Monday, March 24, 2014
Friday, March 21, 2014
Review: Divergent Trilogy
THIS WHOLE SERIES SUCKS!
Okay, okay, maybe I'm being rude, mean, and inconsiderate of the time Veronica Roth put into her debut series. Regardless of the work she put in, which I wholeheartedly believe was mostly thrown away foolishly in her third book, these three books would have seriously benefited from a better editor, a second read through, and, to put it bluntly, a different author.
Why?
They successively got worse, and with each book my hatred of the main protagonist grew. And that's not a goal authors strive for, people.
I actually found myself cheering for Tris' (the main character) boyfriend, Tobias, more than I did her. She's impulsive, self-punishing, eagerly, unnecessarily sacrificial, and just a sobby hormonal angry mess. While she does have her good moments where she's relatable and likeable, specifically in Divergent, those moments grow fewer and more far between with each installation.
When I heard that movies were going to be made about this series, I cringed. Divergent will be a great movie. It's got action, humor, and romance, as well as a dystopian, based-off-a-book setting that's hot in the box office right now. However, Insurgent will not translate well into theaters, and Allegiant will, without a doubt cause many of the people who loved the first movie to throw popcorn at the screen and grumble at all of Tris' poor decisions.
That all said, I don't want to discourage any one from reading Divergent. It is a great book with many twists, turns, and surprises. Despite it's thickness its a relatively quick read that starts off slow; once it picks up, it goes a mile a minute. The end will have you on the edge of your seat, so to speak, and therefore I wouldn't even say no to reading Insurgent. Just be prepared for disappointment after disappointment. The ending of Insurgent seems to promise greatness, give reason as to why you sat through a mediocre book, but trust me.
Allegiant is not worth it. Period. Veronica Roth seriously spat on the world she carefully fabricated for her readers in Divergent and Allegiant and it's beyond disappointing. Even her writing is sub-par throughout the series, but while it is passable in the first two books because of decent plot and characterization, it is unacceptable by the third.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Finish This Story (Part 1)
The pressure of the ocean's depth stopped the propellers of our submarine and we floated, coerced by the gently forceful breaths of the deep blue. The further down we got, the more constant the warnings became, and a fear settled inside of me.
What if we never get out?
All eyes shifted to Emory, our captain, as he contemplated our next move. Waiting for the movements of the water to push us upward, which was his original plan, wasn't proving its promise. We glanced at each other with shifty eyes as we sank deeper, deeper, and light became lesser, lesser. Soon, the submarine's emergency lights flickered on, along with the limited oxygen supplier.
"Emory," Uriah said, fear strangling his voice. "I think we need to expedite this decision making process."
Emory's fingers unraveled from the steering wheel, one by one, until finally, with a breath he seemed to be holding for ages, he tilted toward us. "We've run out of gas," he said gravely. "I was hoping upon hope that, perhaps, we'd manage to float back up, but, alas..."
His eyes took on a faded, overcast gray film, and the air, already dripping away by the second, dropped. My three other crew mates exploded in a frenzy that brought the air back, heat a paradox against the frigid depths of the ocean we were being swallowed into. I, however, remained calm.
I stood up and parted the arguments being spat back and forth between Emory, Uriah, Emilie and Xander slurring curses at our leader, who kept us in the dark. I made my way to the small storage closet, mind set on finding what may potentially save us all.
My hand hooked onto the latch, and with a hiss, the door slid open.
The diving suits.
"I wonder," I murmured to myself, sifting through the racks of full body suits in search for the oxygen tanks and masks. Tucked in the back corner, there were more than enough to for each of us to have one, but my concern was mainly on how much oxygen we would have to use.
A safe swim to the top from this depth is already unlikely, but maybe, maybe, if we had enough time spared to us and the deep's most menacing creatures steered clear, we could do it.
We could get out.
"Captain," I called, pulling out one of the suits, "There's hope."
"Emory," Uriah said, fear strangling his voice. "I think we need to expedite this decision making process."
Emory's fingers unraveled from the steering wheel, one by one, until finally, with a breath he seemed to be holding for ages, he tilted toward us. "We've run out of gas," he said gravely. "I was hoping upon hope that, perhaps, we'd manage to float back up, but, alas..."
His eyes took on a faded, overcast gray film, and the air, already dripping away by the second, dropped. My three other crew mates exploded in a frenzy that brought the air back, heat a paradox against the frigid depths of the ocean we were being swallowed into. I, however, remained calm.
I stood up and parted the arguments being spat back and forth between Emory, Uriah, Emilie and Xander slurring curses at our leader, who kept us in the dark. I made my way to the small storage closet, mind set on finding what may potentially save us all.
My hand hooked onto the latch, and with a hiss, the door slid open.
The diving suits.
"I wonder," I murmured to myself, sifting through the racks of full body suits in search for the oxygen tanks and masks. Tucked in the back corner, there were more than enough to for each of us to have one, but my concern was mainly on how much oxygen we would have to use.
A safe swim to the top from this depth is already unlikely, but maybe, maybe, if we had enough time spared to us and the deep's most menacing creatures steered clear, we could do it.
We could get out.
"Captain," I called, pulling out one of the suits, "There's hope."
Alphabet Story
"Anna!"
Before I got to the top of this tree, I thought it was a good idea to climb it to its peak. Carelessly, I didn't think to bring anyone with me who could catch me if I fell, or got scared, or stuck, or anything similar to the predicament I'm in now. Diana is my only hope for a savior.
Each dumb idea I have seems to compile itself onto the other in a giant pile of suckfest.
Fear envelopes me when another breeze rips through the tree, shaking the leaves, and making the branch I'm holding onto for dear life quiver.
"Good God," helplessly, I whisper.
I look back down to the ground which seems to zoom further away from me with every second. Jesus Christ!
Keep your head up, Anna, don't look down. Looking down is a bad, bad, bad idea.
Maybe I should just make a living here, stuck on this branch. Newts do it. Of course, I could become a mutant newt human and magically become able to slither down the trunk of this tree. People may laugh at my slithery skin and webbed fingers once I get down, but...
Quit being dumb, Anna, I tell myself. Really, that idea is just another I can add onto the top of my suckfest pile.
Suddenly, a new sense of determination surges into me. Taking a huge breath and bracing myself, I slowly unhinge each of my fingers and sit up straight, my legs straddling my branch of life and death.
Underneath me, I see Diana running back and forth from her house, gathering pillows, blankets, and other soft things that I can land on.
Very carefully, I maneuver myself so that I am aimed for the blankets.
Whimpers escape my mouth at just the thought of missing, and fear comes back.
Xylophones are played from across the street by the Miller kids, and to me, it sounds like the Jeopardy tone, taunting me as I take too much time. You never know how close you are to death when it's this close to happening.
Zomg, I fell.
Before I got to the top of this tree, I thought it was a good idea to climb it to its peak. Carelessly, I didn't think to bring anyone with me who could catch me if I fell, or got scared, or stuck, or anything similar to the predicament I'm in now. Diana is my only hope for a savior.
Each dumb idea I have seems to compile itself onto the other in a giant pile of suckfest.
Fear envelopes me when another breeze rips through the tree, shaking the leaves, and making the branch I'm holding onto for dear life quiver.
"Good God," helplessly, I whisper.
I look back down to the ground which seems to zoom further away from me with every second. Jesus Christ!
Keep your head up, Anna, don't look down. Looking down is a bad, bad, bad idea.
Maybe I should just make a living here, stuck on this branch. Newts do it. Of course, I could become a mutant newt human and magically become able to slither down the trunk of this tree. People may laugh at my slithery skin and webbed fingers once I get down, but...
Quit being dumb, Anna, I tell myself. Really, that idea is just another I can add onto the top of my suckfest pile.
Suddenly, a new sense of determination surges into me. Taking a huge breath and bracing myself, I slowly unhinge each of my fingers and sit up straight, my legs straddling my branch of life and death.
Underneath me, I see Diana running back and forth from her house, gathering pillows, blankets, and other soft things that I can land on.
Very carefully, I maneuver myself so that I am aimed for the blankets.
Whimpers escape my mouth at just the thought of missing, and fear comes back.
Xylophones are played from across the street by the Miller kids, and to me, it sounds like the Jeopardy tone, taunting me as I take too much time. You never know how close you are to death when it's this close to happening.
Zomg, I fell.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Found Poem
These palms
Are not open
In our meaning we are not allowed
To present our science
It doesn’t go to the Queen
We color outside heart’s lines
Waste of education
These palms
Are not open
In honor we best men in tradition
She doesn’t ask me about why
Why is she fuller?
Located out of the performance of excellence
Thrive in the present
These palms
Are not Open
Exit your room of business
A vision for guidance
These palms
Open
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Rewind
Episode One
Okay, so, maybe I should've expected something to happen.
Anything, really.
Anything.
Like, of course, it wouldn't go completely unnoticed by everyone that I was playing games with the time space continuum.
Why on Earth would I not expect to be approached by two bulky white guys in black tuxes and impenetrable shades?
I guess it was ridiculous for me to not expect that.
Especially fresh out of the shower.
Okay, so, maybe I should've expected something to happen.
Anything, really.
Anything.
Like, of course, it wouldn't go completely unnoticed by everyone that I was playing games with the time space continuum.
Why on Earth would I not expect to be approached by two bulky white guys in black tuxes and impenetrable shades?
I guess it was ridiculous for me to not expect that.
Especially fresh out of the shower.
Episode Two
"Mr. Waters?"
Except, really, it wasn't a question. It was more of a bark. Like they knew that they were talking to a boy named Mr. Eli Waters in his bathroom while Mr. Eli Waters was abashedly draping an embarrassingly pink Emma Water's Barbie towel around puny hips that belonged to a Mr. Eli Waters.
Who, also, by the way, is me.
Elijah Waters, 17. White as chalk and your basic gangly boned, slopped haired garage band guitarist, product of Midwestern suburbia, and apparently in a crapload of trouble.
Mr. Big Imposing White Guy #1 flashed a badge in my face, and it reflected off the bright white lights of the bathroom, breaking through the steam of my super hot shower. Mr. Big Imposing White Guy #2 said, "You're coming with us. Bring the device with you."
Sitting in the back of a white van now, I guess I should've figured that lying about having what they referred to as The Jikan wasn't the best idea.
Todd, the strong jawed, blonde counterpart to Rod, the straight nosed redhead, ran the business down to me as soon as I started threatening to break my remote. Although they had it in some special box, I'd managed to convince them that I coded it with a self-destruct option that was activated by my voice.
Whatever my EBay find is, evidently, is quite important.
Important enough to drag me from my shower, coerce me into following orders of pausing and unpausing my family at the breakfast table, and getting me out of school.
"We are members of PRSTC. Preservation and Regulation of--"
I interrupt, droning, "The Space Time Continuum, yeah, yeah."
Todd frowns.
I grin. "Look, you and I both know that I have the power in this situation."
Despite the fact that I was borderline ambushed and most definitely kidnapped...
Todd turns forward again, leaving me to ponder how I will exit this speedily moving moving van without injuring myself. I'd also look quite crazy, since the Imposing White Men only gave me enough time to throw my underwear and robe on.
"Todd," I condescendingly say. "How about we strike a deal?"
Three seconds pass in relative silence, Todd and Rod both keeping their heads straight, looking at the road. I can't tell if they didn't hear me, if they're just ignoring me, or if they're really concentrated drivers.
But, the minute Rod takes his eye off the road, an explosion deafens his response.
Don't worry about me.
I got out just fine.
Somehow.
My vision is blacked out around the edges, though, and I'm propped up in some sort of chair. I manage to keep my panic at bay when I go to stand up and I'm jerked back down. Both my hands and my feet are strapped to the metallic seat.
"Elijah Waters," a voice I don't recognize says from a location I can't see.
A bright blue light flicks on above my head, but it doesn't illuminate any of the room. Just me. Just me in the clothes that I didn't put on this morning.
I mean, no offense to super heroes and ninjas, but I don't get the spandex fix.
Wearing it now, I do have to say it is quite itchy.
About fifteen minutes later, I hear a quiet noise that shakes me out of my nap. There wasn't much else to do in the dark tied to a chair.
Steps of heels are paired with little squares of light illuminating the tiles on the floor, one by one. As the woman gets closer, I see more and more of her figure. The lights all brighten the room bit by bit. She wears the same get-up as I do: a black and navy blue spandex jumpsuit that covers every inch of her except her face, hands, and feet. Her dark hair is slicked up into a tight ponytail, without a strand out of place, and, when she finally gets close enough, I see that her red lipstick complements her eyes very nicely.
She stands at about five foot six and is twenty something.
When she stops walking, the entire room is lit up, and I see that we are in some sort of high tech, spy-like garage. Rod and Todd's van is in charred shambles in the corner, and they are tied up by their hands, ankles, and midsection to two chairs set back to back. Tape covers their mouth. They seem to be unconscious.
Their chairs are wooden, nowhere near as fancy as mine.
"Thank you for providing us with The Jikan," the woman says. I open my mouth to respond to her, because, really, I didn't provide her or anyone else with any type of Jikan, but she raises a hand that shushes me. "I am Myra. Those two men are impostors. The PRSTC does not exist."
I blink.
Myra smiles at my ignorance. "Elijah, what you have is a piece of equipment that originally belonged to me and my team, Mirage. It was developed by an ex-member, Julian Sharpe--"
"What does any of this have to do with me?"
She looks down at her feet, then up at me. With a lick of her lips that does nothing to the bright red color, she pulls a thin white, plastic stick from her sleeve. She presses a button and with a ding, an image appears, little digital photons glittering in the light.
In the image, is me.
"You, Eli," Myra says, "are Julian Sharpe."
I interrupt, droning, "The Space Time Continuum, yeah, yeah."
Todd frowns.
I grin. "Look, you and I both know that I have the power in this situation."
Despite the fact that I was borderline ambushed and most definitely kidnapped...
Todd turns forward again, leaving me to ponder how I will exit this speedily moving moving van without injuring myself. I'd also look quite crazy, since the Imposing White Men only gave me enough time to throw my underwear and robe on.
"Todd," I condescendingly say. "How about we strike a deal?"
Three seconds pass in relative silence, Todd and Rod both keeping their heads straight, looking at the road. I can't tell if they didn't hear me, if they're just ignoring me, or if they're really concentrated drivers.
But, the minute Rod takes his eye off the road, an explosion deafens his response.
Don't worry about me.
I got out just fine.
Somehow.
My vision is blacked out around the edges, though, and I'm propped up in some sort of chair. I manage to keep my panic at bay when I go to stand up and I'm jerked back down. Both my hands and my feet are strapped to the metallic seat.
"Elijah Waters," a voice I don't recognize says from a location I can't see.
A bright blue light flicks on above my head, but it doesn't illuminate any of the room. Just me. Just me in the clothes that I didn't put on this morning.
I mean, no offense to super heroes and ninjas, but I don't get the spandex fix.
Wearing it now, I do have to say it is quite itchy.
About fifteen minutes later, I hear a quiet noise that shakes me out of my nap. There wasn't much else to do in the dark tied to a chair.
Steps of heels are paired with little squares of light illuminating the tiles on the floor, one by one. As the woman gets closer, I see more and more of her figure. The lights all brighten the room bit by bit. She wears the same get-up as I do: a black and navy blue spandex jumpsuit that covers every inch of her except her face, hands, and feet. Her dark hair is slicked up into a tight ponytail, without a strand out of place, and, when she finally gets close enough, I see that her red lipstick complements her eyes very nicely.
She stands at about five foot six and is twenty something.
When she stops walking, the entire room is lit up, and I see that we are in some sort of high tech, spy-like garage. Rod and Todd's van is in charred shambles in the corner, and they are tied up by their hands, ankles, and midsection to two chairs set back to back. Tape covers their mouth. They seem to be unconscious.
Their chairs are wooden, nowhere near as fancy as mine.
"Thank you for providing us with The Jikan," the woman says. I open my mouth to respond to her, because, really, I didn't provide her or anyone else with any type of Jikan, but she raises a hand that shushes me. "I am Myra. Those two men are impostors. The PRSTC does not exist."
I blink.
Myra smiles at my ignorance. "Elijah, what you have is a piece of equipment that originally belonged to me and my team, Mirage. It was developed by an ex-member, Julian Sharpe--"
"What does any of this have to do with me?"
She looks down at her feet, then up at me. With a lick of her lips that does nothing to the bright red color, she pulls a thin white, plastic stick from her sleeve. She presses a button and with a ding, an image appears, little digital photons glittering in the light.
In the image, is me.
"You, Eli," Myra says, "are Julian Sharpe."
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
The Science of Dreams
In honor of our "Dream" theme, I found two nifty little videos that kind of explain why and how we dream. The first o dips into whether or not it is possible to record dreams.
I think it's pretty cool. The dry erase board drawings are also SUPER cute.
This second video, also by ASAPScience, is about lucidity during dreaming. It teaches one how to go about achieving lucidity, and how everyone has the ability to lucid dream. Also quite interesting.
The YouTube channel answers common questions (like, which came first: the chicken or the egg, what's the likelihood of a zombie apocalypse, does giving birth or getting kicked in the balls hurt more, etc.) in a scientific way every week. I definitely recommend subscribing to anyone with a curiosity.
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