Darren Endymion's Blog, page 31

Death Postponed, Writing Imminent

Ugh. Remember how I was babbling that I was going to keep up the habit of writing every day of the week but one? Yeah. Fail! But, considering everything, I think I did okay. I missed Tuesday because all I could think about was…well, a doctor’s appointment that I had the next day where the words “slow, painful death” could conceivably have been used. Well, probably by me…but the problem and potential still stand. Wednesday I was so relieved at the outcome (which was still inconclusive but very heartening) that all I did was slept.

To quote a friend, I was clenched up tighter than a virgin on a first date.

When that unclenching happened, I passed the fuck out. Now, even though nothing has been resolved, I have had reassurances (from a professional, not just my friends blowing sparkles and sunshine up my ass) that all the worry and horror were for nothing and that I am perfectly fine. In about a month (!) I will know for sure and what I need to do…or know that I can do cartwheels of health and happiness and prepare for the upcoming search for a new job and (hopeful) moving 800+ miles away.

So, I’ve had a lot going on.

But, I had a lot of long sleepless nights…which was totally my fault. The cold I had on top of this was kicking my ass, and I heard that vitamin B could help. I took it…before bed. Seriously, I was that fucking stupid. I knew something was up in the back of my head, but one tired, ass-dragging day at work I was hit with the sheer force of my stupidity. I perked up and said aloud, “Wait, isn’t vitamin B for energy?!” My friend and coworker looked at me and said, “Aren’t you a pharmacy technician?”

Whatever, hag.

So, one of those nights (after I ditched the fucking vitamin B) I was drifting off to sleep thinking about writing and how I wanted to write something again and was thinking about what it would be…and three pieces of unrelated story elements  came together and formed a full idea in my head. Characters, quirks, unintentional twist, plot, all sorts of stuff. Nearly fully formed.

So, now I’m planning that out, just writing a few of the intricate details. And that has sparked the writing of a synopsis for the giant, ambitious thing I have mentioned before. Is it bigger than I thought originally? Of course. But it’s coming along nicely. I do tend to get overwhelmed by the stuff in my head…when the story wants to get out. Usually writing a synopsis helps to get it to leave the the hell alone, but that hasn’t been the case lately. It only makes it worse and want to come out more.

So, all I hear in my head is a possessed Gollum voice saying, “In time, preciousssss.”

Next week: I think I’ll go back to a definite theme, probably drawing on the “forgotten words” from the recent A-Z challenge. Thanks for sticking around and dealing with my schizophrenic entries lately. At least you know why they’ve been all over the place. *skipping off to write more*

Aftermath and Intuition

Well, with the A-Z blog challenge over, I have to say that it was very much worth it, but very hard. That alone tells me I have a lot to do with getting a schedule going, but if I did it through this trying time, I think I can do it otherwise.

Which brings me to the second part of this blog entry. I have this old friend, Mark, who I have known for something like 20 years, which sounds much more impressive than it is, considering we never see each other and remain in distant contact, sometimes not talking for years. We were kids when we met, but always manage to find each other when the years draw out.

Our conversations are like snapshots of our lives, so that (I guess) Mark is in a unique position of knowing me for a really, really long time and being able to see how I have changed — unfooled by the slow passing of years.

He’s also one of those assholes who never seems to age and (AND!) only gets hotter as the years pass. Tall (well over 6′), works out, flighty but smart, unafraid of change, funny, generous, sweet, emotionally giving, and ridiculously hot. He’s like a gay Prince Charming. Seriously. Jerkface. He’s also very intuitive, which brings me to my next point.

I have told almost none of my friends about my published works or aspirations in that realm. The five who DO know are scattered around the country and have been sworn to secrecy. Don’t ask why. It’s too long for this entry. Point is, I don’t think I ever mentioned it to Mark in all these years. He and I were talking about change, moving, and career chasing, all of which we are both doing.

I said (after he called me “cute as fuck”…I said he was charming, kind, and beautiful, not eloquent. *flattered giggle*) that my main goal takes a long time and can be done from anywhere. That’s it. It’s ALL I said. This mutha immediately comes back with:

“Published writer?”

What the holy fuck was that? This is a guy who has known me for a long time, but not in depth. Yet, this fucker, Mark — tall, hot, sweet, and apparently psychic — pulled it out of the air in 30 seconds when my closest friends have no clue. I was too flustered to lie. We talked about it and, after regaining my equilibrium, I asked him how the hell he could guess that. I have NEVER told him about any aspirations in that arena. I read a lot and I took creative writing classes when I was in college…but I took a LOT of classes. He doesn’t seem to think I would be a good statistician. Why this?

This smug hottie’s answer? “Because I’m intuitive and I DO know you. Duh.”

The cliff I told him to take a flying fuck off of.

I nearly flipped a table. What does this mean? Am I so secretive that the answer becomes obvious? Do my friends laugh behind my back because I think I am clever? How did this detached fucker know that? He has guessed stuff about me like that before, making me constantly reevaluate him and his ridiculously strong insight.

One thing to leave you with (and something I wouldn’t tell him ever), is that Mark is practically never wrong with his insights. It’s annoying, because I can’t even tell him that he’s making shit up and to remember when he said whatever and was totally wrong and a civilization collapsed because of it, etc. He said he thought it was a good career path for me and he thought with my creativity (which he divined through runes and a crystal ball, I imagine, because he has no other way of knowing that other than my speech patterns), I would go far if I applied myself.

Suddenly, I was less offended by his keen intuition.

Z = Z-Day through Zymosis (and end of this challenge!) (A-Z Challenge)

Zymosis is a word that should be used more often. It is an infectious or contagious disease, or fermentation as a supposed cause of disease. Anyone else thinking zombie plague? The zombie apocalypse, or Z-Day as my friend and I call it? The day when there is no more room in hell and the dead walk the earth?

My friend and I were watching zombie movies several years ago, just before the explosion of zombie movies, books, and culture took place and they were everywhere. As a kid, they scared the hell out of me because they couldn’t die. I think I watched the original Dawn of the Dead first, and though I actually like the remake more (sacrilege, I know), it was that first scene where the apartment in the slum is being overrun that scared the hell out of me. then 28 Days Later came out and the zombie-like creatures (Rage victims, really) ran. Not just ran, but they hauled carcass. It was terrifying.

My friend and I oversaturated ourselves with zombie movies and were prepared for the fallout. We made dry runs for Z-Day. It was fun…until the nightmares started. My friend is a big girl, so the dreams were stressful for her, as she knew damn good and well that she couldn’t run. As Zombieland taught us, Fatties die first. I’m small and scrappy, but I’m also bite size and good on toast. We needed a plan. We started to see future plague victims on every street corner. We knew we had gone too far when she called me from her car, convinced that this ambling, shuffling homeless person was, in fact, Patient Zero.

Now, the thought of fermentation, of zymosis, leading to disease, and then leading to Z-Day is intriguing and terrifying. The disease sits, gathers its strength, slowly bubbling over like a cauldron of disease, waiting like super rabies, a plague from the Umbrella corporation, outer space, or mankind’s folly.

Anyway, our third friend sat us down and had a talk with us, patiently speaking as though he was in the room with two deranged children. “You know, there’s never going to be a Z-Day, no zymosis leading to a zombie apocalypse, right? Your zealous scouting of the nearest Costco is only going to get you arrested. You know this, right?” We laughed and said of course we knew that. But he didn’t see that guy outside Target. He wasn’t there for the dry runs to grab the keys and get to the car without a sound. He didn’t help plan my escape route — jumping out the window, sliding down the thin, sturdy tree, and sprinting to my friend’s car where she would be waiting. He didn’t know.

And so we laughed, lamenting inside that we may have to leave him behind. Or trip him as we waddle to safety. He was a non-believer. We would miss him. But we would survive.

*cackle*

Okay, this challenge is over. It was fun, but exhausting. I didn’t think I had the willpower to do it, and I was glad to prove myself wrong. I hope to relay that into blogging two times a week, and writing the others. The pressure to put out something complete (if rambling) will be gone, but I think/hope I can build from this experience. Wish me luck! I’ll be back here next week!

Alternate letter considerations: Zenith, Zodiac (killer or sign, I’m not sure), Zealot.

Y = Youth (and Beauty) (A-Z Challenge)

Regrettably, I think that too many people think that only the young are beautiful.

Kylie Minogue. She just turned 46, though to be fair, I think this was taken when she was only 45.

Beauty changes as we get older, and sometimes it manifests in ways you wouldn’t expect.

Lauren Bacall, age 89.

Yes, these are movie stars with access to the best make up and skin specialists and personal trainers possible.

Betty White, 92, hilarious, and our last remaining Golden Girl. *weep*

Some might think that they are stem-cell vampires, sucking the life force out of children and babies to stay young and beautiful, but I don’t THINK that’s true. However, too many times I think we associate life beyond 30 as an uncontrolled decline into the Chasm of Hag.

Angelina Jolie, age 38. On set, far away, bad lighting, and *gasp* nearly 40! Oh, and the horns.

I think this is particularly poignant for women. Women are expected to keep their looks forever, and are often abandoned when those looks fade. Yet, we have those who age gracefully…

Ellen Burstyn, currently age 81, though she was likely in her 70s when this picture was taken.

…and those who are so afraid of aging and losing their looks that they try to stay young forever, with varying success and even less purpose.

Meg Ryan, before and after she took the Joker’s Insane Serum.

Of course, there are those who are young and beautiful, but that’s really an act of freak genetics. Like I discussed in my entry on narcissism, young beautiful people did almost nothing to achieve it, yet seem to think that they are owed the world. There is truth to the adage:

And egos the size of Cleveland are unattractive at best. Youth and beauty is an awful combination; one might almost call the combo a curse from which it is difficult to emerge with anything resembling depth, social graces, or basic human kindness. Yet, the women listed here are artists, thinkers, shallow actresses, philanthropists, survivors, and generous of spirit. Sometimes all at once.

Kindness, thought for others, concern for oneself, generosity, happiness — these are the true measures of beauty. That being said, a pretty face and a good personality elevate one to the status of Prince/ss Charming almost immediately. Add intelligence and a sense of humor to that, and I’m a mess. Maturity on top? Reads books? Fiction, even? I’m a babbling idiot, totally unable to make an impression…or speak. But youth and beauty alone are nothing.

Youth and beauty breed egotism and shallowness all too often. Aging well means a lot, but humility means more. It means that you are on your way to not being tased when you walk in a room, used for the one cheap thrill you can provide, and discarded when that passes. It’s not to say that we should leer at Sloth or Quasimodo as they pass, certain that they possess great kindness, humility, and beatific spirits. Sometimes, when one is treated as ugly and vile, that becomes the truth, both inside and out.

Yet we are a visual species. I’m as awful as the rest. I will leer at a hottie faster than most people I know. But I will stick around for the jokes, the intelligent conversation, and will avoid being made to feel as though I have been transported to some wretched Abercrombie and Fitch hive of egotism. I “get” pretty hot guys, which always shocks me, but the people I keep around are the smarties, the hilarious people, the genuine friends, the people who care.

In a relationship or for dating I try to find guys who have all that and are hot, too. But looks are negotiable. Youth is totally unimportant. I am attracted to a huge swath of people. I literally cannot understand people who won’t date outside of certain races or strict age groups or have monetary requirements. I have dated from early 20s to early 50s. Every race imaginable…except Native American…this is not a prejudice; I just haven’t found one interested in me.

Please, can we make this one interested? I’m sure he has a GREAT personality…

*cackle* (Yes, that was intended irony, showing I am as susceptible to beauty as any other person, and that for all my soap box preaching, I have tons of work to do on myself. And though I don’t normally seek out guys with long hair… *leer, drool, leap, terrify, chase*)

Alternate letter considerations: Yoga, Yoicks (a cry of fox hunters — very distasteful, as I LOVE foxes), Yapok (a small, aquatic opossum. Imagine my disappointment when I wound it wasn’t a mer-opossum with fins, webbed hands, and gills).

X = Xenomorph (A-Z Challenge)

A Xenomorph is a mineral that didn’t develop its typical crystal form because it was a late bloomer and got stuck between two other crystals. However, that’s as boring as all hell unless you are a geologist or desperately trying to reinvent Final Fantasy. You could, for instance, want to make up a “negative” crystal, housed in a hell-like underworld, which acts rather like dark matter and destroys all the good crystals. The main protagonist would be from this world, have a xenomorph form, go to the world above, and fall in love or destroy humanity. Whatever’s on the agenda for Final Fantasy CLXVIII or whatever the hell number they’re at now. I just made that up; SquareEnix, you can contact me here for further conceptual ideas and to begin sending me my goddamned checks. That’s why they call me a writer-ish…who is not using any of his talents.

No, the Xenomorph we are interested in for today is from the Alien franchise, and it is one scary mutha.

According to Wikipedia, the Xenomorph are an “endoparasitoid extraterrestrial species” which are the primary antagonist of the Alien movies. According to Ellen Ripley, they should be nuked from orbit, blasted out of the goddamned airlock, have their egg chutes blown into gooey jelly, and otherwise be annihilated from this (or any other) planet. They start life as an egg which then hatches into a face-hugger. The face-hugger attaches itself to a host (not always human), and implants an embryo of sorts, after which the face-hugger dies.

A concept drawing from the Alien movies. I agree with Ripley.

Now, the pointlessly contemplative idiot in me wants to know: does the face-hugger transfer its consciousness into the embryo, or does it just die, only existing as a second mother? If the face-hugger is the real middle-man for maturity, then the Queen is sort of a medium, important, but part of a two-mother system. Since I think the Queen is so badass, I therefore prefer to believe (about this fictional creation) that the face-hugger’s consciousness is transferred into the embryo, which then gestates and erupts from the unwilling host’s chest cavity.

Hell,no.

They then mature into a terrifying creature rather like a dick perched on a burned ribcage. Their little alien heads will snap out and eat through your skull. (Side note: My friend and I are convinced that humans have these, and they will snap out when our restraint is challenged.) The movies are about some company trying to use the Xenomorphs as a weapon. Specifically, they search for a Queen so they can use her to make more and more.

And to terrorize everything ever.

They are terrifying, scary, strong, and totally badass. They are pure malice. Even synthetic persons admire their purity. They are the vehicle for Ellen Ripley to kick the ass of everything in the universe.

And to say this line.

By now, you might have noticed that most of the Xenomorph sketches and design choices are rather sexual in nature. This was very prominent in the art of H.R. Giger. Even some of the movie sets look like giant vaginas. The Aliens look like dicks penetrating into air. The face-hugger looks like spider fingers on a ball sack. Unfortunately, as you can see in the picture above, it looks like there is a wavering dick on the face-hugger, too. From the front view, the dick has a vagina instead of a head. It’s all very disturbing. Then again, what would you expect from a man who did this:

Please trust me that this is one of the less sexual ones. By far.

P.S. Yeah, I’m feeling quite a bit better. That may have led to me going a little picture-crazy. Enjoy.

Alternate letter considerations: Xenophobia (specifically HIV stigma), X-Men (see my Telekinesis entry. I’ve seen the movie and it’s awesome!).

W = Writing (through a delerium) (A-Z Challenge)

Has a more generic subject ever been chosen by a blogger for the “W” day of this challenge? Unless someone chose “water”, I doubt it.

You’ll have to forgive me; I’m still sick (with a cold). But, that’s part of the point of this entry. Countless things about writing have already been expounded on, but my point is what this challenge has done for me personally. My biggest writing weakness (don’t talk shit!) is my lack of doing it.

Honestly speaking, my two biggest reasons for doing this challenge were: 1) Avoidance. I had a recent health scare which is not over, which involves tests and life evaluation and potential death (or something totally harmless), and this beats sitting up all night thinking about “what if?”. 2) Habit. If #1 turns out well for me (uh…fingers crossed?), then I would like to write more, be published more than the two things I have out there now, and to try for ambitious projects, and do fun things between the ambitious projects (though, from the sample pages I have written and the plot points, I doubt that anything I do can be totally serious).

More than anything, I want to hone the craft, to be the all I can be (ugh! My cold made me quote the slogan for the armed forces! One of my bestest friends is in the military — a different branch, but I swear she Jedi mind-tricked me into doing it…and you don’t fight against a Jedi). Where the hell was I? Sick and distracted? Yep. Right there.

The point is, this exercise will have had me write 6 days a week for four weeks. I’ve heard that you need to do something for 21 days for it to be a habit. I don’t know about all that, but it sure has made me kick my ass to write, even in the current state where I am sick and high off the cold medicine, contemplating work tomorrow. I plan to keep up this writing schedule. I hope to blog 2 times a week afterwards and work on the other stuff on the remaining 4 days…and that’s only the days when the blogging takes on too much of the night. I also plan to probably do some of the leftover words from this challenge when I am otherwise stumped.

More than that, I want to reach into this vast place that is my head and fling out whatever is there onto the world. And though that sounds like a vile, masturbatory, comedic, gay zombie fetish film, it is not. (And yes, gods help us, those things exist. I urge you to never, ever look for them. But since this knowledge was inflicted on me and the knowledge is like the video from The Ring, I have to pass the hideous knowledge on. However, I must say: you should never look up Otto; or, Up with Dead People. Don’t do it. There’s another by the same director which I did NOT see on a dare, called L.A. Zombie. Just know that this stuff exists and move on with your life.)

So, let’s (focus) and hope that this habit will last on. The habit of writing, thankyouverymuch. If anyone has any tips for getting this to stick, I’m open. But, I have a plan. Planning each day with a number of possibilities worked for this, so I’m thinking I have something. I’ll let you guys know how it works out.

If anyone has read this far, you have my respect. Yesterday, at the height of my sickness, I woke from a dream where this really, really tall guy I used to hook up with was possessed by a demon and wanted to have sexy time in the shower. Thinking I was clever, I took the razors away from the possessed hottie, and he maced me with Scrubbing Bubbles. I woke myself and my headphones were in. Martika was blaring “More Than You Know” and I think my neighbors were having really, really loud sex. Either that, or the nightmare changed forms. I willingly returned to the possessed hottie trying to mace me with cleaning products and devour my soul. Then I half-woke up and set up a recording for Lifetime’s Petals on the Wind, because I apparently was not in enough mental anguish. I thought it was all a dream until I woke up and noticed that the aforementioned program was on my DVR.

I’m afraid to shower as I am uncertain what is in there waiting for me.

Alternate letter considerations: Witch, Wizard, Wicca, Water (ha!) Elemental.

V = Vituperative (A-Z Challenge)

As a warning, I’m phoning this one in. It’s going to be pathetic, weak, a retread of shit I’ve already talked about, and probably nonsensical because my stupid friend got me sick. (Since he will be reading this, I want to pass on a message: I know where you sleep, shitpig). I was going to do Valkyrie Profile, one of my absolute favorite games EVER. I was going to keep it brief, talk about my second favorite character (Jelanda, the spoiled princess with Misty’s voice from Pokémon). It deserves focus, attention, care, and love. Instead, I am going to talk about my new favorite word: vituperative.

vi·tu·per·a·tive

adjective: vituperative

bitter and abusive.

“the criticism soon turned into a vituperative attack”

I first heard/read this word in the book Misery, by Stephen King. Paul Sheldon was reading through Annie Wilkes’ scrapbook (my favorite part of the book, for some reason), and he was thinking that she culled the most hateful and awful commentary from the ongoing trial — kind of like reading the comments on just about ANY article online, especially Yahoo. Those, like the articles Annie was clipping and saving, which “were vituperative by any standard” and only went to enforce Annie’s “jaundiced view of mankind.”

Since looking it up, I have used the word often, including in my second, most recent release, The Snow Queen. Forgive the random plug, My head is full of snot. *glaring at the Outbreak Monkey who got me sick* I used it twice. I like the feeling the word has in my mouth and head. (Don’t ask; I don’t understand it, either.)

I used it in real life not too long ago. Ever have one of those awful coworkers or “friends” who is universally seen as difficult? I have one of those at work. I outrank her and she hates it. Some of the people on my team have expressed that, were this harpy to have my position, they would quit immediately. She’s fun in the way being dragged on your ass through a mile of cactus needles would be enjoyable.

Out of a team of 10, at least half of us were not speaking to her. She wanted something immediately. I told her I would get to it in a moment; I was in the middle of something. She told me she wanted it “NOW.” I said, “You’ll get it when I’m done.” She informed me I didn’t know who I was talking to — which was fair, since she seems to change personalities from moment to moment, each worse than the last. She came over to my desk and started berating me, saying I was only being like that because our other team mates were. I told her she was obviously right, that there couldn’t possibly be any other reason, and that I was doing it just to be cool.

“Stop everything you’re doing and pay attention to me NOOOOW! KAAAAW!”

The boss stopped her, eventually talked to her, told her that if she acted crazy like that again (it’s like the third time) that she would be transferred and written up. I immediately sent an e-mail to the team members she specifically mentioned and formally requested permission to join the Cool Club they had clearly formed without my knowledge.

*blowing my nose hard enough to pop my ears*

They granted me permission to enter, and as my membership fee, I had to recruit another and come up with a way to best describe the Beast. I recruited three others, one of whom called me a saint for not leaping to her head like an Alien face-hugger and destroying her soul. I then sent them my new favorite word: VITUPERATIVE.

It fits. They complained that they couldn’t pronounce it, so I helped them with it. I’m a giver like that. We cackled and joked and made an uncomfortable, ugly situation amusing and, in an odd way, a team-building experience. It was like the “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” for us. We laughed, we danced, and we were precocious. She has been largely silent and withdrawn since then. Victory on all fronts.

Us.

As for me, I am going to go spray some Vicks nasal decongestant (sweet gods, I actually wrote “nasal deconjester” at first and couldn’t understand why it looked bad — what would that be? A court Fool who picks your nose for you? Yet, I spelled the freekin’ Mary Poppins word right on the first try.) into my cranium, eat Advil like Skittles, and try not to die. Or be dramatic. At least I can do the first one.

*faint* Sorry for the ass-sucking post. Now, to plan my revenge on the Plague-Bringer. I have a waste basket full of soggy, used tissues, and no qualms about using them.

Alternate letter considerations: Valkyrie Profile *glare, honk, sneeze*, Vipers (as in poisonous snakes), Viper (as in the comic book villain).

U = Umbridge, Dolores (A-Z Challenge)

“…the greatest make-believe villain to come along since Hannibal Lecter.” — Stephen King.

Dolores Umbridge is the most reprehensible fictional teacher to come along, ever, not just in the Harry Potter universe. She is mundane evil, an awful person without being twisted by anything other than her own prejudices and jaundiced world view. She is not evil in the way that Voldemort is — he was born different, strong, strange, and evil. His strength and upbringing twisted him into the vile creature he became. He was the person with so much power that those beneath him were inferior. He lacked all empathy. He was the bad seed.

Umbridge was none of these things. Her magic was not strong, she was not beautiful, she was a full blood witch, and she was — for a witch — totally normal. What she was, however, is worldly, common, and mundane. She was the housewife who disowns her child for being gay; she was the woman who lobbies for harsher prison terms for misdemeanors, the bully, the woman who deprives a worker of sustenance for an imagined slight, the woman in front of you in the grocery store who puts her ice cream bars in the magazine rack and verbally attacks you for giving them to the cashier with a sigh. Worse than that, she is judge, jury, yet not executioner. She keeps her hands generally cleaner than that.

The most frightening thing about Dolores Umbridge is her convictions. She is fully, totally convinced that she is right and will see those convictions through to the end, whatever the means. She is the woman who drowns her children, not through insanity or unfathomable sadness, but because she believes it is right, that the word is too unkind to allow the innocent to live.

She is the person who knows better. No question. And she will do whatever it takes to make her dreams of right come true, up to and including physical cutting, lies, punishment, humiliation, bullying, and torture. Any means justify the end. Any.

She made Harry scar his own hand. She stripped all clubs. She banned Harry from his one outlet for peace and happiness — Quidditch — for life. She is so convinced of her “truth” that she refuses any contradicting proof. She empowers bullies to act without censure. She is a racist and a bigot. She advocates torture, something she could be imprisoned for life for, to reach her goal.

Her handiwork.

Nothing is more frightening than someone with nominal power, no morals, a plan, and a total lack of scruples to see them to the end — even up to and including rounding up “Undesirables” and revoking their rights to magic, love, and life. She designed to make the Muggle Borns, people with a different ancestry than the “pure” wizards and witches, lesser in every way possible. To strip them of their magic. To single them out. To take away their homes and rights. To imprison them, just for being born a different “race” of witch or wizard. The parallels to Nazi Germany are indisputable.

Most of this last came about in Deathly Hollows, the last, darkest book of all the Harry Potter novels. But it is cannon, and it is terrifying. Umbridge, who was debatably beaten and raped by centaurs, deserved nothing less. Her eventual fate, while not death, is suiting. But there is a part of me, the part that is terrified of abuse of power and status, which thinks maybe, just maybe she didn’t get enough.

Then again, perhaps death would be too kind.

Alternate letter considerations: Uganda, Underwater.

T = Telekinesis (A-Z Challenge)

Telekinesis — Also known as psychokinesis. The ability to move objects by mental power.

I have a very loving, wonderful, caring, evil, criminally smart geek friend with whom I have watched nearly every major super hero movie that has come out for the past 5+ years. Her constant refrain, exclaimed at the most random of moments, is, “I want POWERS!” Everyone who knows her has told her no, absolutely not, as though we could grant or deny her request through committee. We deny this request for the same reason she’s not allowed to have a shotgun: the carnage would be too great to bear.

When watching these movies (over and over and over), we have constantly asked ourselves what powers we would want. Super speed? Boring. (Quicksilver had better be good or well done, or I will be singularly unimpressed.) Super strength? Yawn. It’s common. Wings? I would pass, my friend wants them…large ones…and unless they are like Maleficent’s wings in the trailers, I couldn’t care less. Angel of the X-Men was boring until he became Archangel.

I used to love Kitty Pryde’s ability to phase ghost-like through solid objects. But, it’s a bit limited and I could do with something more direct. For me, I think I would want Mystique’s shapeshifting powers if I was denied my first choice: Jean Grey’s telekinesis. I don’t need to be Dark Phoenix or even Phoenix, but ever since I was a young kid and read Carrie, telekinesis has been by far my favorite power.

I’ll take the telepathy, too, but I fear I would turn into the White Queen/Emma Frost and use my powers for evil all day, every day. Sure, I may visit murder trials and make a few scum suckers confess all the details of their crimes, but I would probably be largely unscrupulous. I would be the Catwoman of telepaths — walking the line between good and evil. I don’t know that I would want that. However, Psylocke? If you add the ninja to the telepathy? I’m there. Of course, Psylocke eventually got telekinesis, but that was just a cheap attempt to make the hottest X-Men character even more powerful. So, we shall ignore that.

Psylocke, before and after her mind was transferred into the body of a ninja. Don’t ask. Just admire.

I’m actually a very shy person when in situations I’m not familiar or comfortable with. One thing that helps, however odd it is, is to imagine, if I had strong telekinesis, how I would clear the anxiety-inducing area out. I have read Stephen King’s Carrie more than 10 times (it’s a short book. Don’t judge me.) I only ever felt sorry for her. And envious.

Also, since I am like Hannibal Lecter in that pointless discourtesy is unspeakably ugly to me, rude people would find that karma was swift and merciless.

– The hot gay bartender who gave my friend a snotty, judgmental look for no reason? Guess who’s getting telekinetically tripped when he tries to go up that step.

– The condescending dickbag at work who throws everyone under the bus, usually using total lies and the fact that his nose is usually shoved to the root in his manager’s ass? “Wow! I’ve never seen a chair just collapse like that! How much weight HAVE you put on?”

– The annoying fast food worker who rolls her eyes and throws someone’s money at them because she’s WAY too good? Fryer burns hurt, bitch. Maybe you should start being nicer when you’re out of recovery.

– The asshole who makes a left turn mere inches in front of a pedestrian or honks at an elderly woman for walking “too slow”? Picked up and gently placed at the back of the turning line.

– Groups of teenagers who hog the sidewalk and refuse to budge? Bowling pins, bitches.

That’s not to say that I would be all evil or vengeful (though I think my code name would be Karma, thank you). When I was very, very young my mother and I were in San Francisco visiting my uncle. Some guy ran past, snatched this woman’s purse, and bolted past us. My mother grabbed me out of the way. My uncle tore off, tripped the man, grabbed the purse, and detained the attempted thief until the cops got there. The cops said that was very dangerous, but thanked my uncle for his service. The woman did, too.

I remember thinking then — I couldn’t have been older than 7 — that I wished I could have just put up a magic, invisible wall right in front of the thief, making him run right into it. My uncle’s method was great, but too physical and too dangerous. Conjuring a magic wall from a distance was obviously the best solution. That was my first conscious, remembered thought of telekinesis. And it hasn’t stopped since then. I would fight crime and rude people with equal vigor.

Random picture of Jean Grey as Marvel Girl. Just because.

There aren’t many male telekinetics of any note. There is Hellion, Julian Keller, some other guy I can’t remember, and the guys from the movie Chronicle. It was always disappointing to me. As a small kid in love with super heroes, I was never the physical type. My uncle’s method didn’t work for me. So, I admired the women or the guys with mental powers like Professor X. This has not changed.

You can imagine how excited I was with the second X-Men movie, X2, when Jean Grey showed signs of the Phoenix Force.

I literally had chills.

I thought, “Awesome. That’s all I need. It means that they are going to do the Phoenix Saga. Life is good. I can be content with this movie and wait for the next.” X2 was amazing. Had I known how awful the next movie, X-Men: The Last Stand would be, I would have been less excited. The Last Stand was squandered potential, random deaths, and a few good scenes. It was a travesty, however, if you consider the Dark Phoenix story. It was made by someone who seemed to hate super heroes, the X-men, and specifically the Phoenix with a very dark passion.

With the recent movie, which came out today, X-Men: Days of Future Past, it seems that Brian Singer has set things right. I will not be seeing the movie until Sunday, but I’m very excited. Because of this movie, might we eventually see Jean Grey again? One can hope. But the important thing is that the series lives on.

And maybe the Phoenix will rise again.

Alternate letter considerations: Thug, Teleportation, Telepathy, Time travel.

S = Stephen King (A-Z Challenge)

“…so I went to the library and picked up three books by the greatest author of the last thousand years: Stephen King.” — Peter Griffin, Family Guy.

Yeah, I used that quote before. Deal. It’s good.

Carrie, ‘Salem’s Lot, The Shining, Cujo, It, Misery, The Green Mile, The Shawshank Redemption, The Body (Stand by Me), Creepshow, Christine, The Stand, The Dark Tower series…the list of influential and incredible Stephen King books goes on and on. His legacy is an inspiration, his talent intimidating, his impact on society undeniable.

Yet, he still has the stigma as a horror writer, as the King (ha!) of Gross Out, and the Master of Terror. I was at a “team building exercise” at work several years ago because the whole team hated each other, and in an attempt to humanize ourselves with the team, we had to give one person we idolized and aspired to be like.

There were the unavoidable lame moments, like when one woman said she wanted to be her mother (I suppose I was the sick one for thinking that she just wanted her father. After all, she WAS from the South). I didn’t point out that having twelve children, most of whom are on drugs, lunatics, bipolar, or universally difficult wasn’t precisely an achievement. Someone said something like Ivanna Trump, post-divorce and got laughs. However, people thought I was serious when I said Taylor Lautner, because he’s young and pretty. (What the fuck people? Who wants to be a closeted twink? He’s very pretty, seems like a very positive guy, seems well grounded, and he has lots of money. I could do worse for the subject at hand, but it’s not what I aspire to be.) I let the joke go and nobody batted an eye. Horrified that these gossipy people I disliked would think I was so shallow, I eventually let them in on the joke, and said that I admire/idolize/would love to be like Stephen King.

I should have stuck with Taylor Lautner.

To steal my friend’s line, they couldn’t have acted more surprised if I had shat in their laps. My supervisor did a Dorothy Zbornak double-take, tried to move on, and then looked at me in my business casual Dickies and polo shirt. He said, “WHAT?! Shouldn’t you be wearing all black, have on too much eyeliner, and be talking about how pain is life?”

Simpletons. I didn’t mention anything about my writing aspirations (aiming high, I know), but I did say some of the things I mentioned above — icon, touched the world, incredibly talented, etc. She of the incestuous thoughts and eleven siblings looked at me as though she could actually see my soul burning and said, “Why would you want to write that horror stuff?” Then, nose firmly in the air, trying to reach heaven with her snootiness, I imagine, she said, “I don’t pollute my soul like that.” Seriously. In the workplace. Good ol’ Christian judgment.

Now, this bitch had not two days before gone off on a 40 minute dissertation on what an amazing movie Shawshank Redemption was. I thought about letting it go, about laughing later about it, about sending her the IMDB link privately to show her how special she was…but I wasn’t feeling that giving. (I think it was because she actually believed I wanted to be Taylor Lautner). I told her Stephen King wrote The Shawshank Redemption. Everyone thought I was lying; I would have received fewer shocked and horrified looks had I levitated the conference room table with my mind. She refused to believe it and looked at me as though I dared to insult the REAL writer of Shawshank.

I eventually had to look up the movie on my phone to prove it to her. Then I mentioned Stand by Me, Apt Pupil, The Green Mile…you would have thought I set her on fire and then beat the flames from her face. (If only.) She talked about it for days. I made her watch Misery. She asked me to make her a copy. I told her to buy it, and she did. I made her listen to the audio book. She did. Twice.

This could easily become an entry about bias, judgment, and inbreeding, but we’ll save that for another time. My point is that I have loved Stephen King since I was in 5th grade and he scared the shit out of me with ‘Salem’s Lot and Ben’s trip into the Marsten House, and he kept my affections when he made me cry with the end of The Shining, when he began my life-long obsession with telekinesis, when he took me to Derry and made me care about seven plucky kids battling their worst nightmares, when he made me look at solid nurses with fear and suspicion, when he tainted my memories of my childhood St. Bernard, and when I was older and he made me long for my childhood friends and adventures, when I rejoiced at the redemption of a wrongly accused man, and when he forever entered the phrase “bite my bag” into my vocabulary. The man’s work has shaped me, touched me, and scared the piss out of me.

If I could be half the writer he is, have a quarter of his talent, or even have a chat with the man, I would be a happy person. No other writer — except maybe J.K. Rowling, who can take away fears and hate and sadness or thoughts of pain and cancer and death and put me in a happy, dangerous, wonderful place — has affected me the way Mr. King has. He made me fear the dark, look twice in the closets, want to visit old hotels, wander at night, look in sewer drains, and believe that total immersion is only a few pages away.

Sometimes, that can be the greatest treasure in life, and it’s something I am unendingly grateful for, in awe of, and hope to emulate someday.

***As a side note, I was going to do “super heroes” in honor of X-Men: Days of Future Past coming out tomorrow. However, I plan to do something for that with tomorrow’s entry, so come back tomorrow with your Geek Capes firmly attached and ready for flight. And, for the record, I love the gorgeous Nicholas Hoult as Beast and will now accept no other but, in all fairness and to bring it all together and end this on a pro-Tay note…couldn’t Taylor Lautner the Ninja have been awesome in that role? (Ugh…being nice is exhausting! I need a drink.)

Cockadoodie!

Alternate letter considerations: Super Heroes, Simpsons, She-Ra.