Woods part 4

Glen walked through the forest. It was a very trying experience, because he had no flashlight. He couldn't see where he was going. The trees were so big they blocked out the moon and stars.

But it was also so quiet at night. He felt like every step he took shook the world with the noise of crunching leaves and scuffling dirt. If he just paused for a moment, he could appreciate the quiet better... Except it wasn't exactly silent. Even though there were no animals making noise, the wind was still, and everyone had gone to sleep, he could hear something, feel it with more than just his pointy ears, almost like...

He could hear the trees growing.

Weird. He never realized that before. He'd always spent so much time stumbling through the forest, during the day, listing to the static in his own head, he'd never bothered.

"Ay," said Horatio, from up the path, somewhere in the trees. "Keep it coming. He'll want to talk to you."

"Yes, yes, I'm on my way," said Glen, and he started walking again.

And then he stopped again as he realized that he hadn't stumbled a single step this entire way. He trips on the flat, even concrete of sidewalks; taking a walk in the forest was usually like a minefield.  But here, in the dark, it suddenly wasn't a big deal. This was very out of character, and it made him uncomfortable.

He heard a coo come from Horatio, which Glen chose to interpret as a sigh. "Look," said Horatio, "just follow us. Whatever confusion you're feeling now will be tripled in a minute. And then, you'll understand. Just get your ass in gear already, we haven't got all night. He leaves at dawn."

Glen almost asked, "Who?" but figured that for now it might be best to just keep walking.

After a bit he could hear some voices, which would have been odd, but at the rate things were going, it didn't actually surprise him that much. The muffled voices seemed to get closer as he walked, until he reached a clearing lighted only by a few handfuls of fireflies.

"OH, for the love of --" started someone, a familiar voice. "Finally, you're here."

It was Colin. Colin Peterson, the librarian. He was sitting, cross-legged, on a big rock on the edge of the clearing. Of all people to be in charge of this shindig.... "What do you want?" asked Glen. This guy was pretty weird. Colin could never stop talking about a subject once you mentioned it. He acted all huffy, like he thought he knew a lot more than he was letting on, and was very selfish about it. He had antlers coming out of his head, but that wasn't a new installment -- though what did strike Glen as odd was the fur covering his legs, along with hooves in place of feet. "Um--"

Colin rolled his eyes, sighing. "It's simple enough to hide a couple hairy legs, Glen. Especially when you have a job as dreary and boring as librarian."

"Oh... kay...." said Glen, thoroughly weirded out by now. "So, uh... Why... did you want me here?"

Small critters scuttled across Colin's rock, squeaking as they ran by. "I know, I know, why would I, a beautiful faun such as myself, even bother to call upon your dreary elfish being?"

Glen scowled. "I'm not even -- "

Colin chuckled. "I know what you are. But pitiful enough, you happened to help me and my fellow creatures catch a murderer yesterday. As much as it pains me to say, you actually did... a decent job. Though you probably don't remember it, and it's painful when you try to. Which would mean I did my job well, as always. But I knew you'd freak out about some of the side effects of such a memory wipe, so I had to talk to you about it. Simple answer: I'm magic. Everything touched by my magic takes a bit of the forest with them, and you, my friend, can now communicate with creatures of nature. Why, earlier today, you already made friends with the... lovely.... Horatio, over there."

"Like hell I'm lovely," came a screeching voice from the trees.

Glen just looked skeptically at Colin. "You're full of it, Colin."

"Ah, yes, but that is what makes me such a great ruler of this beautiful forest!"

"Mm-hmm. All one acre of it. 'Night, man," said Glen, turning around. "I'll see you tomorrow in the library."

"Wait! One more thing: You mustn't tell anyone about this meeting, or the wrong people could find me..."

"I have a feeling I'm one of those 'wrong people,' Colin," said Glen. "Also, why would I tell anyone about this meeting in the middle of the night I was told about by a talking bird, at which Colin the Librarian revealed he was the faun ruler of the tiny forest on the edge of town? Hah, it's not as if people don't already accuse me of being crazy every day. Or worse. Usually worse."

"A--" Colin couldn't even get a full syllable in before Glen interrupted.

"Goodnight, Mr. Librarian. I'll see you tomorrow, and then, if you really want to talk, we can do it then." With that, he turned back the way he came, and headed down the path.



Another installment complete! Sorry for the long wait, school started a couple weeks ago, and I had to get situated. I've only had a bit of time, here and there, to even think about writing. And now, I've finally gotten the time to do it. Been one heck of a ride while I was away, though. Maybe I'll write about it sometime. Who knows?

It's getting exciting, having the story advance like this. I have so many plans now, and it's just... Evil plots are going to take place, I can tell you that much. So hang onto your seats, kids, 'cause it's gonna be an adventure!

~Polar

Woods Part 3

Basil set his glass of water down on the counter. His counter. In his own apartment.

Glen had to be crazy. He had to be. Hah, but then, Basil would be crazy too, because he heard the bird speak himself.

He also knew all about the crazy outings Glen went on. He needed none of that crap, now more than ever. Basil had been to the hell they called jail. Honestly, it was hell. Maybe he was only there for a day, but he knew how to get his facts straight. He needed to test how serious Glen was about this thing.

And so far? All Basil had was a rushed explanation of a crazy story, and a deadline missed and unchallenged. Didn't seem too plausible right now.

But this was also unlike Glen as a whole. Where the frig was he? It was actually not up to his strict standards. Usually, he kept the crazy appointments he made. Basil could bet he'd already forgotten the whole thing. At least, he thought so...

But what if Glen believed all this crazy stuff? What would that make Basil? A friend who wouldn't listen? Oh, that would be rich, spinning him around to become the crappy friend.

Basil sighed. Naw, here's what he'd do: he'd wait until midnight. If Glen showed up, he'd listen. But if he didn't show up, he'd stomp right up to that loser's door and demand to see him.

But what if he wasn't even there?

Well, then, Basil thought, maybe he isn't crazy, if that happens. If he ain't found by morning, he thought, I'll just report his little "episode," and continue his investigations.

There was no question about it: they were both insane.



Here's a short part three! Get ready for part four! Guess whose point of view we'll be seeing from next.....

In the next installment! Heheh.

~Polar

Woods Part 2

Glen sat on the porch steps. He wasn't old enough to live on his own quite yet, but he sure as heck didn't want to live with his parents anymore, so he lived with his sister instead.

It had been hours since he'd talked to Basil, and he knew that his shift ran late sometimes, but never quite this late. This was actually quite ridiculous. Basil must be avoiding him.

Glen stroked the bird sitting in his lap. It cooed affectionately. He frowned as he realized that he'd only met the bird earlier that day. Why was it taking to him so quickly? He wasn't being particularly nice to it. Then again, he wasn't being particularly mean to it, either. He suspected that may be part of why it stuck around him.

Maybe he should just go to the bookstore, see if Basil even left yet. Maybe he had specifically stayed longer to avoid meeting up with him. Whatever the case, it was probably a good idea to head over there and figure it out.

He was just considering to muster up the courage to stand when he heard a creak behind him and a voice said, "Glen." Panicked, he shooed the bird out of his lap, trying to make it look like an unwanted crow had just landed there. He tried to whisper sorry, but Horatio was a fast flier. He worried that the bird might not return, but he couldn't worry about that at the moment.

"Are you doing okay?" asked his sister. She came and sat next to him on the steps, looking at him for a minute before gazing lazily out toward the red sky. "Never mind," she said. They just sat there for a moment, Glen being very confused about why she was out here, when she interrupted the silence again: "Glen."

"What?" he asked. "What is so important you can't figure out how to say it?"

"Why did you take the day off work today? I was worried when you weren't in the house when I woke up, and when I stopped by to ask you about it, they said you'd come in late to call in sick. What's up with that?"

"Uh..." said Glen. "I had sort of a strange night."

His sister sighed, red hair floofing in the breeze her breath created. "I swear, Glen, if you..."

"Golly, what kind of a person do you take me for? One mistake and I never hear the end of it!"

There was the flapping of wings as the bird fluttered back and settled on Glen's shoulder. His sister looked at it with a hint of disgust. "You... seem awfully calm... for having such a thing on your shoulder, Glen."

"Hm?" he said, then realized that Horatio was on his shoulder. "OH! Um..." He didn't really know what to do. "Well, uh..."

"'Bluh- bla, uh, um' -- holy hell, boy, you stutter quite a lot!" shouted the bird. It turned to look at Glen's sister. "Why, hello, I almost didn't see you there. This guy's hair takes up half the planet. And what, might I ask, is your name?"

Glen's sister gasped, her face turning red. "What IS this?"she shouted. She stood up quickly, pressing her body against one of the posts that the held up the roof of the porch. She seemed genuinely freaked out now.

Glen hurriedly scooped up Horatio, mumbled about going to Basil's, and ran down the street.

Should he have run like that? Surely, his sister would be worried sick for his, or worse, her own, health. Birds don't talk. They just don't. What would his sister think of him now? What would he do tomorrow? How could he deal with this mess he was digging himself into?

"What the hell was that?" asked Horatio, sounding genuinely offended by how Glen had taken off. "Why would she react that way? How impolite of both of you!" He began flapping his wings, but he was under Glen's jacket again and wasn't getting anywhere.

Glen stopped running, and pulled Horatio out of his coat. "Listen!" he said. "Birds don't talk! You speaking to people makes them question reality! It makes them feel unsafe! And nobody likes feeling unsafe!"

"You wanna know somethin', punk? People didn't used to talk either. Least, I never understood them walking pink fleshy things. Until this morning. Friggin' everyone talks now. What the hell. You think I don't understand them scaredycats? Nah. They just don't understand me." With a nod, he climbed back into Glen's jacket.

"Huh. Strange things are happening everywhere, I suppose," said Glen, unsure of what else to say. "Maybe we should go talk to Basil and get at least some of this sorted out."

"Maybe we should," pouted Horatio from somewhere in the cozy comfort of Glen's coat.

"Fine then," said Glen, walking again, "that's exactly what we'll do."

But he was stopped as a tiny chipmunk ran in front of his feet. It wasn't clear how he interpreted it, but he figured out that it was trying to get his attention.

"Excuse me," squeaked the tiny little thing. "You wouldn't by any chance be Glen, would you?"

"Well, er," stuttered Glen. "Yes, I suppose I am. Who, if I may wonder, is asking?'

"Never mind who," chittered the chipmunk. "You're wanted in the forest."





Part 2, complete! Woodland creatures are cute, adorable, and have great character, don't they?

Anyway, I hope you're liking it so far. I'm having a ton of fun with it. There's a lot more room for character diversity and I can have them do literally anything. Freedom is fun.

That's it, I guess. My main point was to post this.

But hey, if you want, you could check out this art blog my sister and I made on Tumblr: cataastrpohe-gaa.tumblr.com. That's a thing I've been spending time working on. Also, for little over a week, I was staying in the mountains where there was terrible internet connection. It was really hard to type anything up. So I just waited to finish this until I got back. And now, I'm back! Yippee!


~Polar

Woods part 1

Glen hurried across the sidewalk, trying to avoid the other people walking by. They were going about their business, and he wanted them to keep it that way.

He was coming from the Auto Shop, where he worked daily. Though today was his day off, he had still stopped by. He needed to be there, even if he wasn’t working. A bird had flown in an open window and ran into one of the walls. He didn’t even know why the window was open, it was really pretty chilly outside. He wasted a moment wondering who would’ve opened it in this weather, but then was awakened by the sound of a car honking its horn as it drove past him, pulling him out of his daze.

Standing on the curb, he poked his head up, out of the crowd.

He sighed, running his hand through his poofy hair. He liked it that way. The way it stuck up in the air accentuated his pointy ears just enough to make him look dangerous. And that was the part he thought was cool.

Well, Glen thought. It might be best to head across the street. The building he was looking at was the quirkiest bookstore he’d ever seen: the moment you set foot in it, you were swallowed in the massive collections. Books spewed from every nook and cranny. But the place had an overall dark look to it, giving it a haunted feel. Only the really cool kids hung there. That and really creepy old dudes.

Instead of just standing there imagining walking into the store, he dashed across the street. A bell rang as he opened the door and walked in. The strange thing about it was how dark the place was -- it really was just one room, with shelves placed so that it’d feel more like walking down a winding corridor than across a room -- the large windows on the left wall spewed light but none of it made it to the books. Glen stepped forward, only a couple strides to the desk. As usual, no one was there. But there was a bell on the desk, which Glen bopped with his hand, and he stood there, waiting.

A cooing noise came from under his jacket. “Shh,” he said, patting the slight bulge. “Soon, you’ll be able to come out. But not yet. So be quiet, please. Or we’ll both be in big trouble.” A small peep, and then silence.

He knew it would be a few minutes until Basil  would arrive. Bookworms have a tendency to take their time. So Glen’s thoughts wandered.

He wondered if he could fix everything.

He remembered how he’d taken a walk yesterday morning, through the small woods on the edge of town. It was nice to walk through a place like that, pretend there were no deadlines. Live like time didn’t exist. But this walk was different.

He remembered the strange tracks, following them. He remembered someone in the woods he didn’t recognize, though he never saw their face -- yelling, then screaming. Screaming at him to leave the forest. But why? That had been his question. He remembered the yelling getting louder, him asking the person to relax -- but then what happened? Glen remembered darkness -- but not complete darkness. Incomplete darkness. For how long, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know if there was something that happened after it, either, or if that was it...

But after the darkness he remembered the sun setting. And the bird. The same bird that now hid in his jacket. After that he’d called his boss, told him he couldn’t make it to work the next day. He needed to sort some things out.

But he’d forgotten something at the Auto Shop, his first aide kit. And he needed it if he was going to fix his scratched body, along with the bird’s hurt wing. That was why it needed a place to stay -- but someone had left the stupid window open, and another bird had flown in, totally freaking out the hurt one and causing it to try to fly away, which just strained its injuries, and -- sigh. It was just all very stressful.

He didn’t know why exactly he felt that he had to keep it secret, or why he told himself and the bird they’d get in trouble if they were caught. Caught by whom? Who would be searching for them? The strange person?

All Glen knew was that he saw something he wasn’t supposed to and now he needed to talk it through with somebody. And that somebody just happened to be --

“Well, what a friggin’ surprise,” came a familiar voice, followed by footsteps, which were followed by a face emerging from around the corner. With a head that was kind of squarish and a body like a rectangle, small eyes and a face that seems to tell the truth, you’d think Basil would be the quiet, respectful type; but he was practically the opposite.

“Before we get any farther, I wanna remind you that--” started Glen, but he was interrupted by Basil.

“You don’t approve of me swearing. How many times have we gone over that lame conversation? Look, ‘friggin’’ isn’t even a swear word, technically, but for your sake, I’ll change the rules to be as strict as my freaking grandma. Seriously, for a dude as chill and goth-lookin’ as you, you’re pretty uptight about a lot of stuff. Can we just get on with why ya dragged me outta one of the best books in the world?”

“Well,” started Glen, “this might not be the absolute best place to be talking about this, but there’s really nowhere else to go...”

“You get arrested again?”

Glen frowned. “No, of course not. I’ve only ever been arrested once, Basil, and you know it was a misunderstanding.”

“Yeah, a misunderstanding concerning a convenience store and some beer. Honestly, I don’t understand what’s up with you sometimes, you’re okay with stealing but not the f-bomb?”

“Shut up,” said Glen. “Look, I came here for some help. If you don’t wanna, you don’t have to. But at least let me tell the story first.”

“Who’s sayin’ you can’t tell the story? Just get started already! Geez!”

“Okay, fine, Mr, Impatient. It happened yesterday morning. Something so serious I only remember parts of it.”

“What is this about? Drugs? Debts owed? What’s so dangerous? You need me to talk to Nike again? ‘Cause I explicitly told her, I did, if she ever messed with -- “

“Just be quiet and lemme get started,” hissed Glen. “So I went --” But he was interrupted again, this time by the bird. It squawked loudly and flew out from under his jacket so suddenly that it seemed the bird had startled even itself, and it ran straight into the window to the left with a muffled thunk.

“Ow,” came a small, strange, voice.

Glen started sweating plenty. “Shhhh!” he hissed. “Be quiet!” He turned to explain the situation to Basil, who was obviously in shock.

“It... talks?” Basil said. “But what? How...?”

“I was getting to that part,” said Glen, crouching down to pick up the injured bird, “but no one would let me get that far.” The small, black creature hopped up Glen’s arm onto his shoulder.

“But,” said Basil, “it can talk.”

“You bet your ass I can,” sneered the bird.

“Hey,” Glen complained, “were you even listening to our conversation?”

“Not even in the slightest,” sniffed the bird. “I was too busy suffocating to death. I eventually got enough of it.”

“Fine,” said Glen. “Whatever. Can I get started with my story yet?”

“Yes,” said both the bird and Basil at the same time, in very bored tones. It didn’t feel very fitting, because for Glen the past day and a half had been very exciting, but for all Basil knew, this was just another shenanigan in the life of the troublemaker elf-man Glen. But it was different this time. He felt it.

“Wellll,” began Glen, for the third time, “it happened yesterday morning. I was taking a calming morning walk in the woods --” Glen was interrupted by a pfft from Basil -- “when all of a sudden I noticed something. Or really, someone. Someone new that I’d never seen before.” This got Basil’s attention. Glen really got around, socially. He knew everyone in town. It actually wasn’t very hard, because it was one of those towns that hardly ever got visitors. For him to not recognize someone meant that an unknown being had snuck into town without anyone noticing, which was quite a challenge, because there was only one road leading into town, one that ended in the center of the town, and the woods were on the farthest outskirts.

All of this information thought through within a fraction of a second, Glen continued with his story. “They were yelling about something, then noticed I was there, and directed their shouting at me. ‘Just walk away,’ they were saying. ‘Walk away and forget I was ever here.’ I asked them to calm down, because, you know, this was totally an un-chill situation, and they started screaming at me. ‘No, don’t take a picture.’ ‘Please just leave me alone.’ But you know, louder.”

Basil sat in the quiet for half a second before asking, “so what the hell happened next, man? You can’t leave off on such a cliffhanger.”

Glen scowled at the use of language, but answered the question anyway. “I don’t know, not really. It gets fuzzy after that. I do remember a lot of darkness. But it wasn’t complete darkness, not like I’d been swallowed by something. it was more like there was something behind it, trying to get in. Like I’d been covered in a veil and no one could find the edge to get me out. After that... I remember opening my eyes, and the sun was setting, and this bird--” he gestured to his shoulder -- “was lying on the ground next to me. It asked me to help it.

“But now,” he continued, “it occurs to me that I didn’t even ask you for your name.”

“Horatio,” replied the small bird, peering through its black, beady eyes.

“Well, then, Horatio,” said Glen, “Basil--“ he nodded at Basil -- “I think it’s time to figure this whole thing out.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Basil. “We’re going into the woods, of course. Where the possible murderer was last seen. Just wait for my shift to end, I’d gladly die with you.”

“Sweet,” said Glen. “See you in a few hours, then.”

“Yup,” replied Basil. “See you.

Glen turned and walked out of the store, wondering what would happen next. Would the strange person still be there? Would there be evidence they ever were? What were they planning?

Well, thought Glen. I guess we’ll see in a few hours.

This is a new story I've been working on! I've been taking my sweet time with this one, and I feel like the characters are better developed in this thing than The Super. Plus, the Super never really had a plot to begin with, and it just kind of wandered. Which sucked. So I'm trying out a new story with an actual plot idea this time, and we'll see how it goes. I like where it's going s far.

   ~Polar

Why, Thank You

So you remember my ranting post about the Wii remotes? Of course you do. If you haven't read it, there's an easy solution to that. It's the last post I wrote. Move your mouse to the right hand side and it should be there. Unless you're on mobile; then I don't know where the heck the archive's located.

Well, it was really just me freaking out about losing yet another part of my childhood to the swirling vortex that time creates, but someone took it quite seriously. So seriously, in fact, that they sent me a BRAND NEW Wii remote in the mail! I just received it today. It's new and black and has Wii Motion Plus BUILT IN and did I mention that it's freakin' new? I haven't held a brand new remote in eight years. It's pretty awesome.

Now, I don't know who sent it to me. There are many people I suspect, but rather than send out messages to every single candidate, I figured it would be more efficient to thank them here, since they obviously read my blog so carefully. They can then reveal themselves if they feel like, or they may feel it better to leave themselves anonymous, which is fine. Either way rocks. Which makes me writing this thank you here so awesome: no privacy violated.

So, to whoever sent me the Wii remote: THANK YOU!! I know that the specific kind of remote you sent me was not cheap, so it makes it super AWESOME that you did such a thing for such a strange and random individual on the internet! I'm really happy about it, if you can't tell!

You're probably someone that I actually know personally, and if you read this and want to say hi I'll gladly thank you in person.


That's all I'm really writing about. This entire post is a thank you letter.


Thanks again!

 ~ Polar

I Got Mad Because of a Video Game Again

I got really mad today. I was looking for the Wii remote and couldn't find it.

The problem here is that we technically own two remotes, but there was this period of time where my family practically forgot that we owned a Wii entirely. And the reason for that is because we used to have friends come over all the time because my dad technically babysat them, even though they were old enough to be left in their own house alone. But whatever, we played Wii games all day, and that was fun. You know, until their parents actually realized that they were probably getting too old to be "babysat." When that happened, our exclusively multiplayer games just lost their lust. It's so much better to have four players than two. So for a while we just lost track of everything related; the games gathered dust in various places, the remotes shoved into some random box. The console lay to the side of the TV, which soon became a Mac, incapable of working the Wii, which was becoming woefully ignored.

But one day, a game was introduced to me. It was called Just Dance. It had been out for a while, and there was actually three games before the one I was introduced to, but it didn't matter. Something that few people realized at the time is that I loved dancing games. I used to play Dance Dance Revolution all the time at a friend's house. No one I knew really liked them that much, though, because I never really talked about it, so when I came in and played my heart out at Just Dance, I think at least some people were surprised. Like, I talk a lot about my life, but there are certain things that never cross my mind to mention that really surprise people, and judging by their reactions, they weren't expecting my enthusiasm.

I royally sucked at Just Dance. It wasn't anything like Dance Dance Revolution; the version I had experience with dealt entirely with feet, while this game revolved around the hands and arms. Playing Just Dance, I was clumsy. I was a danger to those around me.

But I looked that game in the face and knew that I could take on this challenge. I could master the game if I had the chance.

I've always had a problem with exercise. My main problem being that every choice I had was just so... public. Like, I'm not thin, and I don't need to feel really self conscious while I'm riding my bike, or jogging, or playing sports. I wanted an indoor exercise, one that I could practice without the feeling of the world staring down my back.

And now, voila, I had it. That is, of course, if my parents would buy it for our Wii. The last game we had bought for the Wii was purchased maybe three years prior. It was going to be tricky. Especially with the fact that we had to get a special USB plugin in order to even USE the Wii with the computer we used as a television.

Somehow, I managed to convince my parents to get me the game, and then it was all me, practicing my heart out. I didn't just wave the remote around like an idiot. I actually did the moves.

Lots of practicing led my family to be driven away from using the Wii completely, excepting me, of course. For about two years, I was the only one to really use the Wii. And so, only one remote was needed.

At the beginning of this summer, I was really a lot more busy than I anticipated. In fact, I was so busy, I dropped my exercise routine completely, because the work I was doing in itself counted as exercise. But things have finally calmed down, and so tonight I went to go get the Wii remote and start some Just Dance, like I've always done.

But the Wii remote wasn't there. I remembered that a few days ago, my sister and I had brought the remote to a neighbor's house, so we could all four play a certain game, because they only had three remotes and we needed four. And it was still there.

It was 10:00 at night. I couldn't just waltz over and ask for it. They'd already been asleep for an hour and a half; so I did the only thing I could think of next.

I searched for the other Wii remote. For an hour straight. Through our messy house.

I didn't find it.

This is me ranting about it.

I'm still mad, and frankly, at this point, it could be on the moon, for all I know. It's simply gone, and now I don't get my workout, and I have to wait until tomorrow afternoon to get the first remote back.

This is a really long post about a rant about something stupid, please don't take it too seriously. I'm just already agitated from an earlier experience, and then added to the hour I wasted looking for something that apparently doesn't exist anymore, and the dinner I never ate, it just blew up. I got super mad about it. But now I've blown off the steam, and I feel better about it.

I wanted to write this other thing I'm working on that I'm not going to tell you about because if I do I'll never finish it, but I was too angry to. The only thing that I could manage was this monster of a post. It was all my fault, every last bit of it. Sorry. But that's what my life is. Completely random and not without its downs.

Meh, that's all for now. Maybe I'll work on that comic. Or maybe I'll work on this other secret thing. Who knows?

                          ~Polar

(PS If you had ever watched me play Team Fortress 2, you'd know just how aggravated I can get because of video games.)

(I yell a lot. So much that the other kids who are also yelling about other video games tell me I'm being too loud.)

I am the Worst at Planning

So, heads-up... I got a bit over-excited last post, if you hadn't noticed. I got so excited, in fact, that I forgot about previous commitments.

This whole week, starting yesterday and going through Sunday, I'm busy being a counselor for this local day camp thing. We get to go to Safari Sam's, which is basically Chuck-E-Cheese but about fifty times better, the local pool, see a movie, visit an amusement park, and do one more thing I can't remember right now. The point here being that it's fun.

But, because I'm doing this thing, I can't really post anything until next Monday. Sorry folks, but that's due to poor planning on my part. I will totally be done with everything and ready to go by next Monday, which is the 29th. So, see you then!

        ~Polar

Dishes and School

I try to breathe as I sit down on my bed. I look at everything spread across it: Papers, sketchbooks, a coffee mug, a bag of yogurt-covered pretzels. My usual stuffed bear, Jack; colored pencils. Loads of colored pencils. My laptop: I was just using it to post something important on my blog. It was a pretty big milestone, in fact. But that's not the point here, I tell myself. Not anymore. If you over-think your success, you'll just be disappointed later. So I blast some music and go on Tumblr: the only place where I can do what I like and not worry too much about what others will think. But just as my song starts, Mom knocks on my door and opens it. She never waits to see if I say "come in" anymore.

I tense, knowing what will come. I've been avoiding my responsibilities all day. And now the sun was setting. Time to face my fears.

"Come downstairs and do the dishes," she says. I reluctantly get up, stick earbuds in. Listening to music always makes the job a hundred times easier. As I walk downstairs, Dad says something, but I can't hear. Turns out he was just saying hi. I say "Hi" back. Really, when I think about it, this job is a pretty good distraction in itself. 

As I start working, at first putting clean dishes away in the cupboards, my mind wanders. I think about earlier today, how I went out of town with friends. We went to the art museum, the one in the (probably) most famous city in the state, known for being extremely weird and full of hipsters. The art museum was nice, though. I had to draw some of the works of art in one of my classes a few months ago, and it was cool to see them in person, I guess. But when I go to big art museums like that, my brain almost short-circuits after a while. Too much information at once, too much thinking. If I've been in one for too long, I start feeling lightheaded and jittery, the way I do right before I get a headache or become too dehydrated. Except it's not a headache, and it's not me being dehydrated. It's just me thinking and looking too hard. It's me exploring and loving the art too hard. It's one way to prove I'm the kind of person who does everything the hard way or not at all. Either I like the art so much I practically pass out, or I don't like it at all. I'm so weird.

It reminds me of how I play hide and seek, actually. The first round, I'm never found. I get the perfect spot. But then, after that, I get too cocky, even if I tell myself not to be, and I try so hard to find a good hiding spot that it becomes so obvious where I'm hiding everyone begins to wonder if I cheated the first round. That's how it worked last night, when my sister and two other friends and I went to the library for game night. There was both Wii games on the bottom floor and hide and seek on the second. At night. It was pretty cool. But in the dark, I tend to get mistaken for a boy a lot. Like, I'm not kidding. I wear too many printed T-shirts, I guess. But I can't help being a super-geeky nerd who can only win Super Smash Bros using the most cutesy character ever. Seriously, though, Kirby? Out of every single character I've played as, I can only win as Kirby? What is my life becoming these days?

My back hurts now. Lots of bending down to put the dishes in the dishwasher. And then standing back up to get another thing and bending down again to put it in the dishwasher. It's really hot tonight. Does Mom realize how warm it is? Of course she does. But doing the dishes in the heat isn't an excuse for anything.

An ad interrupts my thoughts; I forgot I was listening to the radio. I sigh. Almost done, anyways. Maybe I should draw something cool and relaxing when I get back upstairs.

I think about my summer homework. Yeah, you heard that right. Advanced Placement classes have homework over the summer, so students can get a head start when school starts back up. I mean, summer has barely lasted for a week and two days, so I don't need to worry too much about it yet. I already have the reading material I need. I remember being so excited to have gotten it. I wonder why I was so happy to have summer homework?

I suppose it wasn't so much the work itself, but what it signified. It meant that I was in. I was in the clear, and I will be taking Junior Shakespeare next school year. And I know that that is a good sign, because A) it was the class I signed up for; B) I love Shakespeare for reasons I have yet to understand; and C) it means I am on the road toward an Honors diploma.

But at the same time, I have the attitude of not ever wanting to set foot in that place ever again. I don't know why. I used to love school; I used to want to go, every day. But high school isn't nearly as rewarding as it should be, in my opinion. It's like, in order not to get a letter home, in order to not get in trouble, you have to do well. Instead of doing well being a rewarding experience, you're expected to just get good grades. And I don't know why but I just despise that expectation. Plus, the grading is brutal, compared to other countries. In a lot of other countries, getting 50% is a C. A passing grade, a job well done. But here, in America? 50% is a low F. You think us Americans are dumb? Maybe it's just the grading system that needs to be fixed.

Not to mention that my school is adopting this "proficiency grading system". Ugh. Instead of percents or letters, we're being graded on a 1 to 5 scale. Let me explain these in that order. If you get a 1, it means you didn't even turn your assigment in, or you weren't there. It's basically the equivalent of "missing." If you get a 2, it means you tried, but messed up so bad you might as well just redo everything. A 3 means you missed a few questions; you could have done better. A four says you missed maybe one or two at the maximum, but you didn't get a perfect score; you know your stuff, but can still improve. And a 5 means it's perfect; there are no notes to make, other than that it's pure perfection -- nothing wrong or out of place. A 5 is 100%.

I would like to point out that a 3 is in the middle, like a C would be. It's designated for those who missed more than a couple, but still obviously get the point. But the thing that bothers me the most is that everyone's saying that a 3 doesn't pass. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, a C just doesn't cut it anymore -- now you have to get a 4 (aka a B) or higher. Now they're really expecting everyone to succeed.

And I don't know why, but the expectation that I will do well just makes me about 60% more likely to fail. And that is why I hate this system. Everyone's grades will start to go down. I'm already stressing about it too much and it's not even really the official grading system yet. I"M NOT EVEN IN SCHOOL RIGHT NOW AND IT STILL STRESSES ME OUT. Kids don't need more stress in their lives. They should have more freedom, give them more of a chance, not less of one.

Ugh. I frown as I squirt dishwasher soap into the little compartment, slam the door of the dishwasher closed, and press the start button. I grump upstairs. I talked myself into a bad mood, darn it. Well, I think. There's only one way to fix that.

I should go write about it.

              ~Polar

      ((If you didn't see it yet and are too lazy to specifically navigate to it, I posted the first page of a comic not too long ago. You can go here to read it.))

The Last Panel is My Favorite

Hey. So, to tell you the truth, it's been ages since I've written anything even sort of lengthy about a fictional event -- most of the writing I've done in the past few months has been strictly essays for classes. Please bear with me; I'm still warming up, and trying to shake myself from the conformity that school forces onto oneself.

In the meantime, I stressed out about not having anything to give you, so I rushed to start drawing this comic I was talking about. In fact, I'm already finished with the first page.

It was at this point I realized: Who says you have to do it all at once? One of the main reasons I've been having so much trouble with this comic dealio is that I try to do the entire thing before posting it. And then I realize it isn't good enough, or it gets ruined by some rebellious weather conditions, and I have to start over. And every single time, it gets longer. So here I am, drawing this comic I've been trying to get finished for the past year and a half, the longest run yet, and I'm going to go one page at a time. None of this "biting off more than I can chew" business. And I have to say, this one's a doozy. You remember my other two Randomness comics? They were terribly done, black and white, not even past the pencil sketching stage. They were sad excuses for a finished product, to be honest. But this time? Inked! With color! And probably at least three times longer than those other two! So buckle up, people. The ride may start out bumpy but I assure you, once we get going, there's no stopping the fun until it's done. (I also sort of didn't scan this one in; I jumped the gun a bit, honestly. This one is a literal picture taken with my literal iPod.)

You ready? Like I said, it starts out bumpy. But it only goes up from here, I swear.

SUPERHERO PSYCHOLOGY
#1

I know, this seems to leave a lot to be desired. But trust me. It will get a lot better as we go along. Puns and all.

                  ~Polar
     ((All superheroes shown or to be shown in this comic are copyrighted to DC and Marvel. Storyline is copyright of my freshman Drama class.))

ARRGH Hello Fellow Readers, How is Your Life

I'm thinking hard about what to write. And it's not happening.

Look, I know what I want to write. I know when and how to write it down. I'm listening to good writing music. I want to talk about so much stuff. But my own thoughts constantly interrupt what I'm planning to do. And I end up going nowhere. Sigh.

So, right now? I'm working on this possibly big-scale comic. And I plan to follow through with it! Once I prove to myself that I'm good at meeting personal deadlines, I can finally finish that other one that I constantly have been promising everyone for the last year and a half. Yay! :)

Also, if you didn't catch on, I have a Tumblr. Two, actually. I spend a lot more time on them than I anticipated, and one of my usernames is epicninjabowlerhatguy. Pretty long, but meh. I like it. I also have an ask blog, designed for people to send in questions and I make tiny little comics in response. It's been as successful as one can expect. Username for that one being ask-fressy-faxbeat, because it's aimed at the characters of the horror game franchise Five Nights at Freddy's. And ask-freddy-fazbear was already taken. Parodies are more fun anyways. Feel free to check them both out, though I haven't been too active on either lately. I've been too busy with -- shock, gasp, surprise -- working exercise and fun outdoor activities into my schedule.

It's actually pretty cool. But I have to ease into it.

It's summer, guys. But I don't quite feel the freedom summer usually offers quite yet. And thus, I have a lack of excitement to voice to you all.

I want you to know that in the past couple months, I've seriously upped my artistic game. Like, I've explored more artistic media in the past three weeks than I probably have the rest of my life. And for once, I'm liking what I'm turning out. So maybe I'll be uploading some images of said artwork. Who knows?

Okay, I'm really losing any sense of direction here. I guess my point here is that I'm really, seriously, not dead, and I am doing things with my life. I'm not just sitting around being a lazy potato. That would be really cute, actually. A potato doodle.

*Mind wanders again, then I realize I'm talking about something and abruptly jumps back in, pretending I remember what I was going on about*

Bloggers tell about their lives. And as such, I plan to tell you about my adventures. But I've not been too adventurous quite yet, so it'll have to wait a bit, but I'm trying to point out that I will be posting over the summer like I promised! And there will be cool stuff! Because I've become a cooler person since last summer!

I would really love some feedback, too, y'know? Even if it's just a random conversation or a compliment or a criticism. It's all cool in the house of random. You know where to find me.

            ~Polar :) *Quickly ends it before I ruin everything*
                        See you in the next post!

2000

So, I'd like to mention that my blog just hit 2,000 views. It's really freaking awesome.

A year ago today, I had maybe a maximum of 100 views. You know who used to frequent this blog the most? Me. I used to be my own biggest fan. Which is about the saddest thing I've ever heard, because I didn't even believe in myself all that much back then.

But then I got back on the band wagon, and started up a storyline I'd been writing since I was nine. I just thought it would be my own thing at first. You know, the kind of thing you write for fun. Whoo-ee, though, you guys proved me wrong. I love that I don't even need look at my blog from the other side anymore like I used to, and that every view represents one of you saying, "I like this. I'm reading it, I'm keeping up with this story, because I appreciate it." And that much alone is worth dying over. I went back through your comments and I have to say, you guys rock. It's hella rad to have you all here reading my stuff.

So, I know I haven't been nearly as consistent as I keep telling you I will be. And that's partially because I have school to worry about and that I get sick sometimes, sure. But I've also been working on a bunch of projects with some of my other blogging peeps. (Bet you didn't know I have blogging peeps, eh?) We're writing like three different things at the same time, and I've created a new blog and posted some stuff on that thing, though I'm not quite ready to share it with you. I have a total of two Tumblr accounts, and I've been managing that. And I've also been planning out that Super comic I was hinting at. You know, that thing I sorely disappointed everyone about because I didn't update on it for months? Well, I can't say I've been focusing hugely on it, but I've been making progress. And there's the other comic that got destroyed in the rain? I'm going to fix hat one up for real, too.

So yeah, I've been on hiatus for a while. And I'm sorry it went unannounced. But I wasn't just ignoring you guys, I promise. And I told myself that, hey, you guys haven't seen the light of any of my art that wasn't absolutely horrendous for a while. So I decided to doodle some thank you things for y'all.

When I first saw that I had reached 2,000 views, I was like:

And then I started freaking out but trying to contain it like:

And then I realized that I should thank you guys for being such cool peeps to me and all, so:

Thanks to you all for being there for me! And reading my blog even if I didn't put new stuff on here! I swear, when school gets out next month, I will work out a good schedule again. Last summer I didn't have so much of a schedule as a rule to have at least one post a week. I've figured out how I can cue things up and space out my writings a bit more, so that'll be different, I guess?

Basically, in the act of creating a bunch of new stuff, I figured out how to use the old stuff. So expect me to be more blog-tech-savvy now, okay? I've gotten used to the lingo, and how to use all of these buttons. Keep in mind, I've barely been doing this a year. I also worked out this system that'll sound complicated on paper but is much easier and less tedious than what I had before that'll help me upload images. Because I used to have major issues with that. So you may see more artwork on here....!

Basically, thanks. Y'know. That's something I said too many times already, but whatever.

~PolarFarina

Diary #1: Frustration, as Always

I sit in my room, on my bed. I had to dig my cute little fan out of the attic the other day; it's been really hot recently. On Saturday it even got up to seventy degrees; it's so weird, spring in Oregon. One day you can be sweating hot, the next you need three layers. Today was pretty chilly, actually; I didn't quite need a jacket, though if I had worn one it probably wouldn't have made much difference.

I play my music -- Gorillaz. I can't believe I haven't found the band before now; it's been around since 1998. Now, to catch up, I listen to them all the time, loud as always. I think about my blog, about how many promises I've broken trying to get it started up again. It crushes me, just thinking about it. I slide off my bed, go through my identical sketchbooks, one after another. Looking for one that isn't filled to the brim. Finally finding one of my newer ones, not quite full but getting there, I open to a blank page. Get out my singular fancy 4B pencil made solely out of graphite. I broke it in half today, in Sculpture class. I was trying to sharpen it and when it snapped I screamed and everyone looked at me weird. I didn't care about them, not nearly as much as I did about the pencil. I taped it three times, because I couldn't get it back together right.

I pull out that pencil now, hold it in just the right position. Start drawing. What am I drawing? I don't know. If I think about it too hard I can't finish it. So instead, I think of all the guilt I've been ignoring lately.

There are so many plans I have, so many things I try to do. Most of them don't work out. But then I push it harder, and that's when it falls apart. Like my homework. For most of the year, I haven't been doing it. And it came back to bite me in the butt last month, when teacher conferences came by and my parents went with me like always, only to find out that my grades were less than exemplary. And it was because I didn't do my homework. Any of it. Ever.

It just didn't interest me. None of it did. But what had I been doing to fill that extra time? It felt like nothing. Just a whole six months worth of nothing, that's what my life feels like right now. I could've been writing. I could've been drawing. I could've been hanging out with friends, playing video games, doing something else even slightly productive. But nope. Nothing. I know I've been wasting my life the past few months and it's killing me inside.

But then, halfway through February, I woke up one morning and realized that it sucked, doing nothing. Nothing was boring, it made me sleepy. It made me slow, and fat. I decided that wasn't who I wanted to be, so I started making changes. Wrote some optimistic posts on my blog. But habits don't change in a day. That takes time.

My hand moves quicker as I think harder. I stop trying to control my hands completely and just let them do what they want. My hands are turning grey, coated in graphite like they always get with this pencil. I used to complain to myself about the smudges it leaves, but now I actually kind of like it.

In most of my classes, my teachers won't let me redo the stuff I messed up on. Except for math. In math, you can always try again. Suddenly, instead of sitting around doing nothing and wasting my time, I was working on things, doing stuff. And it feels good, doing stuff. Even if it's something you don't like.

On Friday, I turned in my last piece of overdue homework. I'm as caught up as I can be. But I still feel weird, for some reason. I think it's probably because there are so many things changing lately; I'm doing homework again, finding new things to do, working on my drawings again. I feel like I can call myself an artist again. The season's changing, and I've started walking home from school. First time ever doing that on a daily basis.

Today in Health we got assigned this group project that relies heavily on drawing. But my group is this mix of complete slackers and leadership buffs, and to top it off the leadership girls are artists as well. They wouldn't let me even get a look at what they were working on at first, and when I quietly mentioned that I'd like to draw too, they assigned me instead to writing stuff. Which I'm not against, really, but it made me mad that they wouldn't even consider that I might like to participate in something that I perceive myself as pretty good at. It was like they were saying, "Well, you could be an artist.... but I've never seen you draw anything in Health class, so we're not going to bother." Yeah, like I just love to whip out my sketchbook in the middle of class. I've never seen them draw in class, either. And frankly, I've gotten into some mild trouble for drawing when I wasn't supposed to. I've been trying really hard to clean up my act. I think again about those girls. How am I supposed to get good grades on things and feel good about it when I didn't participate the way I'd like to? The entire time I was trying to debate on how to confront them, but everything I came up with made me sound like a jerk. I'm not good at confronting people. And when it comes down to it, it really sucks.

I start on some shading, really scribbling now. I'll show them.

Pfft. Like I ever show off my really good drawings. My favorites I tend to keep to myself. I have this weird thing where if I show someone something that I'm really proud of, I feel like I'm being a total jerk and boasting that I'm better, which isn't what I'm trying to do, but I still feel that way anyway. I also know how it feels to be upstaged. Big time.

I finish my drawing. I look at it, staring at my work. It's a face. Like that's any surprise. Faces are all I'm good at, anyway. I think it's pretty good -- I got the hair down well, the way it's blowing in the imaginary wind. I like to experiment with hair, because it's so unpredictable. But the nose -- there's something off about the nose, as usual. Feh. Another one for the archives.

I throw my sketchbook on the floor, and it rests comfortably among my randomly tossed clothes. I should really do some cleaning. Urgh. My mind feels so trapped. I wish I could do some writing, but the wrong juices are flowing; all I can think about is myself at the moment. But I promised something to be up two weeks ago!

I open up my laptop, start some different music -- music I like to write to. I think hard. I need to start writing something, or else I think I'm going to explode. Drawing isn't working right now, it's not running in the right groove. I take a deep breath, think some more.

What if I started a diary segment? Dang, that would be so relaxing, actually. I haven't kept a diary in ages, and to be honest, it'll probably really help, even just to write about normal everyday frustrations like overprotective artists.

I click the New Post button, start typing. "I sit in my room, on my bed..."




((This so relaxing. I can't even begin to describe how much I like this idea. I'm going to start doing this a lot, if you don't mind. Of course, that doesn't mean that The Super will stop, not at all. It just means that there's going to be more content as a whole, actually.

I think "Diary" is sort of a lame name, though. I don't know what to call it, and no, "journal" is not an acceptable alternative at this point. Don't worry, I'll think up something.

I also don't know when this will be actually published. My laptop totally wigged out with the internet earlier, and this post got lost in the tubey tubes. And I know there's going to be a whole lot of lag posting this... basically, whenever this finally gets posted is okay. Just, I'm mad about how glitchy my computer and Google are, and it's just--URGH! Sorry.

See you on the flip side.

~PolarFarina))

Chapter 21: Business

The Blue Octo sighed. He wrestled against his restraints as he sat in his chair, waiting for the meeting to start. He wasn't even trying to escape -- he had turned himself in. He just wanted to be able to move his tentacles. Was that so bad? Why must they treat him like such a criminal?

... Oh. Right. Well, he thought. Not much to be doing here. Not yet.

He looked around: a huge table took up most of the meeting room. They were all here: The Super, Rose, Cassandra, even that shady character that Octo could never remember the name of. The glass tabletop seemed unfitting -- what if someone got angry and slammed their hands down on the table and shattered it to pieces? Poor planning, really. And why were the walls glass panels, as well? Didn't that make it easier for spies? And burglars?

This place really needed to sort out its priorities. At least the ceiling was lined with wood paneling. There was a gargantuan television screen propped up in front of one of the glass walls; for visual presentations, obviously.

"What are we waiting for, exactly?" asked Rose.

"Yeah," said the shady character, "we're all already here. Who else could be showing up?"

The Super sighed. "I actually know the answer to that just as much as you do. Which is to say: I haven't got a clue. All I know is we're supposed to wait here for my boss to arrive. I don't... actually know my boss... yet. We haven't... had the pleasure to meet in person. I apparently wasn't 'high profile' enough. Point being, we're all in for a surprise here."

"WHAT?!" shouted Rose and Cassandra at the same time.

"How could you not know who you've been working for this whole time?" demanded Rose.

"You're not even supposed to have a boss!" cried Cassandra. "You work alone!"

"Since about six months ago, I started working for this company, Super Security. They help me pick up on the high-profile criminal activity, and I give them -- well -- good publicity."

"You mean you sold out??" asked the dark kid. "What kind of a hero are you?"

The Super turned to look out the window, obviously trying to avoid the others' gazes. "An old one."

Octo paused to consider this. It was true: neither The Super or himself were, in any sense, young. The Blue Octo had reached his peak so long ago that he'd been all but forgotten. The Super, while not quite one to be lost to the media, was old news. Just how old, not even The Super himself could tell you that, but it was clear that he had been getting rusty. He had needed a way to stay on top, and Octo respected that, but... selling out like that? Not even Octo would try that move. And it was clear to him that even that last-ditch attempt didn't pan out so well -- he could hear it in The Super's voice, see it in the way he walked, feel it in the hero's presence.

The Super had lost his motive, his power, his emotion. He didn't even try at witty banter anymore. If he wasn't tied up, Octo would have most likely walked over there to comfort the lost soul.

He lowered his head. "I... didn't realize just how much you'd given up, old friend."

The Super turned back around, ashamed. He walked over to a chair and flopped down in it. "Yeah, well. This adventure might very well be my last." Suddenly he perked up. "You... you still consider me a friend? But back at the desert, I was such a jerk, I-"

The Blue Octo laughed. "Are you trying to be funny? Do you know how many times I've broken out of prison just to come at you? Did you forget all those years we spent fighting each other solely because I wouldn't give up on my quest to destroy you?" He smiled at The Super. "I'd say we're even. Or, at the very least, your quarreling with me earlier made a small dent in the tortures I've put you through. Don't torture yourself over my mistakes; it's unbecoming of a hero."

The Super just stared at Octo. "Man. You'd make a real good hero yourself, if you weren't evil."

The octopus cackled at this. "Oh, believe me... I know." He sighed. "You're definitely not the hero I got to know through all those battles, though... not anymore... You're trying. You're trying as hard as your failing will can muster. But it's not enough -- you can't fight all your battles on your own. For once in your life, let us help you. Don't give up, just accept that you're not quite good enough, and that's okay. We're here to make sure the job gets done. For starters, you can stop acting so guarded all the time and actually open up to your peers so they get to know you."

There was silence for a while, the sound of the air conditioner humming the only thing keeping their ears from ringing.

"Wow," said the strange dark boy, "when you want something said, you sure say it."

"I've become much more sentimental over the years, yes," said The Blue Octo. "Like I said, I've been in prison for a long time."

Whatever quip the snarky teen had up his sleeve was swallowed with a small dose of fear. Everyone sat quietly, awkwardly avoiding each others' gaze.

Finally, after what seemed like years of nothing happening, someone opened the door and walked in.

He was a portly fellow, wearing a green suit. His long silvery hair waved across his shoulders. His skin and hair, though seemingly human, were tinged a strange shade of green -- but just barely. If you didn't look hard enough, it wasn't really all that noticeable. The man grinned a practiced smile, peering through a monocle as he strode in triumphantly. It was as if he thought he was the most important person on the planet.

"Hello," said the man. "My name is Dr. Drazil." He came to a stop at the table, set his hands down on the surface. He seemed like a perfectly reasonable man. Everyone watched him to see what would happen next. Would they finally be able to move on with this "mission" of theirs?

Unfortunately, it seemed they would have to wait a bit longer.

Cassandra shot up from her seat, leaping across the table, and collided with the man. She pushed him against the wall with her forearm, forcing him not to breathe. "Ya slimy lizard," she growled. "I thought you were gone for good."

"A-gurg-- and I, y-you," he managed.

"WOAH, WOAH, WOAH," shouted The Super. "What in the name of Pete is going on here? Care to explain?"

Cassandra stepped back from the glass wall, which Octo supposed should really just be called a window, and noticed there were no cracks in its surface. Huh. Maybe it was unbreakable glass.

The girl maintained her grip on the new arrival, though. "Meet Dr. Drazil," she said, "also known by his real name, Dr. Lizard. He's an old nemesis of mine. I never thought we'd meet again, after that run-in at the movie agency."

"You're going to have to do more explaining," said The Super.

"Why should I? You never did."

"Ooooh," said the shady teen. "Burned."

The Super's face turned greener than usual. "Shut up." He turned back to Dr. Lizard. "What have you done with my boss, you green-haired creep?"

Cassandra loosened her grip on the man's throat. Immediately he let out a cackle that turned into chaotic hacking. Being choked can have some pretty severe effects on the voicebox; Octo would be one to know.

The green man cleared his throat. "My dear boy, I am your boss!" With that, he flashed an evil grin, slipped out of Cassandra's grip, and sat down at the head of the table. "Now," he said, "let's get down to business."



Yay! I have returned from a very long hiatus from blogging! I apologize for not letting you know in advance; it was pretty unplanned, actually. But I have returned. For how long, I do not know. But it's the tail end of spring break, so I thought I'd make it worthwhile.

I also got a Tumblr... I'm debating on whether or not to share it with you because it's not as "friendly" as what I have going on here. Suffice to say, if you want to get more of what's going on here, don't go there. But if you want to hear random snippets about my life and catch wind of some of the fandoms I'm a part of, then I suppose.... you could check it out at epicninjabowlerhatguy.

Anyway. I have a big ol' plan for this blog again, so I'mma get hoppin'! (<-- idiot teenager self butchering the English language.) Do expect more soon, but I may not get any more stuff up here until Tuesday...? Does that sound reasonable? I think it does. Gives me a day to sort all this out.
See you then!

        ~PolarFarina

Why do I think these things

So, I went to see Interstellar yesterday. Even though it's practically three hours long, it's positively amazing and mindblowing. It's also pretty sciency; if you're not in the know about certain facts and theories about space and space travel, as well as timey wimey stuff, some of it might go over your head, but honestly, I thought it was amazing.

So amazing that in the whole car ride home I only spoke one word: "Mars." When I got home I quickly went upstairs and proceeded to write. It's a thing I do to help cope and think through things. What I ended up writing had some particular flair this time, and I thought I might share it with you, if that's okay.

So, without further ado, I give you What I Wrote While I Was Suffering Shock From Seeing an Amazing Movie:

I don’t know what to write.

I don’t know what to write and it’s killing me.

My head feels so screwed up right now

I’m thinking too hard about one of Einstein’s theories.

Two points in space can be galaxies away. There’s no way to get from one point to the other in any sensible way that wouldn’t take thousands of years — even if you traveled the speed of light.

Unless….

Unless you find a wormhole in space big and stable enough to send something through. And those don’t actually occur naturally, so you’d really have to create one yourself. (All naturally occurring wormholes are so tiny you can’t even see them. And good thing, too — because they are literally everywhere.)

Most people would think that when you go through a wormhole, you travel through space in an instant, time becoming nonexistent. Most people believe that a wormhole sends you through space.

And, according to Einstein, that’s where most people are wrong.

See, if his theory is accurate, the wormhole doesn’t even touch you. There’s nothing different about you; in fact, when you go through a wormhole, you’d have barely even moved. Confusing? Yes.

But this is how it works.

A wormhole bends the universe around you. More specifically, it takes the two points and touches them together, just barely. For one tiny moment of a millisecond, two points in space touch when they otherwise would never have done so.

It works like a bridge: They touch just long enough for you to cross, and then suddenly you’re in a completely new place. It’s actually called the Einstein-Rosen Bridge Theory, because that’s what wormholes are: bridges from one point in space to the other.

How cool is that?

I think about how immensely huge and different the universe is just about every day. About how huge everything else is, and yet I don’t feel small. I think about how many different galaxies there are, and each galaxy there are thousands of star systems, and in these star systems are planets, and on each of those planets is the potential for another species of living organism that no one’s even thought about before. I sit awake at night pondering how time might actually flow— is it actually linear, or is everything happening at once and our brains just put in linear order to be able to understand it all? Then again, how do we know that the universe exists? How can we be sure that we exist? We might think we are really here, breathing and living everyday lives, but how do we know that our brains don’t make that up for us, too? What would happen if we didn’t exist the way we perceive we do, but in some other way altogether? There’s no way to prove anything, when you think about it. And believe me, I’ve thought about it. I feel like I can breathe in the world sometimes. And then I breathe it back out. But man, the world passed through my lungs, and that makes me feel so important and happy. Even if it’s not quite literally true.

Every time this happens, I get inspired to do something cool.

But how do you express the feeling of existence?

How can you express the entirety of anything and everything in a picture, or a blog post, or a drawing?

How can I prove to the world that I’d rather be thinking about this stuff than remember the time of that one battle that happened over a hundred years ago?

People are advancing so much farther than we used to be. Then again, we always are. But society is changing; schools and the way they’re taught are becoming outdated. How can we move on if we only learn the same things, over and over? Why do we keep teaching every new generation the same things as the last?

Are we afraid of change?

Then why do we strive to discover? Why is it human nature to be curious?


Why am I so good at asking questions?

How can I be tearing apart the world right now?

I don’t know. I think about this stuff in my free time a lot. I consider how huge everything is, and how we can never really touch anything because the electron clouds of our atoms repel each other because they’re all the same charge, and no atom comes in contact with another one unless they bond together, which makes it a molecule, and a whole different thing. You can never really touch anything for real; everything you think is solid is actually just a ton of tiny atoms squished together, moving around constantly because of the energy they store; the scientific name for water is actually dihydrogen monoxide, and if you drink too much of it, you can die because your cells will have absorbed so much of it that they’ll start exploding; but no one can understand everything.

For instance, I’m really close to failing chemistry.

I’m not kidding.





And there you have it, folks. Unfiltered coping mechanism written by a teenager who has no life outside of school and the internet. Welcome to my world.

I hope you like it here as much as I do.

~PolarFarina

Let's Get Deep Here... and Then Break the Heck Out of Jail

So I was on YouTube today.

I'm on YouTube most days, actually. As I've said before, I watch way too many YouTube videos to be healthy. But I do it anyway.

A friend sent me a recommendation to watch one of Markiplier's videos, where he played a game called "Presentable Liberty," with the note that it was mind-bending. I thought, hey, I love to get my mind bent, let's go check it out.

I have to say, it really was mind-bending. But for me, it was mind-bending for a different reason than most people have.

Here's the basic storyline of the game: You wake up one morning in a cell. Presumably, you've been living in this cell for at least a little while, because after a few minutes of pacing the tiny room you start to get mail from a few "friends." Through these letters, you learn that there is a virus that has been going around for a few days, one which very quickly consumes the city. Soon you learn through more letters that one of your friends is on an adventure, and will soon be returning home... to a town he has no idea is infected with such a virus. One of your friends sends you letters from her hiding place, and you watch her slowly lose hope of survival... with no way to even assure her that you exist. But then, you begin to wonder, does she exist? How do you know that she does? Do you exist? Does this cell you're living in exist? Soon, she ceases her notes entirely, having completely given up on making it through such a confusing world. The journeying friend sends you some confused letters once he gets home, and informs you that he's going to get you out of your cell so you can explain just what the heck is going on here. It's all fine and dandy, and he gets the power cut out so you can escape... and then you get no more mail from him. Instead you get letters from your "administrator" claiming that he sacrificed his own life to get you free... That he died not knowing if you were even in the jail, or if you got his letters, or that you were even still alive. Then the letter goes on to claim that you can't escape. But you open the door easily, and step out to find a hallway that leads nowhere and a broken button on the floor. Eventually you wander back to your cell, where you find a couple wires next to the door. You wire the buttons in, and press the down button just for the heck of it.... Guess what. Your cell is an elevator. Your cell is an elevator. And then you step out of the room you spent so long in, with no contact to the outside world...

You step out into a world where you are the only survivor.

You made connections with people, learned their lives, followed them to their deaths. Or did you? After all, it was just a series of letters shoved under the door. Were they real people, or was someone messing with you, or did you imagine the whole thing? Who can say? This was a game that made Markiplier pause in his gameplay to question whether or not he was actually sitting in that room playing that game. I gotta say, when you interact with something virtual that makes you question the real world, someone's doing something right. Very, very, right.

I took some time to shed light on this because the feeling felt vaguely familiar. And not just because I tend to get random episodes where I stare into space and literally feel like I stop existing for a couple minutes. (I'm special that way.) This feeling was different from that, yet still oddly familiar: Questioning whether or not the people you're putting trust in actually exist.

And then it hit me: I get that feeling every time I think about my blog.

I'm very self-conscious, and spend so much time analyzing things, questioning them, trying to make the facts line up, make the world as perfect as I can. And I can attest to this: My blog is anything but perfect. Full of typos, scrapped stories, and empty promises. But I have a life outside of this blog. The life of a wandering, confused sixteen-year old who still has to go to school, maintain relations with her friends, and just live life outside of the internet sometimes.

Every time I post something, I wonder if anyone is out there at all. I sit there contemplating if there really is someone reading my blog, and I wonder what kind of person they are, and if they'd show my blog to their friends, and if they'd show their blog to their friends, and so on. I wonder what you think when you read my stuff. Do the people who read this think it's too cliche? Do they find it hilarious proof I'm just an amateur writer who's never taken any creative writing classes? Do they look at it and think that it's a cool story? Is it creative? Are my jokes actually funny? What kind of stuff does this person like? I'd be willing to write them something special, if only they spoke up to answer one of the billions of questions that rise into my head every time I think about one of my fans. How do you measure fans when they don't prove that they were here at all? Sure, there's view count, but is it really an accurate representation of my fans? Do I have more fans than views? Less?

How can I know anything about you if I don't get your feedback?

I feel like the journeying friend, out for an adventure, only to come home to a completely different world than the one I left; my only friend unresponsive, no proof that anyone can hear me in such a vastly empty place.

Sigh.

I know I'm not the only one that gets this; in fact, I'm pretty sure every blogger, YouTuber, artist, and writer has felt the same way. I just felt the need to call it out. By for some reason talking about a video game.

Anyway.

Please send me your ideas, feelings, hate mail, whatever. I check my mail three times a day, and am always thrilled when I get a message.

Or, at least, I would be, if someone would send me one.

I would be so much more inclined to keep writing if I knew someone was out there listening. Just saying. I've gotten about... three views... in the past week. I'm trying, I really am. But it's hard to free someone from the jailhouse when you don't know what cell they live in.

I need something to work with, here. Tell me what you think about my writing, how it makes you feel, the vibes you get, whether or not you like it. Tell me why my writing presents itself this way. Tangible feedback is always the best. "It's good" just isn't good enough. If there's anything that Markilplier has taught me, it's that you can't have the YouTuber without the fans; I can't have this blog without you guys. He's built up a whole community in a corner of the internet, one where the line between fan and fame get blurred too often to not be noticed. Man, if I could do 1/12th as good of a job as he does, I'll explode. Because I wouldn't believe it at first.

But then, you know, I'll get together with my techie friends and figure out how to throw one of the most awesome internet parties ever.

Thanks so much for reading.

Let's go break this blog out of jail.

And then we'll throw a party.

Heck yeah.

~PolarFarina

 UPDATE: Yeah, this isn't happening overnight. I guess I'm not cut out for the famous blog life.... yet. I'm only sixteen. There's still time to change that. See you in the next post, which will be whenever. I have a suddenly busy and complicated life. Such is that of the teenager.
I'm tired of apologizing, and I bet you're sick of me apologizing. But here's one more: I'm sorry. It's my fault I've been so inconsistent. It's all on me. But when I try to take off again, it just makes it that much slower. I'm just so frustrated at myself because I basically set myself up for this failure.... So I'm sorry you have to sit through this ordeal. I need someone to tell me that they care. To prove they exist. Because I'm kind of questioning my own existence here, and.... I have to say, it's not that fun. Even if it's a simple, three word email or comment. You have no idea how big of a deal I'll make it. Literally, the last time I got an anonymous comment (months and months ago), I shouted my excitement so loud, I bet the other side of the country could hear it. My whole family definitely knew about it. And, I try to reply to every comment that I can, but hey, I'm not perfect.
In the span of one summer, this blog hit one thousand views. And that just about made my head explode. Today, it's sitting comfortably at 1,700 views, or thereabouts. And I know you might be thinking, "Oh, that's a TON of views!"
You know what a ton of views is?
ONE THOUSAND. In the span of ONE MONTH.
It's been half a year. And I'm sputtering, flailing. I don't know what to do -- where did everybody go? I'll keep writing, but since I left Facebook and therefore stopped advertising myself, views have declined considerably. And I stopped Facebook because I thought I had a real social life. (Seriously, in the real world I have a total of about ten friends now. It's, like, a record. For me.) And what kind of blogger needs to advertise themselves?

Basically I'll keep trying, but I'm sort of fighting a current here. Stuff is going to be a lot slower if I don't get some help now and then. And I'm asking for your help. Can you do that? Check on my blog, say, once a week, maybe, or send me some cool (Or not so cool) email and comments and stuff? (Or maybe.... real mail? If that's still a thing, email me for info and stuff.) Because that would help immensely. Really, you don't know how much of this blog is motivation.

.... This update was going somewhere.....

On a brighter note,
Uh...
Hm.
OH! On a brighter note, I'm on Tumblr now. Mostly I just reblog gifs of Markiplier being cute and stuff. If you like that sort of thing, then go check it out. My handle is epicninjabowlerhatguy.

....

Yeah, it's named after that comic I posted on here about three years ago. Throwback Tumblr account.

-UPDATE OVER-

-FOR NOW-