October

October is now upon us. Well probably by the time you read this it will be upon us. And I decided to list out for you why I love the month of October... Now I may have done this before, but I'm gonna do this again:

So listen....

October is the only month that has a shape for its first letter. Amazing. Think of how cool it is to practice making circles/ovals all month long.

"But look. They conjure. Oh God! The woods! EMILY!" that's right a time for Hocus Pocus. I watched it today to get myself in the mood for Halloween. I love it.

Disney Halloween Movies. Gosh I will truly miss have cable this month because normally I spend time watching lame Disney Halloween movies for hours. Does anyone remember the one with Tim Curry and Mrs. Garrett from Facts of Life? They sang "Boil of dragon..." and something about "You'll feel right at home, at Augnt Aggie's School. At my little school!"

The colors of pumpkin orange, burnt red, chocolate and creamy browns... Oh I love it.

The warmth of a cozy sweater as the air cools down and the wind picks up.

The smell of spices and tasty treats. Mmm delicioso!

Behold! October is a month of Greatness!

Just the News

Ho hum. Today was just an average busy day. I had a nice time in the classroom and here are some funny quotes of the day:

"You smell like tacos." S.
"Why does she always have to talk all the time! Ahh!" J.
"I'm not a wobot, I'm an awmy man." J.
"You're famous here." A.
"What's your name? Say Michael."

In other news... Today is Gay Day USA. I just learned some people are gay....

1. Miss Cleo! Ladies, call her now! Remember the psychic? Yeah. Gay.

2. A person at work. Remember the funny person I was talking about awhile back? Yeah. Gay.

3. The yellow canary who lives next door. The one who I heard squaking last night? Yeah. Gay.

So add them all to the list.


Following that story... I finished another kids' novel and loved it. Go out read Double Fudge... It is totally worth your life. Honest.

And closing out today's news is the excitement of a night of writing. Perhaps Jaz and others can look forward to a new installment of Tura... Hip hip, hip hip... Drat I broke my hip doing that last hip. Oh well, horray.

Great Inventions

Ok, while pontificating on my perspectives of fears and phobias I realized that I also have my own perspective on inventions, things that have revolutionized the world we live in... Well at least my world...


DVR. The knockoff TIVO. I love it, I need it, I watch it. Desirable invention.

Chewy Granola Bars. It's a shame Snapple took the phrase "Made from the best stuff on Earth." Cause honestly, it doesn't get much better then a good old Chocolate Chip Chewy Granola Bar. Amazing invention.

The Host of PlayMania Live! I'm sure she's not a real human because you look at her and immediately think, "Lord, I hate this woman." Then you watch her for five, ten, thirty minutes and you think she's the greatest robot on earth. Especially when she says, "TWWWWWO." Good invention.

The word "waxed" used in multiple areas. Today while sitting down and watching TV I believe I heard it used two times in two different contexts. The first was meaning "She waxed her legs." The Second was far superior in reference to those who were winning at a game by a large margin, "Wow, they just waxed you." In fact, I'd like to say that I like all second, third, and fourth meanings of words. Hooray for a silly language system where one word can mean many things.

Wireless internet. Honestly I can steal... I mean borrow... internet pretty much anywhere I go. It's an amazing thing and with out it you wouldn't be reading this blog.

Those are my inventions that save my soul-ah.

Oh and if Davy Jones counts he should be considered one of the most amazing inventions--EVER.

Fears and Phobias

I realize I have an offbeat sense of humor, but while sitting here this morning I thought to myself, "Hey self. Maybe you have an offbeat sense of fear too." Let me take you down to the depths of my soul to see the things that scare me:

Asian Twins on Game Shows. AHH! Freaky! They look at each other as if they are going to take over the world with their answers to "What is a 5 letter word that starts with the letter T."

Infomercial People. People who talk on infomercials about cleaning products! They're always looking past the camera and never look at each other.

Anna Nicole Smith. She's always talking about Vipers, money, and her body. I think she has a microchip planted in her brain by the Trim Spa people. Be warned.

The Children's Center hallway at night. Maybe there are unsettled spirits who never got to go to preschool that haunt the halls of that building, but I'm just saying it is one of the freakiest places in Santa Maria.

Beans. I still hate beans. They are sick, and make no sense to me. Why would a person in their right mind consume such waste?

The Black Lung. Ok, not really I just like saying "the black lung" one.


So I ask you... Are my fears offbeat? Am I so odd? Wait... Do I really want you to answer that question...

Re-Living the Dream... Remember when?

Posted By:Michael Shaw

Get this video and more at MySpace.com

Make it work...

Here it is ladies and gentlemen... Our new friend.

Resolutions.

Life is going really well. I have been pretty busy, but I have made my resolution for the month of September, and I have held it very well.

So here are the resolutions:

1. Spend quality time with myself. At least twice a week I have planned alone time with myself where I will watch LOST, read, write, draw, or just veg. I love it thus far. I am too much of a social person and this break from the world around me is going to be a good thing. (How very Martha of me)

2. Spend quality time with my homies. I will spend one night a week with my guy friends in particular Parker, Jon, Andrew, and Kaleb. These guys are amazing, and so are others, but these guys have the same night free so we will get together. We laugh, watch movies, and eat food. Good bonding.

3. Spend some time doing laundry. Yeah Laundry sucks, and I always just leave it on the floor in my closet. I feel like Monica on Friends where she has the secret closet that houses all of her junk... On no! I've been outed! Nevertheless, laundry will I do this month, and have a system to do said laundry.

Es todos, no mas.

I'm just saying.

My Story

Well that's 4 parts of my story pretty much summing up chapter one for ya'll... I am honestly tempted to continue on with it... However I do believe it wise to take heed of the girlfriend's advice and create yet another blog that is totally devoted to my fantasy writing. So yeah.... I will do that soon. Until then you'll get installments of me and Tura intermixed.

I haven't put my final title on the book, I think a good author leaves it a little open so that way the story can become a little organic and grow into its own. However, I have a few potential titles in my head all lined up... This is my least developed story I have on file, so perhaps more to come on this one.

Thoughts, comments, rude remarks?

Chapter 1 Part IV

He heard Famba mumble something, but despite all of Tura’s training in eavesdropping, he couldn’t make out what she said. Having lost the conversation Tura’s mind started to wander until he heard footsteps, footsteps as though they coming toward him. Faster and faster, louder and louder. Were they coming toward Famba’s car? Oh, if Tura was seen Famba’d surely wallop him with her fan, or worse, her purse. He didn’t know if he could bear another walloping. He ducked down lower, and lower. But then to his horror he saw it; someone was rapping on his window.

Tura looked up. There behind the glass of the backseat window was the man, Maxamillian. His sophisticated voice didn’t match his gauche appearance. He wasn’t well groomed, nor did he look like he came from the upper crust. He was a large man with a great brown moustache that made up for his lack of hair atop his head.

“Hello there.” He said in a voice that somewhat more pleasant than the one he used with Famba.

“Archibald? Archibald? Be a dahling and let little—little—“

“Boy?” Max said revealing a crooked, yellow smile.

“Yes—it—I mean the boy, out of the car.”

Tura sat dumbfounded. What was Famba doing? Normally Famba banished him to the fourth floor when company arrived and when given the chance to go for a drive he was normally given a blanket to hide under. Perhaps this Maxamillian was a new worker who would join Ms. Penniworth and the staff. But that couldn’t be, Famba never talked so kindly to the staff.

Tura tried straightening his shirt. Famba always said he was a mess of a thing and he needed to straighten up.

“Well then, you must be Tura, Famba’s nephew.” Maxamillian said with a slight smile.

“Well sir, I’m not—“ Tura attempted to correct him.

“Ah, ah ah. You must address Mr. Maxamillian by his proper name.” Famba jumped in smacking into Tura with a black briefcase that Tura had never seen before. Tura knew that she wasn’t being honest with Maxamillian, because as far as Tura knew, he wasn’t the nephew of Famba or Archibald. He was just another one of Famba’s servants. How he got into her care was unknown, but he knew he wasn’t anything more than a servant just as Famba told him.

“Oh its quite alright. Now listen Tura, I’m sure Fracessca has told you everything you need to know, so let’s be off. You’ll sit in my car now.”

Tura wasn’t sure if he should hug this man for saving him from the horrible smelling Ford or run away from him down the abandoned street. Perhaps it was Tura’s disdain for Famba, or perhaps it was his curiosity about Maxamillian, but something inside of Tura told him to go with Maxamillian. Tura took three steps toward Maxamillian and didn’t say another word.

Quote.

Funniest quote of the day:

"Celine Dion has been put on earth by Satan."

We all know I love the Queen Diva, but still, this is pretty funny stuff.


Oh and Jazz, I guess you can comment on the story parts good and bad. Although any criticisms may hurt my ego so you can just MySpace them to me... Just kidding... Go for it. I can always delete anything Cruel(ah!)... But beware... you can't criticize something that you haven't read all the way through. I have an end goal ya know...

Chapter 1 Part III

Tura looked up at the pocketwatch that Archibald had pulled from his suit coat. The watch read 6:32. Whoever it was, if they were suppose meet, Famba would surely wollup them on the head at first sight. Famba hated being tardy. Once Tura was twenty seven seconds late for supper and because of this he had to cut Archibald’s toe nails. Tura imagined what Famba would do to the stranger who was so late, he imagined the stranger sitting on the side of the road smelling Archibald'smoldy socks and touching his hairy toes.

Time passed slowly in the car. Tura concluded that Archiblad had parked down an abandonded street, for there was no sign of life for miles. A minute sitting in the car felt like six, and ten minutes like an hour.

At 6:42 Archibald flipped his watch open and just at that moment a car drove down the nearly abandoned street. Tura started to squirm up in his seat, to get a better look at the car, but before he could do so Famba quickly swatted at him using a few curse words. Alas, this was another trip where Tura would have to stay in the car while Famba lived the social life. But at any rate it wouldn't be a total loss since Tura had bcome quite good at eavesdropping over the past three years.

Tura heard the motor stop on the stranger's vehicle followed by two doors opening; first Famba’s and then the other’s. He waited to hear the sound of the doors slamming, but there was no sound. He saw Famba lean out the door.

“Why hello there, dahling.” She cooed in her normal false tone.

“Oh Miss Borewax.” a man’s voice echoed in a refined tone, ” How pleased I am to finally meet you.” Tura thought it was odd that anyone would like to meet old Famba.

“The pleasure is mine, Maximillian.” Tura thought it even odder to tell someone that the pleasure was hers. Especially when you are Famba, a woman who couldn’t possibly find pleasure in anyone other than herself. “Now listen, you needn’t the formalities, call me Francesca.”

“Oh, yes. Frannie.”

“I said Fracesca, Maximillian.”

“Certainly, Francesca." the man coughed, "So, I take it you brought the uhh--exchange item?” Tura heard it. The familiar pause in Maxamillian’s voice. Famba used that same pause when she would tell the neighbors that there weren’t any children in the Borewax Manor.

Famba stewed on, “Why else would I be here at 6:43 in the morning?”

“I’ll take that as a yes?’

“My, Maximillian. You are just as shrewd as I. I admire that, but..."

“But what?”

“Yes. Yes, I kept my part of the bargain. And aren’t you just eager to get it”

“It?”

“Oh—“ Famba made the same pause that the man made, “What do pronouns matter at an hour like that of the one we find ourselves in tonight?”

Tura heard the unlikely pair giggle and snort at the poor joke followed by the man’s voice saying, “It is agreed upon then.”
Next Tura heard something that sounded like two snaps, followed by a short pause, and two clicks.

Chapter 1 Part II

As requested by my lovely girlfriend, I will make this post shorter.

But first the quote of the day:"Come on, come on big boys. Come on coky little English Man. Why don't you come over and let me give you a cup of tea? Come on! Come over and have a cup of tea and a biscuit. We'll meet tomorrow sweetheart!"

Now the continuing saga:

But Tura, being the good-hearted boy he was found light even in the darkest of circumstances. Tura’s light was that he had a friend. One friend, and only one. But in Tura’s eyes one friend is all a boy would need to be happy.

Her name was Ms. Penniworth, Tura’s friend and Famba’s wash-maid. Well in all honesty Tura wasn’t sure he could call her a friend, seeing that Famba forbade all of the staff to speak to Tura. But sometimes Ms. Penniworth would give the hint of a smile to Tura when Famba would scratch her bottom like a baboon. Sometimes on wash day Ms. Penniworth would even slip him a small chocolate truffle, right under his pillow. So in Tura’s mind she was a friend.

Nevertheless, Tura, whenever he was feeling sad would think about Penniworth and the smile she shared with him, and it made him feel all warm in the cheeks.

“Aren’t we there yet Archibald? I say, we have driven for hours here.” Famba scuffled.

It was true, the gloomy threesome had been driving since the wee hours of the morning. There was hardly any clear sign as to their destination. Tura was unsure as to where they would be going, all he knew was the further they drove, the less familiar the village homes looked.

“Oh would you look at that monstrosity Archibald. I tell you if I were driving this car I’d run right over that statue of Gillenbrek. Such a waste of space. Honoring the natives of this dreadful village. If they had any class here they’d erect a statue to someone with noble blood. Not those... those... bathwater skins.”

Tura became drowsy and couldn't recall much of anything. He did remember waking up and hearing Famba ramble on saying things such as “Miserable weather.” “I told you to pack the handle bag.” and “Pathetic people, I wish I could break their knees.”

When Tura had awaken from his rest he heard Famba gust, “He’ll be here any moment, I know he will.”

“Who will?”

“Shut up you. You’ll be swallowing a cockroach next.”

“I beg your pardon ma’am.”

“I tell you if it wasn’t for the money, I’d never wait this long. Being late is intolerable.”

To be continued...

Chapter 1: The Drive

I came up with this story while riding on a train... How very JKR of me... :-)


Three gloomy members drove along a dark costal village one hour before sunrise. Their 1947 car’s headlamps shone down the unfamiliar road. The villagers who’s homes lined the streets stayed shut inside with furnaces hard at work against the morning cold.

In the front seat of the car was a man named Archibald Acherson. Archibald Acherson was the gloomiest and dullest of drivers (In fact he was so dull, I don’t think I’ll mention him again, at least not in this chapter). He was wearing a golfer’s cap, which covered his receding hairline, a gray cardigan, and everywhere he went he left a peculiar smell of juniper bushes.

Archibald never spoke, but occasionally he let out grunts and groans such as “Dreadful weather,” “Smoking Smither-bits,” and every so often he’d even shout out “Poppycock!” causing his over sized, hairy nostrils to flare out to mammoth proportions.

Sitting across from Archibald (Yes, yes, an apology to you. I mentioned Archibald again when I said I wouldn’t) was the lady of the car: Francesca Adredfa Melzenheimer Borewax-Arsnonwether the Second. (Now, please don’t make me say her name again, for it is a dreadful name that would make this book 10 pages longer if I continued on with it, and I’d rather like it if we could simply agree to call her Famba. Besides Famba suits her better).

Gloomy old Famba sat upright in her seat with a smug look on her face pretending to admire the village homes. She sat up waving her lace fan upon her brow, which scowled with disagreement. She didn’t use the fan to cool herself off, she used it to show how digusted she was with the upkeep of the village’s terraces. With her other hand Famba sat primping and polishing her mink stoles and her plurality of polished pearls.

But sitting behind Famba, far tucked away from the view of a person who happened to be walking down the street, was a small boy. Curled up next to the door was, Tura, a ten-year-old boy who just didn’t fit the scene.
Tura was dressed but in a thin shirt, pants that touched his shins, and a pair of long tube socks that went right up to his knees. He sat in the car looking quite bored, because he was just that: Bored. But like most children who go on road trips and who become bored, Tura didn’t ask to play games, nor did he attempt to imagine what he could be doing outside of the car. Because in this car everyone knew that game playing was strictly forbidden, and imagining things would most definitely cause him to be swatted by Famba’s frilly fan.

The three gloomy figures rode through the village in silence as the car puttered up a long hill. Then, as though from nowhere, a large housefly flew up against the window. While this wouldn’t seem interesting to most boys of ten, Tura found great delight in that small bug. Tura sat up. He watched as the fly bounce off the top of the car and down the side of the car. Obviously the bug had realized that the old Ford wasn’t a party place for a bug, so she was attempting to get out of the vehicle. The little fly zizzed and zazzed across the window. Tura smiled in delight, at last something to occupy his mind. But what happened next changed delight to dismay.

“What’s that noise back there, boy?” Famba turned around as though she had heard a fun go off.

“What’s that, ma’ma.” Tura replied trying hard not to look at the fly.

“I hear some sort of whizzing, wuzzing or buzzing. You know what I think about noises.” Tura squirmed in his seat to sit up properly. Famba hated when Tura couldn’t sit properly.

“Oh, yes ma’am. I know right well.” Tura said in his meek voice.

“What is it!?” Famba insisted.

“Beg your pardon, ma’am.” Tura said with a slight crack in his voice, “It’s just a little bug. A house fly, I think. She’s trying to get out of the car.”

“Why on earth did you let a bug in the car, you scallywag?”

“But I—“ Tura tried to tell Famba that he couldn’t have let the bug in because all of the window levers and door handles had been removed from the backseat so he wouldn’t try to jump out of the car.

“No buts about it young man. Now do it…”

“But I—“ Tura knew what was coming next.

“Don’t make me force it on you.”

“Fine.” There was no turning back now. He lifted one hand to smash the bug.

“Ah ah ah. Not this time.” Famba said with a gleam in her eye, “No no no, you need to learn to swallow your words. You know what to do. Now, scoop that pest with your second and third finger.”

The boy let out a shudder. With both of his hands (his left doing the scooping and his index and middle finger of his right doing the pushing) he pushed the little bug into his left palm.

“Very good.” Famba said with a grin, “Now do it, or you’ll just make it worse on yourself.”

In a brief moment he thought in his mind, “Sorry little girl.” And with one swooping motion he took the bug and shoved it in his mouth, swallowing it whole. He could feel it zizz and zazz down his throat, but there was no escape for the bug, Tura gulped it down and felt the little bug fall down his throat toward the depths of his stomach.

“I told you Archibald (It’s Famba’s fault, I didn’t mention Archibald, she did). These children just need someone who can hold them accountable. It’s a shame he can’t be more like Williburger’s son. This one’s such a marmot of a thing.”

Tura was use to being called fancy names for a pest. But really, he wasn’t sure that he really was pest, in his mind he wasn’t so bad. He had the occasion where he would disobey and start imagining things; sometimes he would even imagine things in his sleep (Famba said this was a clear sign that “he was troubled child”). But for the most part he did was Famba told him to, because if he didn’t he’d have to cut Archibald’s toe nails, rotate all the light bulbs in the home, or when he was really being naughty (thinking of things or being imaginative) he’d have to pick out the weeds in the garden with his teeth. But all this was normal to poor Tura, because he didn’t know of any other life, he wasn’t even allowed to go to school.


(That's all for today... More to come this week... Sorry I couldn't figure out how to make the paragraphs indent.)

Y tu mama es una writer

So life has been pretty good. I am pretty much on cloud nine cause Farah is here in town. We have a wonderful time living in this lovely city of Santa Maira together. Yesterday we saw the whole Shaw family as well as the Burrow and yes even the Cass! Wonderful, and very practical.

My plans for this week keep changing. Mainly, I'm looking to just enjoy my classroom this week and try not to go crazy with homework (note to self-do homework instead of watching pointless movies on your day off). My teacher keeps changing the day of his class which I'm pretty sure isn't legeal. Whatever to him.

So here is an idea... I was thinking of making my blog a story, trying something new. What I could do would be write a part of a story each week and post it... Then people who care could comment on it and give me feedback. Or those who don't care about my story can print it out and flush it down the toilet. Either way both parties would be very satisfied. I think I will post my story about a boy named Tura first...

So, yeah. I think I may do that, and I guess my ideas would just be out there for the world to see. But heed the day when someone tries to steal my ideas. Oh woe to him who takes my words and calls them his own, for death awaits him with nasty pointy teeth.

Here's to us, the labor party.