Barry Kramer Woke Up: A Game Grumps Fan Fiction

Barry Kramer woke up. He wasn’t sure why, because it was 4:17 AM, but then he heard something. There was a small metal clinking noise every few seconds. Slowly, he sat up in bed. He could see a something glinting in the light coming from under the door. Barry decided it would be alright if he flipped the lights on to get a better look. There were five knives on the ground, their points facing away from the door. There was a grunt from the other side. Then another knife poked out from under the door.

“Jon?” No response. Then another knife slid in. Barry took a step back.

“Jon, it’s four in the morning. What are you doing?” Then the knives did something peculiar. There was quite a bit of rattling, and then they all snapped vertical, standing on their points.

“Jon! Whatever you’re doing, stop!” The knives rose slowly into the air. They formed a small circle and began to rotate around a center point. Faster and faster they spun, and all Barry could do was stand and watch.

Suddenly, the knives stopped. Barry blinked, but apart from that, nothing seemed to have happened. He blinked again, and the knives were gone. Barry felt a new weight in the pockets of his pajama pants. Since this was not a normal occurrence, Barry decided it was a good idea to check. From his pockets he pulled out a sack of socks, three quarter halves, a can of Febreeze maybe one third full, the handle of a pickaxe, and thirteen clementines.

After that startling discovery, Barry decided to look around. He was no longer in his room. This new room lacked any furniture besides a pair of torches that cast a dim light over the room. There were two doors in front of him, both quite large. One was labeled “JON (100)” and the other “ARIN (1).”

Feeling suspicious, Barry decided to tie the sack of socks to the pickaxe handle. He used the best knot he can remember from Boy Scouts. As the doors stood there ominously and the torches flickered, Barry wondered if the knot would hold. Thinking on his feet, Barry sprayed a liberal amount of Febreeze onto the sockmace. Now if he hit something it would at least smell nice.

Speaking of smelling nice, Barry realized there was still a baker’s dozen of clementines at his feet. Barry hated clementines. He decided the best way to eliminate the problem was to step all over them, until all that was left was a mangled pulpy pile on the floor.

That spices up the room, I guess, Barry thought to himself. All the stomping he did called Barry’s attention to the fact that over the course of these events he came to be wearing boots. Not letting it bother him too much—who knows what he could have picked up if he had been barefoot—Barry decided to make the pulpy pile look more orderly. He bent down and used the flat parts of the quarter halves to squish the pulp into a neater lump.

Now that all that silliness was over, Barry reasoned he had better figure out what was behind these doors. He walked toward the door labeled “ARIN (1)” in his tangy boots, and before he could reach the doorknob he heard a loud click. Below his citrus-tinged boots was a large panel of wood that Barry assumed was a switch. He looked up just in time to see Arin Hanson falling from a newly opened hatch in the ceiling. Barry sidestepped away, noting that Arin seemed to be sized more like his roommate, Jon Jafari. Barry didn’t have the time to think about how he noticed such a minute difference, because his sidestep landed him right on top of another switch. This one, in front of the “JON (100)” door, opened another hatch, revealing one hundred Jon Jafaris that seemed just a bit taller, probably the height of Arin.

Speaking of Arin, the Jon-sized-Arin fell flat on his face as all of this transpired. Barry felt this would be a good place for the sockmace. To cheer Jon-sized-Arin up with the memory of happier days spent frolicking in meadows, he hefted the sockmace over his shoulder and gave Jon-sized-Arin the best lavender-scented smack he could muster. Jon-sized-Arin got up and walked around with a silly grin on his face while the Arin-sized-Jons hopped out of their hatch, one at a time.

Jon-sized-Arin snapped out of his reverie and grabbed the first Arin-sized-Jon he saw. He pitched him the idea for a YouTube channel, and they walked out of the room through the “ARIN (1)” door, chuckling.

Barry still had the problem of the 99 Jons, but he wagered he could handle them without Arin being there.  However, these Jons looked like they were on the verge of becoming grumpy, so Barry had to think fast. He grabbed one of the torches from the wall and set it on top of the pulpy pile. It was aesthetically pleasing enough for twenty of the Arin-sized-Jons. They began to crowd around the pile.

One of them wondered aloud, “what’s this nice pile of squished fruit doing in this dank-ass cavern?” Barry laughed, but the seventy-nine other Jons were not as amused. They still looked at him with disapproval.

Suddenly, one of them broke off from the group and barreled toward Barry. Possibly because he was unused to the gait of someone Arin’s height or perhaps because he just had poor balance in general, this Arin-sized-Jon careened past Barry, missing by quite a large margin, and proceeded to fall flat on his face.

Barry laughed again and said “Ha! Look at that guy.”  Not really disposed to laugh at their own self, the Arin-sized-Jons looked at the poor attempt of an attack and tried to devise a better option. Thirty of them broke off and began a discussion of the pros and cons of continuing an attack. They eventually digressed into a more philosophical discussion about their motivations, but were hindered because not a one of them could remember Aristotle’s name. It bugged them for quite a while after that.

The other forty-nine Arin-sized-Jons decided to take a more direct approach, and they began to form a tight circle around Barry. Thinking he should have remembered this a long time ago before he got into any of this mess, Barry began to casually speak a few letters aloud.

“X. Y. Z. Z. Y.” And with that, Barry was instantly warped away, to a new spot in space. This room was lit by two lamps instead of torches, and there was a black leather couch in the center of the room. Jon-sized-Arin and one of the Arin-sized-Jons, presumably the pair from before, were sitting on the couch, holding a piece of paper. Barry tripped over a cat walking over to them, and this caused Jon-sized-Arin and Arin-sized-Jon to look up. Then, coming from not too far away, was the sound of ninety-nine Jons screaming “"WhaaaaaaAAAAAAAT!??!"

The piece of paper the two men on the couch were holding had three things written on it, but all of them were crossed out:

Goom Gamps

Gum Groomps

Pumblooms

Brushing himself off from his minor scuffle with the floor, Barry grabbed the pencil from Jon-sized-Arin and wrote “Squidward” at the bottom of the page. Arin-sized-Jon considered the new addition.

“Dude, hang on.” Then hurriedly he motioned for the pencil, eager to put his idea down on the page. Barry noticed the door at the back of the room when he heard the noise of a confused crowd coming from that direction. With cautious regard for the door, Barry handed Arin-sized-Jon the pencil. While Barry was still looking at the door, Arin-sized-Jon sribbled furiously on the page.

“Okay, dude?" said the Arin-Sized-Jon. Barry looked down at the page. The “ward” of “Squidward” had been crossed out, and now it said “SquidGrumps.” “This is literally perfect,” continued Arin-sized-Jon. Jon-Sized-Arin nodded in agreement.

"Totally, man. It's like, exactly what we were looking for."

Barry didn’t have the chance to add anything to the conversation before a hard knock came from the other side of the door. Barry opened the door quickly. A single Arin-sized-Jon stood there, startled that the door was actually opened. Behind this Arin-sized-Jon, Barry saw the torch in the pile of clementines. Barry was amused that his spell didn’t take him very far, but that amusement turned into disappointment when this particular Arin-sized-Jon looked over to the left and shouted,

“Hey guys! I found him!” Behind Barry, the SquidGrumps became worried, and they stood up from the couch.

“Shit, dude,” said the Jon-sized-Arin, “you’ve gotta get out of here.” Barry dug into his pockets to see what was left. His hand emerged with the tangy quarter halves. Barry thrust the thirty-seven and a half cents of citrusy currency toward his antagonizer. This particular Jon-sized-Arin looked down in confusion at the coins. Then, the Jon-sized-Arin just shut the door. From the other side of the door, Barry heard, “uh, never mind guys. It was a bird. Like, a really big bird," followed by ninety-something irritated sighs.

“Huh,” said SquidGrump Jon, sitting back down. “That was easy.”

Barry stood there at the door, admiring how much his quick thinking had done for him so far. Once he finally had a moment to himself, Barry realized he still needed to get home. It seemed there was no imminent danger, so Barry gave a casual scan of the room. The room actually had more than the one couch and one door. There were a few empty bookcases along one wall, and a large portal on the other side of the room. The portal had a large neon sign on top that said “OFF,” with additional tubing to switch to saying “ON.” There was a coin slot on one side of the portal. Barry walked over to the portal to give it a closer look. The portal was about six feet in diameter. Unfortunately, it was completely empty in the middle. The coin slot on the side said “25 Cents.”

Unsure of what to do next, Barry turned to the SquidGrumps. He looked at Arin-sized-Jon and asked, “How much ass do you think MegaMan gets?”

Arin-sized-Jon paused for a moment. "Huh." He began to do some math on his hands. Barry caught bits of his mumblings, "One, two, three, four..."

"What was your favorite Megaman?" he asked Jon-Sized-Arin.

"Uh.. probably 7."

"That could be it."

"How much ass Megaman gets?"

"Yeah." Arin-Sized-Jon laughed.

"Did you ever play Megaman 7?" asked Jon-Sized-Arin.

"...No?"

"Dude. We should totally play Megaman 7."

This moment felt historic to Barry. He stood there, wondering what all of this would come to, but then he had to return to business. He took a closer look at the couch. Barry decided it would be worth it to fish between the cushions, so, pushing the two SquidGrumps apart, he dove into the couch. Barry emerged with two dimes, four pennies, a pencil, and four Pogs. So close!

Barry figured his luck had been alright to this point, so, sighing, he used the pencil write “Legitimately 25 cents” on one of the Pogs. As he wrote “Legitimately” across the top in his best American handwriting, Barry wondered how long ago it was that he actually enjoyed playing Pogs. As he wrote “25 cents” across the bottom, he realized he was not able to remember a time when he did. Crossing his fingers for luck, Barry slid the counterfeit coin into the slot on the portal. The neon sign switched to the “ON” tubing, and the middle of the portal filled up. In the haze, Barry could see a blurry vision of his house.

Barry could not believe how happy he was to see it. Home. Even if Jon was going crazy back home, it couldn’t be much worse than what was going on… wherever he was. In one final act of defiance, Barry did his best Charleston, and he followed that up with some moonwalking around the room. The SquidGrumps, taken over by Barry’s elation, also took to the dance floor. There were many sweet moves involved.

When it finally came to an end, Barry and the SquidGrumps flopped onto the couch, laughing.

Arin-sized-Jon placed his hand on Barry’s shoulder. "Hey man," he said, "before you go, I just want to thank you for not beating me up with your socksack thing."

"He didn't beat you up?" said Jon-sized-Arin. "He totally hit me, like, right in the face. With his sack."

Arin-sized-Jon began to laugh hysterically. "Oh, I'm sorry, what did he hit you with? Cause it sure sounds like you said he hit you with his sack!"

"Oh you know that's just the kind of thing that happens when you hang around bad parts of town for a while—just walk around and get hit with sacks, like it just..." SquidGrump Arin trailed off into improvised silliness.

Barry laughed with them, but he had to go, because he did not know how long his counterfeit quarter would last in the portal. As he stood at the threshold, the SquidGrumps waved goodbye. They looked quite jolly, despite what inconsistencies there may have been with their new name. Barry did not dwell on this. He needed to get home. He waved back.

Then, there was still the portal. Barry wasn’t sure of its reliability, but he puffed out his chest anyway and took a step into it. The trip, if one could call it that, was instantaneous, but Barry felt incredibly uncomfortable. The sun was beginning to rise on the horizon. I wonder how much time I spent in that dungeon, Barry thought to himself. Succumbing to the dizziness, Barry fell face first into the grass. The morning dew woke him up a little bit. With not much dignity left, Barry considered just sleeping out on the lawn.  At least I’m 24 cents richer, Barry thought to himself. The last thing Barry heard before collapsing from the extreme dizziness was, “Thank you for using ACME Portals. Please pick up your emotional baggage on the way out."

***

Barry Kramer woke up. He couldn’t remember where he was for a moment. Then a piece of grass tickling the inside of his nose reminded him. Barry let out a groan and rolled over. Jon Jafari—Jon-sized-Jon— was standing over him, wearing one of his black button down shirts and a pair of boxer shorts. Jon looked down at Barry in silence for a moment, and then he said,

“Where the hell have you been?”

 Fin

This story was inspired by this thread of comments on Barry's AMA. So many props to ObligitoryPuzzleRoom for his awesome adventure game scenario! (Also to Barry for participating)

Dream Journal: Romeo and Juliet

I had a peculiar dream last night. Usually my dreams are interesting escapades filled with people that I know, often with humorous or startling juxtaposition. Last night, my dream certainly had a journey, but I could not recognize anyone.

Now, even writing those three sentences helped clarify some of the dream for me already. I’ve been playing Guild Wars 2 a lot, and recently I’ve been playing parts of the game that absolutely require cooperation with others, so in my dream where I defended my backyard from a giant with a few complete strangers, I can see how that relates to playing a cooperative online game before going to bed.

That part was incidental to what really concerned me when I woke up, though. After the battle with the giant, I met a girl. I did not recognize her at all. She was noticeably shorter than I was, but that is the only detail I can remember, and I think it matters little, anyway.

The thing that I am the most affected by from this dream is that there was this immediate feeling of love. It was innocent, but it wasn’t naïve. It was passionate, but it was pure. And I had just “met” this girl in my dream. She was nothing like anyone else I had met in appearance— I knew that even though I did not really have any details about how she looked—and I knew nothing about her character besides the two small interactions we had.

It was very Romeo and Juliet. It may be nothing special, because poor Romeo and Juliet are brought up in discussions of romance all the time, but I have had my fair share of unique situations centered on them. This time it was a new part of the story that was important. It was love at first sight. I have never subscribed to that theory, but it may be because I have not experienced it. I don’t know if having the experience in a dream counts, but it happened. I knew that’s what it was: love at first sight.

After that first encounter, I woke up momentarily, but after seeing it was only about 8 AM, I went back to sleep. This new (or was it?) dream transported me to a giant lake, and I had to find my way out of it. It took me a long time, with detours and many methods of transportation. Once I finally made it back to land, I was ushered inside a building to get ready for a performance of some sort. Behind some doors there was a large room with windows at the back. Several characters from my first dream were present, including the girl.

Her head was shaved. It was understood she had to do it for something important, but I couldn’t tell you exactly without making something up. We held each other and it was the same feeling as before. How my brain knew what this feeling was like, I don’t know, but it took me a while to recover once I woke up again.

While the action of my dream may have been centered around my experiences with others online, I know this girl was a part of me that lives in real life. The situation was all about being with the other. It was all about presence and feel, things that I know are not part of the internet.

A lot of me waits for things to happen. I’ve been waiting a long time, so I don’t know what kind of things I should make happen on my own. I’m not sure about love at first sight, but I do believe in love at first date, or love at first kiss, or love at first laugh. 

Be Myself

I can’t be myself.

I don’t know when I am “me.”

And immediately this feels like a bad idea, but it didn’t before I opened Word.

There are so many ways that people change their mood purposefully: coffee, exercise, drugs even.

I usually wait till late at night because it’s “easier” to write.

Why? Shouldn’t I be able to write the same at all times of the day?

But I can’t. And my mood changes all the time, and then I wonder if that’s changing more than just my mood.

Am I still myself?

And then the sarcasm kicks in and I wonder if Mr. Bordwell was right.

When questions get asked in writing, sometimes the answer then is “stop reading.”

But Ze Frank asks questions in his videos all the time. I can hear his tone now, echoing in my head.

So who is writing this paper?

I thought I conquered my “Multiple-Ian Complex,” but I think I just made it more complex.

One of the first things Ishmam told me when I started my blog was that the writing didn’t sound like me.

I don’t know what he thought of that, but that made me worry, because I thought it did.

But me talking to Ishmam is at a different time than me writing a blog post.

The one shard of sanity I have left is that I do proofread some things.

None of these posts are really proofread at different times of the day, but serious school stuff is.

And I do make changes, but I feel as if I can keep a constant voice or flavor.

And just like writing this has calmed me down, maybe writing is what unifies me.

I just need to keep writing, then.

And the writing can be me.

We, Us

Well, here we are. We’ve spent four years together, and in just four months, we’ll be separated—scattered; from here to Chicago, from New York to LA, from the United States to England. We’re all waiting anxiously for the moment that’s been assigned to us since we got our Novell usernames. Two-thousand twelve seemed too far away back then, but here we are.

This is the end. Our time at the school is done, and there are so many memories of the school. Having spent so much time in one building, there is a connection we have with the place. The school has been a vessel for so many of our memories these past four years. All the time we spent and connections we made have made an impact on our lives. However, as we leave, it will be difficult to say if we have made an impact on the school. If we come back to visit in a few years, will the things we did be remembered? Some of the younger kids and the teachers will remember us, but our specific actions will probably not impact the school after we leave. But I think that there is something wrong with wanting to impact a place.

 Wherever you are, wherever you go, a place is special because of the people. We shouldn’t ask ourselves, “Where do I belong?” Rather, we should ask “With whom do I belong?” I think that we, as human beings, do make a lasting impact on other human beings. When your best friend goes off and develops a cure for cancer, you can remember the time you dunked on them while playing basketball. When a friend in band becomes a famous musician, you can remember all the goofing off you did in class. You can remember freshman gym class with that pro athlete. There will always be memories of our shenanigans.   What we do in the school won’t matter to the kids that come after us, but those kids won’t matter to us, either.

The people that have stayed with you are the ones that know who you are and what you’ve been through. I think that the most important thing in life is relating to others. It’s difficult to do, so we have to give our full effort to understanding each other. Because if we don’t have other human beings, what do we have? We won’t leave an impact on the school, but we’ll have left an impact on our friends. In our new lives, there will be more people to impact. That is what we are going out to do. We’re going out to make an impact on a larger amount of people in the real world.

We must remember not to forget. When we go off to new and exciting places, we might lose our old connections. There will be times to make new friends, but don’t let your best ones go. Keep this time with you. It’s been a good four years, and as we go off into the wild of the real world, I hope the friends we’ve made will stay connected. We’re here for each other. Remember that it doesn’t matter where we belong, but with whom we belong. Good luck, class of 2012.

The Average American Summer

I’m getting rid of my brain crack in chunks, hoping I will be forced to eventually complete my project.

I was inspired by Elsa’s comment: “the average american summer”.

With my very vague post I think the people that read it all had a different concept of what kind of show I wanted to do.

I figure Elsa might have meant some kind of documentary, which I’ve been filming a lot of anyway.

But that doesn’t matter, because I was inspired.

I wanted to film a drama, not a soap opera, but a legitimate show.

This is what it’s going to be centered on:

The Average American Summer.

There’s a lot that happens in three months. There’s a lot that can change in three months. There’s a lot that stays the same in three months. There’s a lot of free time in three months.

When school doesn’t take up 7 hours of your day and then more because of homework, there is a lot more quality human interaction. Even someone with a job probably feels freer just because they’re not doing the same thing everyone else is.

The problem is we’re still bound by the same system. Summer is just a function of school, even if the goal is to have as little to do with school as possible.

There’s a lot that goes back to normal after three months. There’s a lot of nothing that happens in three months.

This is about kids having their own unique Summers in the same way.  This is the average American Summer.

The story will be centered on unique characters so that there is a plot. The events taking place will be average in that they aren’t spectacular, but not average in that everyone does them. Sure, there will be events that most people expect, but I’m not going to be taking a poll on what the most average activities are.

I haven’t decided anything about the characters yet, because I don’t want to force it. I want to have these sudden great bursts of inspiration I’ve been having, and let those guide my work. That’s no way to get work done on time, but so far this has been moving faster than other ideas I’ve had.

So this is my way of doing as little school as possible—my own Average American Summer.

Tell Me a Story

I need to do something. And if I do something I think I can prove to myself and to my mom that I don’t need to get a job this summer because I’m doing what I’ll be doing in the future and getting real experience instead of selling drinks I’ve never tasted or selling some twelve year old a game I’ll never play.

I know that money is important and if I do this I’ll probably end up losing money overall. But I think if you were bitter enough you could describe life as a sequence of losing money. So what I want to do is get the best out of life that I can at this moment, and then in the next moment, and then the moment after that.

Maybe I should get a job so I can afford a nice camera, but maybe I don’t need a nice camera. I do have a nice camera already. What I need is skills. So I’ve repeated myself a couple times now, I figure I should get to the point.

I have this urge, as I said up there, to start something. I know what I want to do, but I need a little more inspiration than that. I want to film some sort of serial show, like a drama; something that I haven’t written for in a long while. But I don’t know where to start. I could think about and force something out, but there’s nothing there but the idea of filming a show. I’m just waiting to be inspired.

I’ve already been inspired to do something by watching Ze Frank, but now I want the something to be changed from “some” to a specific thing. I could go scour around for a good idea, but I want permission to be inspired. I don’t want to infringe on someone else unless they are offering their ideas to me.

The last time I tried this, I got zero responses, so I don’t know why the hell I’m doing this again, but I’ve written this damn post so I’m going to publish it. I know people read the posts, but they barely respond. I hope you’ll respond at least on Facebook this time. I just need ideas, and then I will go to work. I want to entertain you. Maybe the best way to do that is to get inspiration from the people I want to entertain.

Tell me a story so I can tell it back.

Chapter 2: Anniversary

I started this blog a year ago, on Prom night, because I was home by myself and mad at myself for not yet posting the crap I’d written. It was one in the morning, so I just said “what the hell” and wrote something up. I figured if I posted the link on Facebook, it would be the first thing people would see in the morning when they logged on to see Prom pictures. I don’t really know how well that worked, but my friends read my blog and said they liked it. That motivated me to keep writing.

Back then, I didn’t quite know who I was yet. I would often blame things on “Confident Ian” or “Tired Ian.” This year has helped me realize the whole picture. This year I’ve developed a lot of confidence and self-identity. I almost went into an acknowledgement post there, but 1) I don’t have time for that today and 2) I’m not ready for that yet. So this is going to continue to be self-indulgent.

I have also been trying to start vlogging recently, and the increased amount of variables is the only thing holding me back. Sound quality, lighting, distance to the camera, camera angles, editing, and having useable batteries are important now. This is much simpler. So at the risk of sounding lazy, I won’t be starting a vlog for the anniversary of my blog. But I will be starting soon! I have to for my Part IV. *coughcough*

So while this isn’t the exact anniversary by date, it’s the anniversary because of the occasion. I wrote 32 blog posts in the past year, and frankly I’m disappointed. But of course every effort to revive my blogging peters out after a while. I don’t want to follow a schedule, either, because that hinders the creativity. I will tell you this though. I have ideas every day, I just can’t get them all out the way I want to. So hopefully with enough reviving and retrying, I’ll be able to articulate my ideas more often.

I think that’s a good goal.

Angels in the Architecture

My friend, Christian, really likes the piece "Angels in the Architecture" by Frank Ticheli. I had been meaning to listen to it for a long time, but I never got around to it. So, today at about two in the morning I decided to give it a listen. After only the first minute, I was so inspired that I started writing something.
It's the product of late-night stupor, homework stress, and maybe a little of something else. I recommend you read it while listening to the piece.

The stars glistened in the sky. It was still quite warm out for night. It was light and dark at the same time.

“Have you ever really thought about… angels?”

“Like, what do you mean?”

“You know, if they are real, where they spend most of their time. Sometimes I think there’s some sort of alternate dimension, and they can move into ours sometimes to help us.”

“Yeah, that sounds easy to explain. Then, do you think, we might accidentally influence their dimension sometimes?”

“Woah. And then you know, the angels could be accidentally helping us as well.”

“What if they’re just normal people like us, but we’re divided by something?”

“A whole ‘nother universe, just stuck on the other side of the walls…”

“Maybe we see them in art. Maybe they come through in paintings, in music, and in architecture.”

“I like that. But it also makes me feel sad. Could we ever meet the angels?”

“I guess we could find out by making art.”

“Lure them out into the open?”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

It was early in the morning. The air was still wet with dew, and the sky was still tinged with pink. There was simultaneous peace and anxiousness.

“Any luck recently?”

“No, and I’m starting to think we just made all that stuff up.”

“So what if we did? That doesn’t mean it’s not worth something. Your music is still wonderful.”

“But I feel like I wrote it for the wrong reasons. I wrote it to lure out the angels.”

“Then that’s probably why it hasn’t worked out! This has to be about true art, true love, for it to work.”

“I don’t know what you want me to find, but I’ve been at this for so long that I think I must have missed it.”

“It’s okay to look for something, but it has to be something—the greatest something there ever was.”
“Well, if you’re such an expert on it, why haven’t YOU done anything lately?”

“I’ve already found my angel.”

The winter wind whipped along the ground. The snow, the sky, the walls; everything in white. Purity… or death?

“Maybe we all live in alternate dimensions, just waiting to cross paths with someone. Maybe we’ve been looking in our own dimension for too long to see that your angel was very close by, hidden in the architecture. Maybe we call them angels because they will be perfect. Some people can’t find their angel, but they try and do anything they can to find them. It is a terrible thing, when someone can’t find their angel, but a person has not wasted their life if they spend it searching. Hope is a powerful force, and if it can’t help you find your angel, it must be able to propel us onward, into the next great something.”

Childhood vs. Adulthood

As we get nearer and nearer to graduation, and many kids become legal adults, a certain issue needs to be addressed. The idea of adulthood might be skewed as we approach all of these “lasts.” We might think that there is a border, a line that we cross to take us into adulthood. This isn’t true.

Ishmam, don’t sell your DS.

Specifically, don’t sell your DS so your dad will buy and pay for service for an iPhone. I will get rid of the logistical problems to start. Where would you be selling your DS? If you sell it at GameStop, there will be no reason for you to use that credit. When you go to college, won’t you lose this? Your dad won’t want to pay for your service when you go away in… seven months?

You called this childhood versus adulthood, and I said, yes, so keep your DS.

If we’re going to compare them, we have to see what they have in common.

iPhone games? That’s adulthood? You want to get rid of the games that you can play for fifty hours for games that you’ll play for five minutes?

Do you remember what you went through to get that DS? Do you remember getting caught with that pink DS by Mr. O’Neill? How exhilarating is texting in class? How many people get caught texting in class?

What can you do with an iPhone that you can’t with a DS and a normal phone?

Look, Ishmam. You can’t make yourself an adult by having an iPhone. You are who you are because you have that DS. You and I have so many memories because of that DS. You might sacrifice your DS, your memories, for something you think will make you an adult. You can’t get rid of that part of you, and you shouldn’t want to.

Ishmam, don’t sell your DS. Who would play Pokémon with me?

A New Story

by Daisy Oak - LorringtonPost.com
February 27, 1996

I awoke early in the morning to a loud crash. At first, I worried that it was another explosion over the sea to the South like the one that happened about a year ago. It was the sound of my teenage neighbor leaving his house in a rage. I think he must have broken the door by how loud the noise was. I ran to the window and saw him standing at the edge of the sea. He threw his head back and roared.

"Where are you?!"

I couldn't tell you who he meant, but it was chilling. He sat at the edge of the water for a while. Lights came on in the other houses. Surprisingly, his own house stayed quiet. Red's mother stayed inside. My brother, Blue, decided to put on a coat and go check on his friend. From my vantage point, I could see that the encounter did not go well. Red got up in a fury and ran to the North edge of town, where the tall grass begins.

Blue ran to my Grandfather's lab, and moments later I saw Professor Oak in his nightgown running across the town after Red. He managed to calm him down and bring him back to his lab. Feeling that the situation was resolved, I went back to sleep.

In the morning I went to visit Karen, Red's mother. She was sitting at the kitchen table, looking stunned. "All boys leave home some day. It says so on the TV," she said. She didn't say much else.

I assumed Red was gone, and possibly Blue with him, but when I got back home, I saw the both of them standing in the living room, looking expectant.

"Hey sis, do you have any extra town maps we can borrow?"

I gave them each a town map, and they showed me the new Pokemon they received the night prior. Red seemed a lot calmer with his Charmander there to keep him company. Red left after a while and Blue and his Squirtle stayed to help clean up the dishes from breakfast.

"The Pokemon League better watch out," Blue said, "because Red's out there with a vengeance and I'll make sure to work even harder!"

These two boys might make a difference in Kanto this year, I thought.

Recent Crime Hike has Many Leaving Saffron

by Ed Lorrington - Saffron Star
February 27, 1992

The recent spike in activity of the group calling itself Team Rocket has lead many to leave Saffron City to more rural areas. The number of abandoned buildings and houses continues to increase, as no one is moving in to the city. Those who have stayed are mostly Silph employees, as well as those who cannot afford to find a new place to live.

"In the end, we cannot affect your final decisions," said Ernesto Ruedas, the Mayor of Saffron City, "but we strongly encourage people to stay in the city." The Mayor and the Police Chief affirm that they are working on controlling the crime in the city, but many are dissatisfied.

Karen Ransom does not believe that the city is making any effort to control the rampant crime. "We have to get out of this city, where so much has gone wrong this past year," Mrs. Ransom sai. She and her friend Daisy Oak are relocating to Pallet Town with the aid of Ms. Oak's grandfather, the renowned Professor Samuel Oak.

One of the Saffronians staying had a positive twist on the situation. "Maybe with all these people going, those Team Rocket members posing as normal citizens might also leave, and then the crime will go down," said Karl Ritters, the shopkeeper at the Mart in town.

Silph Co. did not make any statement on the current situation in Saffron. Silph's assets extend across the whole region, and their sales are not limited to Saffron alone. "All these people moving out will still be shopping at Marts-- they'll still be giving their Pokédollars to Silph," said Ritters.

Tragic Accident Leads to Death of Two Police Officers

by Ed Lorrington - Saffron Star
January 4, 1992

An unfortunate accident early this morning lead to the death of two police officers. Captain Jack Ransom and his partner John Oak were found dead at 4:17 this morning inside an abandoned Rocket Corporation building, covered in debris. Part of the building's second floor had collapsed on them. So far, there are no signs of foul play.

The police chief, Randall Evans, said the two were investigating a report that wanted criminals had been sighted inside. The building had been in disrepair ever since the collapse of the Rocket Corporation. Further investigators could not find any evidence of the building being inhabited.

"It was a very unfortunate accident," said Chief Evans, "and the whole force will greatly miss John and Jack."

Captain Ransom is survived by his wife, Karen, and his son, Red, who is six years old.
Oak's daughter, Daisy, is a writer for the Saffron Star, and Oak's son, Blue, is also six years old. The two families were very close.

Neither Mrs. Ransom nor Ms. Oak could be reached for a statement.

The amount of gang-related crime has gone down on the streets, but the Police warn against complacency. "We know that there are underground activities going on," said Detective Sargeant Harrelson, "but in this case we have no evidence that the collapse of the floor was an act of murder."

Unemployment Rate Rises in Saffron

by Daisy Oak - Saffron Star
Dec. 12, 1990

Since the Rocket Corporation closed its doors in October, very few of the former employees have found jobs. Surprisingly, Silph Co. did not re-hire the Rocket employees that it could have repurposed. Instead of taking advantage of the Rocket Corporation buildings, they now sit empty along the streets in Saffron.

Saffron has become a different place since Giovanni left. The police have had a lot more crime to deal with. Most of the convicted criminals are unemployed. Citizens of Saffron don't feel as safe on the streets.

The Saffron Star does not normally report rumors, but we feel compelled by the overwhelming amount of called-in tips. There are rumors that some of the crime is organized by a group calling themselves Team Rocket. There is no solid information on how this group is connected to Rocket Corporation. The Saffron Star will report any further developments.

Rumors Surfacing on Former Rocket Leader

by Daisy Oak - Saffron Star
November 15, 1990

It has been reported that the old laboratory on Cinnabar Island has resumed activity, and that it has to do with Giovanni, the former business magnate and owner of Rocket Corporation.

The loss of Rocket Corporation did not seem to greatly affect Giovanni, and compared to the rest of his sparkling career, this is a minor setback.

Giovanni came into the public eye as a fantastic Trainer with a mastery of Ground-Type Pokemon. Giovanni collected the then-seven badges of Kanto and challenged the Elite Four. His campaign was widely publicized. Unfortunately, he lost against the Champion, Agatha, but he was immediately offered a position as the eighth gym leader of Kanto.

As a gym leader, he took out a research grant for a bold idea. Giovanni used  computer progams to create the cyber-Pokemon, Porygon. The public response was so receptive that Giovanni had to create a way to mediate sales. So he built the Rocket Game Corner, where Porygon was the top prize. The Rocket enterprise was born.

Giovanni was always interested in science, and with his newfound fortune, he began research on what interested him the most: Life.

Giovanni still has much of his initial fortune, and it is reported that experiments have been going on in his Cinnabar mansion along with the experiments in the laboratory.

Rocket Corporation Crumbles

by Daisy Oak - Saffron Star
Oct. 29, 1990

Today, the economic landscape of Saffron City is changed forever. The Rocket Corporation has sold all of its remaining public assets to Silph Co.Rocket has been in trouble over the past year, and this was the last piece of the puzzle.

Rocket Industries, a partner company to Rocket Corporation, had to shut down the power plant north of Lavender Town last winter due to undisclosed issues. The Rocket Game Corner reported that it lost money this last fiscal year for the first time since it opened eight years ago. Then finally, Rocket lost the race with Silph to provide affordable medicine to the masses.

"Rocket Corporation was an interesting venture, but I'm ready to move on," said Giovanni, the former owner of Rocket Corporation. He added, "for those of you still interested in my other projects, I still intend to continue those." Giovanni plans to return to his mansion on Cinnabar Island with his one year old son. The mansion is where he reportedly has these "other projects."

"Taking care of my son is of top priority. I came to realize that over this year," said Giovanni in his final press conference before he left Saffron.

It is February Sixth

I went for a bike ride today.

Ishmam noted how nice it was outside. He said it was so nice that he wanted to blog. We both agreed that was pretty pathetic, so he left to go on a bike ride. About half an hour later, I shoved myself up from my spot in front of the computer. I went upstairs, put on my alpaca fur cap and some shorts, and wrote a note.

I’m going on a BIKE RIDE. Yeah.

The note didn’t matter however, because right as I was putting on my shoes, the garage door opened. My mom and brother stared at me as the car pulled in to the garage. My brother started laughing. “What’re you doing?!” my mom asked. After several questions about my well-being in regards to the cold, I inflated the tires on my bike and took off.

I had to walk for a good ten minutes because the path to the park was covered in snow and ice. I had to improvise a bit in order to bike my way home. When I was walking my bike through the snow, I realized that life would go on, whether or not I blogged about it or not. I thought about why Cross Country runners do their thing, and how it was similar to me riding my bike. I thought about how this was one of the only times I hadn’t brought an MP3 player with me. I usually listen to a playlist while out biking.

There were a lot of people walking, all bundled up. One older gentleman smiled at me and said “That’s the spirit!” I have found that when I bike, I am more likely to blog.

When the snow is all melted, I’m going to bike every day after school, like I did in the spring of tenth grade.

Bring it on!

Vlogging II

I think I've been inspired by the wrong people.

And even though there are many connotations to that phrase, I’m going to leave it like that for now.

I’ve been inspired by people that I can’t emulate. I can’t be those people, but I enjoy their content greatly. Too much, in fact.

That’s what inspired me in the first place, but when I set out to create, I realized I didn’t have the stuff.

How does one even begin anyway? Do I just act like I’ve been doing this all my life? It seems like that would be best to set a tone for the future, but it feels odd.

Someone could interpret something incorrectly and take a bad message out of it. That could be another way to be inspired by the wrong people. When you don’t understand them. It’s hard to completely understand someone, and therefore impossible to emulate them. It’s best to take your own approach.

Practice establishes a style and a method. It keeps an audience. The successful ones have been around since the genesis of the medium and have evolved over time. It’s futile to try and join the great ones. It’s now time to create new fellowships that will hold power in coming years.

I’ve reached the age where a lot of success stories started.

When it all began, I hated YouTube because I thought it was worthless.

I started making YouTube videos for the lulz in middle school, because I thought my ideas were worth something.

I’m going to return to creating on YouTube again because I think the community is worth something.

What should I talk about?

Ode To A Blank Page

I woke up one morning.

This morning was probably like many others.

I probably stayed up too late the night before.

I probably hit the snooze button a couple times.

I probably took an abridged shower because

I probably hit the button too many times.

I probably crawled back into the bed and took a twenty minute nap.

I probably got to the bus stop with ten seconds to spare.

Sometimes I get to sit with a friend.

Sometimes I sat in an empty seat.

Sometimes I sat on the floor because

Sometimes the bus is so crowded there are already four seats with three kids in them.

Sometimes the bus is quiet.

Sometimes the bus is full of loud freshman shouts.

Eventually I get to school.

Eventually I put my stuff in my band locker.

Eventually I wander down to the first floor because

Eventually the bell will ring to go to class.

Eventually the bell will ring—

Thirteen times a day.

The Swing of Things

I wrote an AP Lit journal yesterday and I was able to keep my momentum up. I was actually excited about it. I was thinking to myself, “Wow, I bet I could do another one of these tomorrow, but for real!” But it’s not working that well. I have a huge backlog of ideas, and I can’t decide what to write about.

There’s also the temptation of starting a vlog. Then I wouldn’t have much purpose to do these blogs, since I should be concentrating my efforts. I just noticed I have another document in my blogs folder entitled “Vlogs.”

Be right back.

I never posted that one, and now I’m interested in what I had to say there.

I wrote it back in May last year, when I started this blog. It’s over one thousand words long.

In reading it I learned I still have many of the same things to say, and I’m wondering why I didn’t publish that post.

It was even a happy post, in comparison to my other earlier works— in comparison to almost all my works.

I keep thinking I have more here than I actually do.
I will remedy this, one way or the other.

Oh, and SuperCowCow will make a return in some form or another.