

Now, here’s the last one. Brace yourself…

Audrey, wait!
What? Why? What’s HAPPENING to her?

So, there you have it. If that doesn’t convince you modern teen books are spiralling (apparently literally) into absurdity, I don’t know what will.

Yours semi-truly, only when I’m not making fun of things, (and that’s never), ~Onceabasementdog

Light and Fluffy and Meaningless

Monday, October 22nd, 2012

Hello to all sub-par high school rappers, dogs running after frisbees, small birds, and pumped up kicks. 

So. You all missed me. Right? You were like ‘Jeez! She hasn’t made a new blog post in like forever, we ought to storm her house with torches and pitchforks!’ Well, no need to fear or create an angry mob, I’ve returned, and I foresee many satirical and lightly amusing sentences to come. Read on my friends.

Why was I gone for a couple weeks, you ask? Well, let’s just say I saved the world. Oh yes, I did indeed. I saved the world by going on long bike rides, listening to music, and roaming the internet looking for bizarre Indie music videos. I’m so proactive! If I wasn’t in the world, why… well… things would be the same? 

Anyway, now that I’m on this paragraph, I realize I really don’t have much to say. I mean, I could detail exactly how I saved the world– but who wants to know? It’s a story for another day. I’m all out of serious writings. I’ve spent too much time lingering on sad realistic fiction books lately, and I need to fight it back with a light and fluffy, nice meaningless ramble. So what’s light and fluffy and meaningless? Sea monkeys? Soap operas? 

Well, anyway, the sad realistic fiction I’ve been reading all came from the terrible teen section at the local library. I swear they hide all the good books from me when I come in. How is it actually possible to  have an entire wall devoted completely to teen books, and yet, a very small margin of them are even readable? I mean, it’s not like I really know anything about any of them, but just by their covers I can tell they’re awful. And you might say, well, you can’t judge a book by the cover, but, OH REALLY? What about a cover where two pretty teenagers are lying on the grass together and the title is ‘Why Don’t You Kiss Me Now?’ 

I think it’s safe to say that one needs to be burned. Or at least, I won’t ever read it.

So, anyway. The sad realistic fiction book was The Goats. But it wasn’t about goats. It was pretty good, but I didn’t like the ending– it was about these kids who run away from their summer camp, and at the end they just headed tamely up to the people trying to track them down and get them back to their parents. I thought for sure they were going to keep living in the woods. But they totally wussed out and didn’t. Jeez. And there wasn’t even dragons or vampires or fairies or anything– it was just so… realistic. Bleh! 

On a personal side of the writing spectrum, I’m currently trying to figure out how to write a modernization of the classic Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde story. My version is set in the same time period, the 1800s, but Dr. Jekyll is a kid and it’s a lot more light-hearted. I mean, people die and he goes nuts at the end. But it’s still light-hearted. I’m also doing a Peter Pan rehash where Peter Pan is the antagonist and it comes from the point of view of one of the lost boys. I’m not sure if that one will work, but it’s pretty cool so far. Also the Mother is going to send away my book, Vaudeville, to a publisher– so it’s actually possible that I may become an actual honest-to-goodness writer, if they like Vaudeville and want to print it. Hurrah! Remember, the author of that awesome book you’ll definitely be buying and enjoying sometime in the future was me, Onceabasementdog.

Not much else is new on this end. I’m trying to become a rapper but I have such a pitiful teenage girl voice that every time I hear myself on a recording I cringe. It’s just better when I sing. Oh! That reminds me to remind you to check out The Sepia Trees on Youtube. Tis our band. We are semi-awesome. Seriously. 

Also, I might as well go on to command you to: 

1. Follow me on Twitter @onceabdog 

2. Follow me on Instagram @Parrotqueen. 

3. Compost what you can instead of throwing it out.

4. Be kind to sea monkeys. They’re… well… I guess they’re not exactly ‘people too’ but whatever, close enough.

5. And, uh, if you read The Goats, keep in mind they’re not goats.

Yours as ever sort of sincerely, sort of, ~Onceabasementdog. 



Further Adventures of the Biking Girl

Wednesday, September 19th, 2012

Hello to all tuskless walruses, pianos lingering over people’s heads, granola bars, flamingo-people and parrots on the shoulders of pirates.

I like going on bike rides. It’s no lie. There’s endless bike paths to follow around Onceabasementdogville, and the stores are so accessible, not like I have any money to access them for. I spent at least half an hour digging around the nuclear wasteland of my room for coins to buy a bottle of pop with, and came up with a loonie, ten cents and an American quarter. I also found a spiderweb where a spiderweb shouldn’t be and a weird bug that I’ll pretend I never saw.

So I donned my hat and pulled on my sweater and went out the door, Arcade Fire blaring in my earphones. The plan? Coffee. To waken my zombified, sleeping-in, school-missing brains, that is. So I went down to the Tim Hortons, squinting at the display board to try and figure out if my measly dollar-and-ten cents and American quarter would get me a coffee. I think I have bad eyesight, because it took me forever to figure out if the dollar and thirty-something cents was thirty-something or eighty-something. I still don’t know, I just dropped all my coins in the cashier’s hand and hoped it was good. I stared at him and hoped he’d overlook the American quarter, because honestly, I don’t know if they even take American money here where I am, not in America.

Anyway, I got my coffee, and went out and sat on the curb. I took out my notebook and started writing a little story. By the way, coffee tastes just like it smells: disgusting. The story I’m writing is about a girl living in the early nineteen hundreds. I don’t know what to call it, but I think it’s about stars or something. I took off again, having forced down two thirds of the coffee, which was all I could take. You know, I think caffeine doesn’t affect me that much, because after I drank it I went really really really really really fast on my bike and raced a squirrel but he was faster than me and ran up a tree which wasn’t fair and there was this BUZZING in my head and I can’t figure out what it was but anyway the big hill before the bridge was no problem, I went up it like, in five seconds flat, I assume my legs are getting stronger.

On the way home I went down the little path that went in front of all the big houses. There was this old lady walking by and she stepped aside and get this, I KNEW she would say something, and she did. She said in the haughty tones of a person from the rich end of town, “This is NOT a bike path.” Oh, okay. And I’m NOT going to make fun of you on my blog or anything.

For some reason my thoughts are going way faster than I can type and trying to write ‘me’ always come out ‘my.’ I don’t know why this is happening.

At one part on my bike ride these girls on a scooter passed me and they oinked at me, all right, whatever. I’m not a pig. At least I don’t think so. No, I’m pretty sure.

Jeez I think my head’s about to blow off. No more coffee ever for me, that was a bad idea.

I’m sure there’s more to say but running in circles for a long time is what I plan to do now. Okay, see you later, yours truly and stuff, ~Onceabasementdog.



You’re Welcome, Kenneth Oppel

Sunday, September 2nd, 2012

Hello to all baskets of painted fruit, evil butterflies, dogs in swimming pools and dragon worshippers in San Francisco. 

I recently finished reading the second book in a series by the Canadian author Kenneth Oppel, which is… basically… about Doctor Frankenstein when he was a kid… and evil butterflies… and stuff. I liked the first book quite a bit more than the second one, though I did find things I loved in the second one, too. For instance: the evil butterflies. For another: the horrifying demon that tried to eat everyone at the end. And the sort-of evil, somewhat off his nut hero. Fun. 

It maybe sounds like I didn’t like it, but that’s not true. I really liked it. It’s just, I don’t know… it might’ve been a bit better. I kept rolling my eyes every time the demon roared in the distance and I almost hit my head against the wall when the mysterious ‘mist’ outside the house in the spirit world entered and killed the demon for them, like, poof ka-bam.

Anyway, now I have another year to wait for the third book, which I’m sure is inevitably coming. In the next one, our twisted hero will probably do something crazy again. You’ve gotta love Victor Frankenstein, am I right? History’s least accomplished, most possessed by evil forces mad scientist. I love Kenneth Oppel, and everything he writes is great (no matter how many evil butterflies there are) so I’m sure I’ll enjoy the next book, too. But… 

And then I had this great idea. I would write the third book FOR him. 

Oh, yes. I’m not kidding– I’m three pages in! So far: a mysterious message in a bottle that no one knows how to decode. Cool right? And I picked up on the last bit of the second book, where the evil, power-crazed hero sees a bolt of lightning and he thinks, WOW, SUCH ASTONISHING POWER! So I have the suspicion he’s going to be harnessing the power of lightning sometime soon. Therefore: what’s going to happen in my version of the third book in the series is, Doctor Frankenstein is going to be led to this weird guy who is trying to figure out how lightning works, and he’s going to learn from him and use it as a possible way to bring his dead brother back to life (which is the main theme of the last book, since his brother died and, I assume, will ultimately become Frankenstein’s monster.) 


So. Now I just have to let Kenneth Oppel know that I’ve got his third book covered, and it’s all good. 

I’ve noticed a trend in Kenneth Oppel’s books. In each of his three series, the first book is by far the best, the second is not as good, and the third is worse. So, if trends follow, the third book in this series will be the worst, too. As mean as it might sound, he really should just let ME write it. 

Adding to this topic, I loathe imagining how terrible the movie based on the first book, This Dark Endeavour, will be. Doubtless they’ll turn it into some kind of twisted romance, (because it does feature romance) and all the lovely horror and monsters and stuff will be put into the background. I hope the front of the actor’s head is as nice as the back of his head looks on the covers of the books. Seriously; I have yet to see his actual face. Well, if they’re hiding him for as long as possible because he’s horrendously ugly, at least the teenage girls won’t make a team out of him. God forbid that should happen. 

Anyway… and uh… about those American politics. Boring, aren’t they?

Okay, I can’t do it. I can’t write about serious things. Forget it! 

Yours truly, (gah! An evil butterfly landed on me and is sucking my life energy out to bring to its demon lord!), ~Onceabasementdog.