Creative Nunchuk Kata

Midterm season! How horrible, I know. Anyways, this week's cop out is a video of my Nunchuk kata. If you have access to my facebook, I have a video of the same kata, but from a different vantage point. Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you think. I may have something fresh written up for next week, if not, I have another cop out prepared.

Scooter Polo

File this one under "Crazy and/or Silly Ideas". I was hanging out with some of my girlfriend's friends and, I don't know how we got on the subject, but I suddenly developed a huge urge to conceptualize and play Scooter Polo. That is, a game similar to polo, but on manual scooters (like the Razor that was popular a few years ago, not the electric or motor ones, the ones that little kids can use). Somehow we were talking about playing a random game together and someone brought up polo. Unfortunately, none of us had horses. There is a variation involving Segways, but we didn't have any of those either. But the discussion did make me think about scooters. I didn't have a scooter myself, but a few of my friends and my girlfriend has one and I sometimes liked to have fun on them (kind of makes me think about the Mazda zoom zoom concept).

The next day, while shopping at a sports store, I noticed a croquet set and scooters on sale. I didn't buy them, but it did make me think and re-invigorated my interest in a scooter variation of polo. So, here we go:

Scooter Polo
Currently this game is designed for recreation. Thus, rules are informal and players should make sure that anything vague is clarified or modified accordingly.

Set up
4 vs. 4 or 3 vs. 3, no goalies
Played in an enclosed space, like a roller hockey rink, with boundaries boarded so that the ball doesn’t go out of bounds, but instead bounces back.
Goal
The goal is the same as a hockey net, including the crease
You may pass through the crease, but must maintain constant forward motion. Additionally, your feet cannot touch down inside the crease.
Equipment
Each player should have an arm length mallet and a scooter. There are no real protective equipment, but closed toe shoes are strongly recommended. If possible, players should all use similar equipment. I recommend standard croquet mallets and average to economy standard scooters.
The goal does not need a net and can be marked by anything. The crease should be noted in some fashion.
The ball can be anything spherical, a roller hockey ball or a croquet ball would suffice.

Moving the Ball
You can only hit the ball with a full swing (starting with the mallet straight up and swinging 180 degrees to hit the ball) and when both feet are on the scooter.
Goals can only be scored by legal hits of the ball
The mallet can only touch the ball, but the ball can be touched by mallets and scooters, but not feet or other body parts.
If the ball is airborne, it may be knocked down in any manner, provided that it is knocked down immediately with the first contact.
Other rules
As this is a recreational sport, bodily contact is prohibited. It is considered good sportsmanship to be moving primarily laterally between the two goals, moving horizontally across the play area should typically be only done when changing directions. This should prevent accidental collisions.

Well, that's all I can think about currently in terms of rules. Most other things are similar to polo, or can be covered with house rules. If there is anything that you think I should address, let me know.

Spoken Word: The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy & Other Stories

Thought I'd try something different this week, I hope you enjoy it. There is a few tongue-twisted moments, especially near the end of the first video, but it should be ok. I'm too lazy to re-record.

Last of M&M Comics

Stricken with illness this week and I can't quite bring myself to do anything. Only 4 more M&M comics left in the archives, so I guess I'll throw them up for this week. I can't believe I've managed to keep this blog up to date for 5 months now. Not too shabby if I don't say so myself.

Exam Week Poetry

Exams this week, so I thought I'd laid down some poetry that I wrote down last week while looking out the window. Seems like I keep writing about trees these days.
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Seasonal Party (2008)

The largest cherry blossom on my block
Has a poor sense of timing.

It garnishes and accessorizes
Its aged and wrinkly branches
With feminine pink,
A million soft sequins.

But as the other trees arrive
In their best dress and outifts.
The largest tree's modesty
Would already be scattered and spread
On my lawn and on the street,
The blunder of unfashionable earliness.


Street Lamp (2008)

I saw the immediate aftermath.
Rows of uprooted victims.
Months later,
A forest of dull green metal
Conceals the history of the fallen.

M&M part 2

Well, it's finals time and I've no time to really write anything. So I'll just take the lazy person's way out and post some more M&M comics that I did in the past.

Trees at a Parking Lot

Standing evenly spaced
in line, at attention.
Sporting gnarled crew cuts,
unruliness untolerated
and boundaries maintained.

The trees were deprived of soul,
strength,
and self-confidence.

Sitting high atop one,
a collection of carefully placed branches,
Stubborn to the shouting wind.

Signs of life that would be had
if the birds were back
to spread like lice
from tree to tree
and crew cut to crew cut.

M&M Part 1

Another busy week as I rush to complete a bunch of stuff by Friday. I hope you'll forgive me as I indulge in some nostalgia.

Time seems to fly sometimes. To me, my high school graduation always seems to be just last summer. When I stop to think about it, however, I know that it's been 5 years and my university graduation is just looming ahead.

I sometimes wonder what it would be like, to meet this younger version of myself. How would I see my future self. There is a lot to think about and reflect upon.
I present today, a blast from the past. A comic that I did with my best friend, Mike. We worked on it during the last year of high school but it didn't go very far. In my first year at my high school, I wrote a letter to my 18 year old self that the counsellor kept. When I opened it again, I found that the letter came with a long joke that I found hilarious at the time. Looking at the comic now, I feel the same way I felt when I re-read that long joke, some parts are still funny while others makes me cringe a bit. I could understand why I found it funny but I could also see myself patronizing my younger, immature self as well. In either case, enjoy the first few! I'll whip out some more later on.

Some Poems

First Meeting (2001)

The tangle of their lifeline
Rarely entwine with ours.
I have only seen them twice
In all my years in the mountains.

His head was crowned
With an antique finished oak coat hanger.
His heir, of unknown gender
Was grazing the grass that hid in the snow.

I watched them
Through the rear window, listening to music
As they stood their ground.
Hearing only the crunching
Of hooves and the hum of the motor.

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I'm working on a second poem, but I'm not satisfied with it enough to post it just yet.

The Automated Barber

Phew, this week was hard, with all the projects and Valentining going around. Next week is midterms week, but I'll try to get something, anything up as well. I know! I'll talk about my short story book idea next week. Thus, I won't mention it this week, but I'll let you guys read one of my short stories. Enjoy!

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Jasper had a particular tidbit of information that he verified for himself beyond reasonable doubt. For a nine year old, living in an era of force-fed education, it was an astounding feat of persistence and intelligence. He had determined that no one liked the town barber.

The elders living in Jasper’s small hometown were very curt and tight-lipped. One could go as far as saying that they were political. They knew that gossip spread like wildfire among the dry conversations that irritated Jasper. His own caretaker was one of the more talkative types and, as invaluable as that quality was for his research, it pained him greatly whenever he had to sit through lunch dates with her friends.

Equally disliked was Dr. Au, the dentist. That, however, was a long sustained fact that was learned during one such lunch discussion. Dentistry seemed to suffer seasons, becoming busier at certain times of the year, not unlike the efficacy of the sun. Halloween and Easter were usually blamed. When Dr. Au was unable to manage and cope, the town barber would lend a helping hand. It was a strange undertaking considering the modern age that they were living in, but it was often stated that the barber was over qualified for his job. Still, heralding medieval practices made the townspeople uneasy. Jasper also suspected that Dr. Au’s unpopularity slowly transferred over to the barber through association.

Either that or the barber was an awful dentist. It was something that Jasper could not test, being blessedly cursed with teeth that seemed impermeable to cavities. Jasper had even tried skipping brushing once, but was found out before anything good got going. His caretaker took him immediately for a check up after that. Since it was never busy season during regular check ups, he only saw the regular specialist. Similarly, the town’s only barber did Jasper’s regular haircuts.

Jasper was thinking about the barber more than usual today, allowing himself to become deeply immersed in his thoughts in order to drown out the boring banter during lunch. He had a haircut appointment today and was dreading it. Everything about the grooming process made Jasper suffer cold, steely chills up and down his spine.

First, there was the barber. The greeting heard when one first walks through the door is less of a greeting and more of an utterance of distaste. It was as if the barber did not welcome business and would much rather be standing and gazing out the window all day. The next thing that Jasper dreaded was the chair. The barber could somehow know your weight just by looking at you. Jasper was sensitive about his weight, which was deceivingly immense, giving his physique. It bothered him greatly that he had to sit in the heavyweight chair. He would much rather risk breaking one of the normal chairs than to suffer the humiliation of sitting in the big chair. Although it was a weekday and most people his age were at school, Jasper still found himself ill-logically making a quiet prayer that the barbershop would be empty.

The haircut itself was the most frightful thing of all. The barber seemed to assume that Jasper’s head was as hard as his own and would make grotesque, grandiose motions, pausing and posing his hands far above Jasper’s head before swooping in with the scissors to make a single snip. It was an artistic endeavour for the barber, who was of European make, and he liked to create a spectacle and show out of each visit. Most of the time, however, he only succeeds in shocking and scaring his customers. Still, he was the only barber in town and people were forced to go to him when they want to look good.

As his allotted appointment time approached, Jasper’s anxiety increased. Lunch was over and he helped carry the day’s shopping to the car. They had run out of errands for the day and next item of note was his haircut. Along the way, Jasper fidgeted endlessly in his seat. The thought of watching the reflection of the barber’s terrible cold and stern demeanour in the mirror as he contemplated Jasper’s hair made Jasper contemplate jumping out of the car. If he timed it right, he could tuck and roll on a grassy patch and get away with only a few minor nicks and dents. It was only the greater fear of being caught afterwards that kept Jasper in the car.

When they arrived at the barbershop, Jasper obediently got out and politely opened the door for the caretaker, but he dragged his heels when he walked towards the door. As in the past, the barber’s greeting to him was cold and monotone, almost forced. The barber’s eyes fixated on Jasper and his arms gestured awkwardly to the heavyweight chair. Jasper let out an audible sigh, but his caretaker’s stern look made him pick up his heels as he made his way to his seat.

Jasper glanced at his reflection in the mirror before sitting down, committing his long haired appearance to memory. He noted that his outward expression was stoic as usual; save for the slight redness in his eyes that gave away his fears. He closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to get rid of the redness, but when he opened them again, the first thing that he saw was the barber hovering behind him with a pair of scissors ready in each hand. In that moment of surprise, Jasper could have sworn that his eyes went completely red and glowed brighter than Rudolph’s nose. The barber simply chuckled and waited until Jasper relaxed and calmed down before starting the haircut.

With surgical precision, the sharp edges of the barber’s tools danced about Jasper’s head. His caretaker watched on, intrigued. At times, especially on the sideburns and around the ears, the scissors came within a millimetre of his face. Jasper was normally good at keeping still, but it also helped that he was scared stiff. Unable to watch the blades buzz about his head without shuddering, Jasper watched the barber himself. There was an air of concentration to be found in the expression of the barber. His eyebrows furrowed deep wrinkles on his forehead and Jasper could make out sweat beads that trickled down his nose and unto his neatly waxed mustache.

Suddenly, probability struck. One of the droplets of sweat was too close to the barber’s nostril when he inhaled and the discomfort caused him to falter. The barber’s right hand erred towards Jasper and jabbed him just above the ear while the left hand moved on impulse towards the barber’s nose to wipe the sweat and he poked himself in the cheekbone lightly before stopping himself.

Jasper was still disinclined to move, but he could feel the wet slickness oozing out of his head wound, the cool liquid trickled onto and around the back of his ear. The barber apologized profusely and immediately grabbed a towel from the counter and held it to his own face. The damage on the barber was minimal and he stopped bleeding almost immediately. Using the same towel, the barber wiped around Jasper’s ear and guided Jasper’s hand to hold the towel against the side of his head.

Jasper looked at himself in the mirror again. The towel, which was previously bleached white, was now soiled with black and red. The black in particular was in abundance and Jasper looked around, checking the countertop for a clean substitute. On the bright side, Jasper thought, his hair looked great.

The bleeding stopped before the barber came back with a patch for the cut, making the bandage unnecessary. The barber apologized again as he gave Jasper’s hairdo a few final flourishes. Jasper entertained the notion that the barber’s reputation would surely drop a few more notches after this incident, but he made sure to keep his smile to himself.

Apologizing once more, the barber waived the usual charge for the haircut. Jasper felt alleviated. It would be months, maybe years, before he would have to visit the barber again. He took the sullied towel with him as a keepsake. There was a wonderful tie-dye-like pattern on it, tiny dots of red freckled the middle while streaks of black formed petals around it. Jasper was reminded of the eyes he saw in the mirror, though the colours were reversed.

They were halfway home before the caretaker thought to take Jasper to see the usual specialist regarding the cut on his head.

Nethologica - Prologue Part 2

Here's the continuation of the prologue. Note that the story will be mainly fantasy, but there are some instances of sci-fi mixed in. I'm very interested in hearing what people think of this story, so please comment and let me know your opinion.

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Willow was not cheap with her bullets. She stepped quickly, but lightly, towards the double glass doors that were the entrance to the restaurant. She used the flashlight attachment of her rifle sparingly, relying more on the intermittent night guides left on by the night janitor and the natural lighting from the sky that filtered in through the windows, skylights, and the main entrance.

As she approached the front of the restaurant, her ears noted a rhythmic tapping and scratching sound ahead of her. Squinting her eyes a bit, she noticed a shadow—no, a silhouette, blocking some of the glow that penetrated the glass doors from the street.

She raised her rifle almost entirely on reflex. Resting the butt on her shoulder, she checked her aim briefly before squeezing the trigger. Her finger held the trigger down as her weapon fired two short bursts of bullets that she traced from the body of the rat to its head. The sound of gunfire and rodent screams would have surely awoken any neighbours, but pest control rarely got any complaints.

Willow had already pressed the call button on her vest to report to the captain before she noticed that something was wrong. Bullets were meant to embed themselves in the object that they were fired upon, coupling with the target and causing more damage that way. However, Willow’s shots had gone clean through the rat and the glass doors, giving her an eerie view of the street through the silhouette and body of the rat.

Rodents of unusual size and girth existed as a result of a slight mutation, a slow process of evolution that humankind had, in their error, ignored for the last few centuries. In the extermination industry, there had been stories about some recent mutants encountered. Though usually dismissed as tall tales, people in the industry still made it their business to know everything, even things that seemed too fantastic to be true. Still, as the captain says, truth can be stranger than fiction.

Willow was still holding down the call button when she swore under her breath. The captain, who was still in the kitchen calculating the service tax, tried to respond but Willow’s hand was still gripping the call button, effectively blocking others from communicating. However, Willow recovered quickly from her shock and continued to hold down the button just long enough to fill in the rest of the team, who were now nervously straining their ears to listen.

“Guys, we got a shifter.”

As she spoke, the holes in the silhouette that gave Willow a view of the street, the holes that were gouged by her bullets, began to shrink. The rat turned its long face to look at Willow, uttering a low squeak that started off more as a growl. Carefully, Willow moved her hand from the call button on her vest to the grip of her rifle. Perhaps sensing that more pain was on its way, the rat immediately bolted.

Willow quickly brought her rifle up and pivoted to keep the rat in her sights. She squeezed the trigger repeatedly, pausing only long enough to recover her aim from the recoil. The radio was alive with buzzes, clicks, and chatter, but Willow could not focus enough to understand her teammates with her gun firing rounds in a deafening manner.

She lowered her gun as the rat disappeared from sight. Removing her earpiece, Willow allowed all her senses to absorb her surroundings. She calmed the pace of her heartbeat with a few slow breaths and followed the path laid out by the rat. She could make out the clamour of her teammates in the distant hallways, but ignored their shouts, pushing it away from her attention as she focused her hearing to seek out the tapping and scratching of claws on the tiled floor.

A soft scuffle drew her towards the door leading to one of the restaurant’s private dining rooms. She paused in front of the door, her head turned and tuned to pick up any sign of the rat. A second, more distinct, scurry convinced Willow to move through the door, gun aimed at rat level.

Willow’s trigger finger faltered as she traced the barrel of her rifle upwards, searching for the head of the figure that the shape-shifting rat had assumed.

The rat had filled the room with its body in an almost impossible manner, breaking all laws regarding the conservation of mass. Willow felt as if she had shrunk as the head of the creature was almost directly above her while its body was at the opposite corner of the room. Willow afforded herself a glance at the door, which had closed behind her. She doubted her ability to open the door and get through it before the rat attacked her exposed back.

Looking back at the creature, for it was no longer shaped like a rat, Willow judged, based on the size of the door, that she had not shrunk, but instead the room had scaled to accommodate the expanded rat.

“Is it illusion then?” Willow whispered to herself. The form that the rat had assumed was not one that was familiar to Willow. It still had a long face, but instead of fur, the skin was bare and looked rough. The head was no longer triangular in shape, but narrow like a horse’s. The long neck that allowed the creature to loom over Willow connected the head to a body that looked almost humanoid. Willow was a student of anthropology and found that the body reminded her of a grotesque and demonic fat Buddha.

Gripping her weapon tightly and moving swiftly, Willow aim at the head above her and fired. The figure reeled, pulling back the head. But, as it was stooping before to fit in the room, the head now ripped through the ceiling and Willow could see the night sky through the falling rubble.

The creature turned suddenly, its tail lashing out and catching Willow on the side of her arm. Willow’s body spun in place and she fell against a wall. She dropped down to stay low and rubbed her arm, feeling the swelling of a forming bruise. Her gun was now half way across the room from her, removed from her possession when she was lashed and carried away by the momentum generated by the creature’s swift rotation. She considered making her escape while the creature had its back turned, but instead she watched in awe from her corner as the creature ripped open the rest of the ceiling and climbed out.

Without knowing it consciously, Willow followed the creature out, somehow scaling up the wall. From a distance, she could identify the creature roughly as a giant lizard. She pitied the flora it trampled before realizing that she was no longer in the city. The creature looked back at her and stretched out its neck as it screeched, making effort to shake the leaves of the trees around it with the sound it made. Then, it spread its wings, for it had wings, and created such a backdraft that Willow nearly lost her footing. She could still see the silhouette of the creature against the bright moon for several minutes before losing sight of it in the surrounding clouds.

Finding herself breathless, Willow sat down against the building she was defending and tried to recap the events that had just unfolded. Unable to do so, she closed her eyes and huddled against the oncoming cold.

In the distance, a tribe seeking the source of the dragon’s cry spies a figure lying prone against the weathered stone wall that encircled a willow tree.

Nethologica - Prologue Part 1

Hm...I'm falling behind a bit as I failed to update last week. I'll have to update twice this week to make up for it. The reason for my tardiness is my unique gift to combine procrastination with perfectionism. I wanted to put up a short story this week, but couldn't get it the way I wanted it to be. And so, I tossed it.

As a sort of emergency, I'm posting the prologue for the novel that I'm working on: Nethologica. I'm not particularly happy with the prologue either, but I've decided that I'll forge on ahead first and simply write without looking back. I'll return to edit for quality and plot after I'm done everything. I've separated the prologue into two part, partially so that I'm guaranteed to make two posts this week and partially because it's pretty long. Enjoy!
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Prologue

A lone man stood on a half-lit block. He took a quick glance at his watch, barely registering the time, as he tried to determine whether it was safer to stand under the streetlamp or in the shadows. If something were to happen to him, it would be better to stand in the light, where things were more noticeable and help was more likely to come. On the other hand, being in plain sight might make him more of a target to opportunistic thieves, or worse, psychopaths.

Hovering over the boundary set by the lamps overhead, he paced back and forth like a stray dog; indecisive as to whether he wanted to follow a stranger home or continue his carefree, albeit uncertain, life.

Finally, he settled against a bricked wall sparingly illuminated by reflected lights. He checked his watch again, more carefully this time to ascertain the time to himself. No longer moving about, he started to feel the city air and pulled his jacket tighter around him before crossing his arms over his chest.

It is late in the evening for the man, but early in the morning for the people that was keeping him waiting. He managed a scant peek at his watch before his wall was illuminated by the headlights of a car. He looked up hopefully but the vehicle is small, a Personal Automatic Transporter. Most likely it was a night janitor, enjoying an enviable nap as the PAT took him home.

The man is also a night janitor. Normally at this time he would be resting comfortably, enjoying the soothing driving motions of his own PAT as it guided itself to his home. The transporter had become essential in the last decade. It allowed business folks to focus on other things as they moved about in the city. However, it was not a cheap investment. Those in the lower-middle class, looking to own one for aesthetic and conspicuous reasons, had to take on a second job in order to afford the lease. This meant that their treasured time-saver would end up costing them more time than it saved. It was the latest modern inconvenience, after virtual reality and the internet of the last millennium.

Luckily, night janitors did not have to take on a second job. The restaurant, whose exhaust-stained bricks provided the wall that the man was leaning on, paid the man very well for his cleaning services. However, tonight he was unable to sweep the floors. And in the day, the restaurant may not be allowed to open.

The building had suffered a sudden onset pest infestation, a discovery the night janitor had just made a few hours ago. He called for pest control and it is for them that he waits.

Another vehicle passed by, much too quickly to be the right people, even though the vehicle was the right size, roughly that of a delivery van. The night janitor checked his watch once more before sighing and averting his gaze upward, as if questioning some higher deity, though contemplating nothing in general. He tapped his shoes against the wall and sidewalk impatiently, shifting his foot from the back of the shoe to the front, and alternatively.

His heart was anxious for sleep. He was not tired, but was addicted to the other world that he visited in his dreams. It was a good thing that he had but one job, he would be able to sleep through the entire day, waking only when it was time to come to the restaurant again to clean. Since the start of his obsession, the janitor had only seen sunlight a few times, when he had to take time away from resting to restock food and other supplies. At that thought, the janitor reminded himself to make another day trip soon. Though sunlight had become foreign and blinding to him, he did not resent it. It brought warmth and, once he was able to open his eyes fully, it enabled vision that humans were not entitled to in the night. He would leave his house to enjoy the sun more often, if it were not for the overwhelming desire to remain asleep in his bed. His habit was beginning to border on the unhealthy side. Simply thinking about it caused the Pavlovian effect of salivation. He licked his lips contemptuously to exercise his slacken jaw.

Engrossed in his thoughts, the dim headlights of the pest control van nearly escaped the notice of the night janitor. It was an armor-plated, military-issued van, typical of pest control. The man in the front passenger seat rolled down his window to address the janitor.

“You the one that called for us?” he asked.

The janitor simply nodded. The crisp city air had frozen the saliva between his lips, effectively sealing his speech with the threat of tearing pain and chapped lips. Even if he could talk, his tongue was momentarily tongue tied as he spied the face of the van’s driver. A fierce and striking young woman looked back at him before turning off and exiting the vehicle. The janitor’s gaze followed her figure as she walked to the back of the van and opened the large double doors so that the rest of the pest control team could hop out.

They numbered six in total, there was only enough room in the back of the van for four people to sit among the weapons, baits, and traps. There was another woman besides the driver, noted the janitor, but she was not as striking as the other, who was now sternly giving out orders to the team. The man who first spoke to the janitor, presumably the leader, broke away from the group to gather more information from the janitor.

“You said on the phone that it was a large rat,” he said. His tone of voice made the question seem almost like an accusation.

“Y-yes,” stammered the janitor. The cold was reaching its peak, just before the Earth started to face the sun again. He rubbed his lips together tenderly as he watched the exterminators arm themselves.

They worked together well, passing body armor, rifles, and other equipment between each other in a practiced fashion. The janitor could hear the soft cracking of their helmet radios breaking the night silence before it faded, obscured by the head that now occupied the protective hat. They looked formidable in their gear, worthy of the descriptors they gave themselves in their ad.

The janitor uncrossed his arms to search his pockets for his keys, exposing his chest in time to feel the full effect of a chilly passing wind. His hands had begun shaking when he opened the back door to the restaurant. Not wanting to stay any longer than he had to, he told the leader that the door could be set to lock automatically, instructing him to leave the invoice on the prep table and to lock up after they were done.

The team captain nodded slowly, making a mental note for the janitor’s instructions. He shook hands with the janitor and watched him as he left. The captain then turned to face his team, they immediately stopped their conversation and looked back at him.

“Chief complaint is a large rat, but as usual we’ll clean up anything we find. Willow you take the direct route to the main entrance and take care of anything that comes your way. Andy and Sherry, you take the left corridor. Chris and Anjay, you cover the right.”

His team stood still for a moment to ascertain that he was finished before breaking apart sharply to execute his orders. The captain himself remained behind to watch the backdoor and to coordinate the operation. His earpiece buzzed as the teams reported in.

“This is Willow, I’m skipping the rooms as I head down but I’ll check the ones near the entrance.”

“Left side team here, we’ll cover your slack Willow. Sherry and I are in the first room right now.”

The captain allowed himself to tune out the radio slightly so that he could focus on filling out the invoice. The second in command, Willow, had constantly berated him on this bad habit. Pest control was a high-risk career, but years without any excitement had caused the captain to be complacent, taking shortcuts whenever he could justify it. A large rat was as standard as they came, only dangerous if you approached it unarmed or if you were cheap with your bullets. The captain noted that some of the food stocks in the kitchen had been rummaged through and assumed that the rat had already eaten its fill and was most likely trying to find a way back to its den in the sewers. This meant that Willow would encounter the pest first.

Ethos and Garfield comics

A quickie from me this week, but I've been looking forward to it.

I figure around now would be a good time to note the ethos, or mission statement, of the blog. Timing wise, I'm aiming to post at least once a week. If I'm threatening to burst at the seams, I might take the time to write a second post for that given week (as I did last week). Posts will come in two flavours: rambles and musings. So far I've done rambles only and it's pretty much like my past blogs. What is going to be different is my musings. I've labeled this post a musing only so that I can test the musing filter on the right. In reality, this post is probably a good, even mixture of rambling and musing.

Ramblings are your typical ranting blogs that, on occasion, sound intelligent. Musings, on the other hand, will be details or samplings of my creative endeavours, whatever form they may take. So, in other words, this blog is meant to showcase my writing and ideas in various ways.

As such, it is important to me that I write well. However, it is also important that I don't try too too hard. To better illustrate my point, I'll guide your attention to another blog: Permanent Monday, a daily commentary on Garfield comics. At the beginning, the comic had a pretty good draw, at least to me. I really enjoyed the sardonic perspective on Garfield comics and the author's delivery was pretty good and insightful. However, it quickly got too intellectual and academic. It was almost like a case of the author forgetting his audience, or attempting to create a new one. The blog has since fallen on the wayside, but you can follow through a few of the earlier and later ones to see my point.

In contrast, I will attempt to maintain a high level quality of writing while keeping everything accessible and relatively informal. Naturally, I'm relying on my readers to tell me if I start sounding fake.

Anyways, let's get to the musing stuff. Hopefully next week I'll have something even nicer for you guys to enjoy, but for now...since we're on the subject of Garfield, I thought I'd present another interesting look at the comic.

A few months back I came across a link to a forum that edited Garfield comics, removing all of Garfield's thought bubbles. This action lead to some interesting results as Garfield's replies now had to be inferred by the slight twitches in his expression and from Jon's responses. I won't link to the forums directly as they seem to become resentful of the Garfield thread and you never really want to invite the ire of an anonymous collective on the internet. Other edits that were performed included removing Garfield completely from the comic and also some custom comics created by throwing three random panels together. All of these worked well with Garfield because of the universality of the character. If the edits were shown to someone with no preconception of Garfield (but does such a person exist?), I doubt that they would enjoy the edited comics as much.

Here are some of this year's comics that I thought would be interesting to edit. Let me know what you think!

Same expression throughout, I wonder what that means? Perhaps he's hungry...

Note the subtle changes in Jon's expression, the amount of information these twitches convey is just one of the miracles of the comic.

...mean?

And here we have Garfield with the subtle changes of face.

Hm...although Garfield's face does not change at all (might as well been a copy/paste job). You get the impression that his expression in the last panel is more meaningful that the others.

No words are necessary.

And, indeed, somehow these comics seem funnier without Garfield adding anything else to the comic. I'm sure I'm not the only one that read through dozens of volumes of Garfield during their childhood meanderings. Again, it's our preconception of Garfield that allows us to "fill in the blank" with our favourite Garfield antics, living up the show more than the comic could ever do on its own.

And here's a few from my birthdays of the past, in random order:

I'd rather not look, thanks.

You're a sad man Arbuckle.

I'm actually torn between the text version and the edited version for this and the last one. Garfield's thoughts did add a little bit extra, but I suppose it's a rare occurrence.

Hehe, an excellent example of how ingrained Garfield is in our minds. This comic makes absolutely no sense, but I'm sure that you can almost guess the exact lines that goes here.

And sometimes it's hard to imagine or understand that there were lines there in the first place. Was it really necessary?

I removed the text for Garfield and the Mice, the comic looks much better without the clutter.

Well, that's it for this week. I might do this again if I'm in a jam for a post. Maybe I'll try it with another comic, we'll see. Most likely I'll try for relatively fresh stuff, but I'm sure that I'll be in the mood for this and that sooner or later.