User blog:Berrybrick/Where are you going?

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I'm not a particularly artistic person, but I need artistic expression in order to function healthily. Since I've taken a break from making minifigures, which really didn't count, (though I did try to come out of that to make a shot of the Wonder Twins activating their powers, but my computer decided to restart just as soon as I put paint-tool to bitmap, so I took it as I sign not to) I've been writing more. Both here, especially with reviews (glad to see some interest in it!) and also privately. Well, this isn't art, but I feel like I have to ramble off about something or other (I haven't decided what this blog is about yet) to disperse any creative energy which will backup if it isn't used. I mean, I thought I was using it with reviews and other things, but I guess not. If I'm not writing about giant apples getting into fights with Clifford the big red dog, or imprinting my personality onto some folk hero who really has no business being insecure and uncharacteristically brooding (because folklore = manly man ≠ Berybrick) when all you really read the story for is the giant's head getting ripped off so that a river (complete with hermaphroditic rainbow trout) flows out of his neck and bestows all who drink from it wisdom and a strange urge to be around Sleipnir.

My left mouse button popped off of my keypad earlier today, and now I'm thinking that I want to buy an actual mouse, even if that will kind of make it difficult to put a laptop on my lap. It's a huge design flaw; I tried to push the button back into place, but it won't fit back on. It's kind of like taking a tooth that fell out and sticking it back into the socket, but it doesn't stay and you can just hear the enamel rubbing against the other teeth and it all feels strangely metallic...I would know. I lost a tooth on my grandmother's floor once, and when I went back about half a year later, I found that it was still there (I guess she hadn't swept in all that time). Just to make sure it was mine, I put it back in my mouth to make sure that it fit (I guess my adult tooth hadn't come back in yet), which, yeah, it did, but it was kind of like having a mouse button popping off of a keypad and pushing it back into place, y'know? This is why I hate touchscreens and keypads; I have naturally clammy hands (I was actually able to make them clammy on command when I was younger, though I haven't tried recently, it was great for when you had to shake hands with enemies and strange uncles) so the sweat kind of messes everything up. Without the button, it's worse, since for some reason every time I touch the keypad now, rather than moving the mouse, it thinks that I want to zoom in really close, freeze the mouse (why is that even a feature?), drag everything across the screen, or play Amy Winehouse (why is that even a feature?). I don't know what I will do when they decide to replace tableware with touchscreens. You see, while most people water their mouths over homemade applecake, my palms get really sweaty, so I'll probably accidentally enlarge a knife, jab it into my leg, minimize it so it gets lost in my bloodstream, and then start playing Adele in my aorta every time that I sneeze (it already happens when I belch; I've trained myself not to). Gosh, that sounds depressing.

I had an English teacher once who thought I was pretty fascinating. I would criticize Plato while complaining about shallow high school drama that I was too good to take part in. And by "too good," I mean that nobody wanted me as their enemy. I mean, like really? Sure, I can be a nice guy, but once you get to know me, I can be a real jerk. I would write all of my essays in this style, when I could stand it, but sometimes the subject matter just made me too broody, or was just such rubbish that I had to imitate this...whatever this is just to meet the minimum length (and somehow meet the requirements too; apparently I'm supposed to express myself in some way other than speaking or writing to pass English class and be a successful human being). I can't control it, I've just got to go until I've run out of things to say, but I never run out of things to say. The tricky part is finding them, and I'm not good at those games. Where's Waldo confuses the heck out of me, it's more like those old photos where you see that Will Smith looked exactly the same all the way back in 2004, and you just know that he is an immortal bent on ruining cinema. I mean if I wanted to watch a good movie, I could, but they don't have Will Smith in them, so they aren't worth the money, and Waldo does dress suspiciously like a nerdy lumberjack who might be intent on ruining all of the ash trees in the region. That wouldn't be so bad, since I'm allergic to ash trees, but then I'll realize that without ash trees, the world is a much dirtier place as the environment spins out of control (like it ever was in control) and the world is torn apart. Poor Waldo will be out of work then, though I'm sure that they will still find a way to put Will Smith on screen. Mostly, I'm just thankful to that English teacher for not trying to lock me up in a psych ward, because she did seem to get pretty close to that with other people; something about not being optimistic enough about their future. I'm not optimistic about my future. I spend too much time in my own head to get anything done, but somehow that translates to me being "smart." Really though, it just makes me clumsy and brooding, a bad combination when you are really clumsy and then it makes you brood. People were trying to cheer me up, but then I was like, "Stop it, my glass was all half empty, but you just turned it upside down to make it half full and now it's all empty and my pants are wet and my shoes are all wet and I'm thirsty."

My psychology teacher thought I was interesting too. Real interesting. Yeah, yeah. I thought she was interesting too. Like, she was so interesting, that I don't even want to share it with you, because I'm thinking that if I could somehow decide on a pseudonym and shoehorn a progressive relationship I could write a bestselling novel. It will probably be a sometime-woman sometime-hermaphroditic rainbow trout who is in a loving relationship with a coffeepot. You see, that's meta. And controversial, but this is like, 2015, so if you're offended, well, you are an intolerant caveman who is only as progressive as an insurance company; wait, no, less progressive, because insurance companies have talking pigs and lizards these days. And also Meatloaf. That's real representation. You're under them on the food chain now, how does it feel? I mean, this is like Lucy in the Tar with Feathers going up to that sabre-tooth tiger from Ice Age and being like "This is 10,000 BC, man. We have animism and cave paintings now. We've come a long way these last millennia, you don't treat a human this way anymore. Check your carnivore privilege." And so, all the ice melted, all the dinosaurs died, and mankind lived happily ever after. The end. Just think of what would happen if we didn't have social crusaders like Lucy back then; you would be dead. This is why we need to allow people to have relationships with kitchen appliances. Dibs on the cute waffle-iron in the back.

I still sense this strange feeling on the side of my head that usually says, "Create...create...crea-- Oh, goodness, don't create that. That's awful. You suck. Go call up Scholastic," but now I'm thinking that it's because I've had Pandora open for hours and these humongous headphones squeezing my ears. I don't feel the pain when I listen to sad music, or, you know, music that I actually like, but for some reason they think that I'll like Fall Out Boy and bad covers of "Mad World" and "Hallelujah" which make them sound oddly upbeat and like roadkill which is frying on the sidewalk, respectively, because I added stations for Fiona Apple and Sleeping At Last. I'm extremely insecure about my music tastes (do you think making a Norse god insecure about listening to Fiona Apple is a good idea? I mean, I know that she was decently popular, but like the only time I ever heard someone actually mention her he said he didn't like her, so that really makes me feel like an inferior human being who would be better off getting the surgery to become a waffle-iron. I mean, it really makes that traditional folk hero feel bad about himself. I think it would really hit it with the tween crowd.) Gosh, I'm pathetic, but I'm self aware, and that's more than a trilobite can say.

Maybe I'll try singing one of the all time great songs of our generation.

What's your favorite idea?

Mine is being creative.

How did you get that idea?

I just try to think creatively.

Now when you look at this orange tell me please, what do you see?

It's just a boring old orange.

Maybe to you, but not to me

I see a silly face walking around and smiling at me

I don't see what you mean

Cause you're not thinking creatively

So take a look at my hair (cool!)

I use my hair to express myself.

That sounds really boring.

I use my hair to express myself.

Now when you look at the clouds in the sky, don't you find it exciting?

No

Oh my gosh, I get it. You don't like how I express myself. Maybe if I actually used my hair to express myself, I would have passed that assignment (and not gotten a 99 overall). I'm not bitter. See, I'm flipping over my own glass, slowly, even sweating through my palms to fill it up more. And I'll drink it, like rose colored Kool Aid...wait, Kool Aid can be used to color hair. I've got it guys! Thanks! Now the only question is grape or fruit punch? When I think of grapes, I think of Dionysus, and even though he was considered a good god, I never really saw it. He headed this orgiastic cult which would skin all dissenters and then eat them, but nobody would remember it because they are so drunk. I'm afraid that if my hair smells like grape Kool Aid, people will think of that whenever they see me, and then they'll get a strong urge to rip off my flesh and wear it over their skin. Fruit punch is probably safer, but I don't actually know what's in it. There could be high fructose corn syrup, or artificial flavors, or even carrots. Have you ever had carrot juice? It's disgusting. My parents didn't think that I would be able to taste it if they mixed it in with orange, but it was because their taste buds were dead. It took them like a dozen instances of me not leaving that glass half empty for the to figure it out. Oh, uh, anyway. Grape or fruit punch? Decisions, decisions....

If you're wondering what this is all actually about, earlier today, I saw a picture of William Shakespeare. Like, the one that is in every textbook in the world (I'm pretty sure that kids in Africa don't have food, but they have that picture), but something I never noticed before caught my eye. The man had an earring. It shook my world. All I could think of was that he might have lived a double-life as a pirate, which would totally explain nothing, but it would make me feel like I contributed to the conspiracy theory canon, and it's probably more plausible than the rumors that Abraham Lincoln was a vampire hunter, or that Will Smith has been around since 2004. Plus, I'll have contributed something to society. That's more than you can say, you trilobite, you.

Uh, I don't know if I feel better. I'll just show myself out.

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