Ideas That Will NEVER Happen: Vol. Cuatro

What's this? Another project from 7th grade that went unfulfilled? Almost. Let's start from the beginning...

The Idea: A long time ago, when making drawings brought out encouragement from my parents, rather than shameful silence, I began work on my first and only graphic novel that I've ever completed: Sonic the Hedgehog vs The Dark Emerald: An epic adventure in 4 parts! The comic follows the adventures of a blue, anthropomorphic hedgehog as he is, once again, forced to stop everything he's doing to destroy Dr. Robotnik's latest creation, a gigantic(and lazily drawn) Mecha Sonic with rectangular eyes and noses. An epic 10 page battle rages on until Sonic single-handedly annihilates the machine with his spin jump. Ready to chase after Dr. Robotnik, Sonic uses the seven chaos emeralds to transform into Super Sonic. The emeralds merge into Sonic's body, only be expelled out of it, launching Sonic a few feet away. The emeralds merge into a large emerald that becomes darker and darker. Dr. Robotnik, in his floating mobile, chuckles endlessly at his diabolical plot of "pretending" to lose only for Sonic to use the emeralds haphazardly. Keep in mind that I (and probably many other dedicated fans) came up with this idea long before Sonic Unleashed. The dark emerald communicates(through some unusual way) to Sonic that it plans to obliterate itself from within the core of the earth, cause a powerful energy surge that will spread across the entire planet and cause hundreds of years of darkness. Of course that's what it'll do. After laughing hysterically and spitting at Sonic's face, the emerald flies off and Sonic runs after it. An elaborate chase sequence involving lasers, clouds, and planes occurs and a direct hit at the emerald causes it to shrink. The emerald flies off to the nearest volcano while Sonic and a horrifically drawn Tails head off to Tails' laboratory to design an unfashionable shrinking suit that's impervious to lava. A few pages later, Sonic chases after the emerald again, all the way to the deepest part of the ocean where, after a young blogger decided that drawing the lava suit was simply too much trouble, decided Sonic can proceed in his adventure able to breathe underwater. Another dramatic battle goes on that leaves Sonic bruised up until he remembers the six chaos emeralds, still in his possession somehow, begin glowing and fire a rainbow-colored laser at the dark emerald, that just arrived at the core of the earth(if this doesn't make sense, blame my 10 year old self for learning about the 42 presidents instead of the layers of the earth). The dark emerald's power diminishes dramatically(seems to be a trend 'round here) until it self-destructs, launching Sonic out of the ocean and onto an island. Sonic, in a few panels, recovers and smiles triumphantly towards the sky, thumbs sticking out, hubris assured. If only my love of nonsensical plots continued to this day, I'd have finally finished my goddamn screenplay.

Why this will never happen: The story, to my ten year old self, is as convoluted yet endlessly entertaining as any summer blockbuster but even for a property like Sonic the Hedgehog, the only places a plot involving a floating, talking dark chaos emerald would be suitable is in fan-fiction or the comic book series. It's been really great trying to recreate this story from the original drawings that are, unfortunately, long gone, but it does show how quickly ideas can flow when they have a chance to be revised in anyway, and although the overall plot doesn't make sense, at least the transitions from one scenario to another make sense. Having said that, this relic from an ancient time will remain that way since, due to college, cynicism, and some bouts of depression, making a story like this would involve a ridiculous amount of time I simply don't have right now. Oh right, the other reasons. Um...SEGA already has a stable of ideas/plot-lines for Sonic's next video games but even they won't try to write a plot as farfetched as a dark emerald...but if they do, I was the one who called it.

Now What? - The Phonograph-I mean, Record Player

September 20, 2011...
Another week, another couple of pounds of brain fat at lost to thought. Whatever…that could mean. Things have gone well, but not swimmingly well yet. I have been working on my art history paper, due next Wednesday, my Spanish paper, due the following Wednesday, my Philosophy realization (which I’ll explain soon-Ed. note, I forgot to do that), and my presentation for SAGES, as well as my normal rations of homework. And that’s only till the end of the month! I knew the work was going to pile up, but I didn’t expect it this soon. If I just take it slow and steady, I might just be able to survive September with enough ligaments in my fingers for typing a seven-page paper. It has been an unexpectedly defining week, however. I’ve become closer with my roommate, my friend who lives across the hall, and with my own family. Something I’m especially beginning to miss is the appetizer sandwiches my mom occasionally made right before dinner. Standard ingredients: white (or wheat) bread slathered with mayo and mustard, ham, lettuce, tomatoes, mozzarella cheese, and slightly toasted for a satisfying crunching sound. Simple, yet perfect. I am reminded of how often my family embarrassed me, and how I’d wish their personalities were tweaked a little bit, but I’m realizing that their personalities define them for they are and I’ll won't dare to change that. I had dinner with my roommate’s family on Saturday, that was lovely(aside from the fact that I hadn’t left my dorm all day) since I had a delicious dinner, a very invigorating conversation, and got to see the most astounding record collection. I also saw my first record player, and got to listen to my first record: Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd. The first chords silently slipped through the speakers, a warm orange glow surrounded the walls, and my roommate’s father’s tales of musical ecstasy enchanted me. It was the perfect evening until my roommate took me to the Ingeniutyfest. It wasn’t a terrible event, but it was terribly overwhelming, with the numerous colorful works that attacked your senses, the amount of people who were there, the amount of people as high as paint chipping, and the amount of products being sold. I did like a huge wall that you could draw on, a dazzling performance by a woman with flexibility and large amounts of drapery, and an artist’s photoshops of numerous landmarks. It’s a night I won’t soon forget (for the wrong reasons). This weekend also featured my first chance to work directly with one of the guys of IgniteTV. We talked about his career and how it boils down to many avant-garde projects made only for his amusement, and our first conversation about potentially working on one of my projects. He told me that I’d have to wait till Wednesday to pitch my idea and see if it gets approved, which is discouraging, encouraging, and nerve wrecking. If all goes well, I’ll be able to direct my first short film which is a lifelong dream of mine. As always, we’ll just have to see what happens.

NW? - Progress                                                NW?- I Shouldnt've...

Now What? - Progress...10%

September 13, 2011...
Raindrops may be falling on my head, but they haven’t slowed me down yet. This week was unexpectedly a really productive and enjoyable one. With no scheduling complaints to fix, I went to all of my classes without trouble and have begun to appreciate the diversity and unimaginable brilliance that most of my professors contain and if that’s supposed to be a brown-nosed statement, well, let’s just say I’m knee-deep in mud right now. Philosophy is still a problematic course but I imagine that it has been for all of the class so far as we’ve been introduced to a new way of thinking about life, and suddenly been dropped into the most challenging class so far(despite it being only an introduction). This week was the first time I realized how someone’s statement about each major having its own difficulty being true. Sure, I may not be a biomedical engineer but I’m pretty certain that I will be writing many more essays than them. I’m becoming more familiar with my colleagues (remembering most of their names and faces), with my study habits(although I still need to experiment with location), and with my limitations(it’s decided: On Friday’s, I will do absolutely nothing except go to class and take a nap. It might be a high school habit that I’ll grow out of, but right now, I welcome any chance of sleeping on a surface that isn’t a desk). I’m beginning to accept the idea of not finding love so suddenly, and taking it slow like I did in high school. Occasionally, I wonder if I would be as impatient about being in a relationship if I was a woman. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has. On Friday, I was given my first assignment as the newest member of IgniteTV, to film the 911 presentation at the oval, the circular walkway near the library. Due to some technical difficulties, I couldn’t film the police officers walking around the oval, and yet, once those difficulties were taken care of, I went back and filmed as much as I could before they started cleaning up the tables and booths. Has it really been 10 years since that horrible disaster happened? I had an interview with someone, a woman who works at the Cleveland clinic, and told her about my encounter during 911, describing it as Christmas morning with a surprise waiting behind the tree. I’m not looking forward to seeing the footage, one because it’s technically an evaluation albeit a constructive one, and two because I don’t and didn’t think I would have the emotional strength to callously point a camera at somebody’s face, waiting for some kind of money-shot that would dignify my reputation as an amateur filmmaker. Although I write about emotional situations all the time and even try to find the humor in it (believe me, I’ve tried to tell one holocaust joke too many), it’s an entirely different thing when it is your own emotions you’re trying to control and when the situation is deeply tied to reality. I’m supposed to film the candlelight vigil on Sunday, but I don’t know if I can do it. I guess we’ll see.

NW? - Registering...                                            NW? - Phonograph

No Left Turn

Originally typed on June 16, 2011.  

The following was written as a reaction to one of my friends' paintings, one from her concentration, a series of paintings with one related theme, in high school. Like a fascinated but also somewhat annoying person, I kept reminding her that I wanted to "canonize" her masterful work in some shape or form, and after trying to criticize her work thoughtfully, I instead opted for a short story, one that became an obsession of mine to complete during the summer. Unfortunately, I have no way of showing her image to you, the reader, so that you have some idea of how the brainstorming process worked for properly interpreting her piece. Something that struck my attention was how her theme is "Home", and most of her concentration were little sections of her home in the Palisades and although she is a wonderful painter, I felt her theme hampered on the execution of most of her paintings, and with her goal of completing 12 paintings by the end of the school year, she began rushing towards completion of her series. One day, she brought along her next painting, one with no title. It surprised me how empty and yet lively this painting was compared to the others. I don't want to describe it since I know my description will be inaccurate. The painting features as a sign saying "No Left Turn" which I have named the story. I admit that I'm posting this story also with haste as I no longer want to worry about it and move on to other projects, and that it is a story that resolves itself very quickly and that the descriptions lack the underlying bitterness of my previous stories, but overall, it's still a pretty good story that could be improved. Let me know what you think about it in the comments, and thanks for reading if you do.  

 

A lone pebble in the middle of the street balances the neighborhood. At the earliest hour, it makes a shadow that reaches the far end of the block up to the stop sign. Some pranksters cut out a side of it to fool exhausted drivers. The paperboy knows about the cars that could potentially crush and mangle his bike, so he always watches the road after passing the stop sign. His newspaper sack feels heavier than usual. So did his arms. People make fun of him for wearing sunglasses everywhere, but his eyes are that deplorable and could only function properly for 15 seconds until becoming defunct. It was the paperboy’s last day on the route. He pulls out each paper and flings it at every direction. A quiet summer morning is spoiled by the paperboy’s terrible aim. Mrs. Flutterman’s precious daises are flattened by the LA Times. He breaks his fifty-first flower pot. The lone pebble catches onto the wheel and shreds the tire. The paperboy tumbles to the floor, a stunt he had rehearsed a few times before. A few scrapes don’t stop the paperboy. Only the sight of his rented bicycle rolling by itself and then crashing into a moving car do. Words from the newspaper editor swearing at him makes the paperboy shake in turmoil. For the next few minutes, the only things the paperboy sees are the sidewalk and his own shadow.

The paperboy shakes his head and looks up. He panics and searches for his sunglasses which are just near his shoes. Taking a moment, he begins putting them on when something catches his eyes. The neighborhood has the most vibrant palette of colors he’d ever seen. Every house has its own personality, its own traits and behaviorisms. The house filled with whimsical colors designs, seemingly being lifted off the ground: Animator. The house covered by another house’s shadow, revealing only parts of its exterior but daring others to see what the interior has to offer: Prostitute. He pulls out his schedule and checks the number. Yep, he was in the right place. Carrying his bag, the paperboy steps carefully onto the sidewalk. Wind chimes, garden gnomes, doghouses, basketball hoops, at once he tries to imagine the people who purchased these things. He imagines the wind chimes at some sterile department store in the midst of many customers passing the wind chimes to. The paperboy looks at his own shirt and reconsiders the thought. People in the neighborhood had confidence in the world, enough that none of them had any kind of security system to defend their homes with. The paperboy walks up to the house and looks at the wind chimes. A small breeze begins the chimes’ lovely tune. He hums the tune and sways his head in rhythm with the chimes. Though he wants the chimes on the porch of his parents’ house, it killed him to realize he would only be getting a similar, yet flawed replica. He looks out and realizes this was the last house to deliver. He pulls out the paper and places it gently on the doormat. He sits on the steps and looks at the neighborhood one last time. Though he never saw it in a truthful light, it had been his home and it took care of him as well as any mother could have. His parents call him later in the day, wondering if his shift is over. The paperboy tells them that there’s still a few more papers to deliver. He puts his bag aside and watches the neighborhood. He’ll return home by lunchtime.          

Now What? - Registering information...

September 6, 2011...
Just as my fears of college had begun to assuage by wonderful friends and wonderful times, reality struck again. Looking at my calendar of future events, I realized that that my school days would begin to accelerate at unfathomable levels. Two projects due in two weeks, then a Spanish paper, then something else...it just keeps going! What’s highly surprising is how accurate the explanation of college was, but we didn’t want to believe it; two hours for every hour in class, what the hell could that mean? Realistically, every day in class is very doable but...the rest of it...why would they do this to us? I might be complaining but even for the upcoming workload, it isn’t impossible to finish. My first art history paper is only two pages long and double-spaced, and Math exams have always come naturally to me. So what am I worried about? Recently, I had an appointment at ESS, the education help services, about time management and it turns out I’m doing everything right...so far. I have many mistakes in my first week, which I will point out here: never listen to a comedy album while studying at the library, never take a nap at the reading room where everyone can see you, never forget to double-back all over your essential files in case a certain computer program can’t read a Pages file, and never forget to learn the schedule of every building so that you're not standing outside of the Cleveland Institute of Art on a Saturday morning in 100 degree weather like an idiot. Also, there’s girls. They’re every-where. Also boys. There are over 3,600 students here at Case. That information can make anybody claustrophobic. It hasn’t been completely terrible. After much rearranging, I’m finally in a suitable Spanish class, Intro to Spanish Literature, with a great professor and 10 other classmates. I saw Clerks this weekend, probably the most disgustingly entertaining film I’ve seen. Seeing how terrible the clerks‘ jobs were, it made the ridiculous situations they got into more bearable. I participated at the fraternity rush and unexpectedly met this amazing troupe of characters from Delta Chi. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were my friends for life. Plus, I finally got the textbooks I needed so I’ve been catching up on the reading for my first-year university seminar, very interesting material. It might be too soon to ask this question but when will I become an official college student, the person brimming with responsibility, ambition, and confidence? So far, I still feel like a high school student with all these obligations that have to taken care of. Do I become a college student when I begin to enjoy working on these projects? Well, that would make the workload more bearable. Friday was the worst day of the week. Class was fine, but it was after class where things just didn’t feel right. I ate a hearty breakfast and lunch, and then headed up to the library to read my Philosophy book. I just couldn’t do it; all of the undergoing pressures of the day just fell right upon me and boredom overtook every thought. For the first time at Case, I felt completely abandoned of mind and spirit. Thankfully, an appointment at ESS and a 1000-pc puzzle temporarily misplaced those thoughts but I don’t know what I’ll do if I experience it again. This is a four-day week so it’ll move by quickly. We’ll just have to see.

NW? - Intro                                                               NW? - Progress

Now What? - Introduction

August 24, 2011 was the first unofficial day of being a college student. Suddenly dropping into a place I was only partly familiar with, seeing approximately 900 new faces and speculating as to which to wave back to with my awkward, wilting shake. For a few days, we could choose to have a name tag around us, a handicap for those of us incapable of saying, "Hi, what's your name?", or not wear a name tag and say nothing, if anything. Later that night, as we amassed in groups at Case Western's football field, we learned a few things about the Class of 2015, such as how more desirable certain people were than most of us, how many people were from Ohio. Despite the exciting activities the Orientation leaders "put us through" that night, most of us were skeptical about the "college" experience, including yours truly. The next few posts, coming every Friday at 9pm, is but one person's perspective on a universal escapade that we're privileged to be a part of, but one that continuously challenges that privilege. Day 1...

August 30, 2011...
 “College is going to be terrible” is a quote I continue to repeat. After seeing how much the university is offering in terms of support, such as first-year advisers and counseling,  it’s baffling how in just three days, I still have little faith. It was a problem I knew I was going to be facing just as I was about to graduate from high school and it really doesn’t surprise me that the problem has popped up so suddenly. It’s only been three days and I have a tendency to be really impatient when it comes to making endurable connections with people. I think a worse fear than thinking college will be terrible is letting myself believe that. When I get into a depressing funk, only the most optimistic self-realization can pull me out of it. That or Seinfeld bloopers. Course, there’s also the fears of college being much more difficult than previous years of education, but that’s to be expected. As I’ve been working out my schedule, I can see the amount of time I could be spending studying for each class, which is a major advantage, compared to the claustrophobic hours in high school. There’s also the new responsibilities regarding money and food, things we students didn’t take very seriously before. Thankfully, the meal plan ensures a full belly without the costs. Later on, we’ll have to start thinking about going out to dinner, tickets for events, and other important utilities, but if we think about it conservatively, it won’t be a damning problem. My personal fear is laundry, the first responsible assignment I’ve been given as an adult. Unless you’ve done laundry in the past, the only thing you’re sure about is that you will have to wear that pink shirt for the rest of the semester...not that there’s anything wrong with that. Overall, I know that college will be amazing, and when my mind believes it, it will be.

NW? - Registering...