Dear JoMaWriMo Readers,

As you may have come to gather recently, things are getting tight here on my end. Unfortunately, due to pressing issues over which I have no bodily control, I have to delay the pleasure of writing my blog for a few days. I'm being a very naughty boy, and really ought to be punished for being so naughty.

I know this means I'm failing the challenge I set myself, but disappointment is a part of life, and I swear, the last five entries (days 27-31) are gonna be amazing.
-Jonathan

PS: you can take this hiatus time to read all those posts you've been meaning to, but haven't yet!

For the Greater Good

            Specimen H4-09 woke up to his first day of life in a warm, sterile room, on a bed of woodchips alongside his many siblings, and exhausted mother. His nose prodded at a warm spot on his mother’s belly, and he promptly went to sleep. He awoke a few hours later to the feel of rubber. It was an unusual sensation, and stood in stark contrast to every sensation of warmth and softness to which H4-09 was accustomed, so he reacted in the only way his body could: he bit at the strange, foul-tasting tubes wrapped around him. He kicked as hard as he could, but the tubes had a firm grasp on him, so H4-09 was helpless to do anything as he moved into a new room. He was placed in a cage similar to the one containing his mother and siblings, alongside, on top of, and underneath dozens of similar cages. When his feet felt woodchips again, H9-04 scurried into the far back corner of the cage, and nestled himself as well as he could underneath the wooden camouflage. Still an infant, his scampering was entirely ineffective at keeping the rubber tubes away from him, but fortunately the giant creatures that manipulated the rubber tubes were already more interested in the inhabitants of the other cages. H9-04 fell asleep soon afterward.

A Personal Appeal from Jonathan

            Okay, folks, it’s time we got personal. I only have about an hour to write this blog post, and I have too many have-developed ideas to commit to one that I can successfully develop and crank out in the next hour and eighteen minutes. I may also throw in filler words as often as I can find places to put them (see what I’m doing?). At first I felt like this was a cop-out, and defied the challenge I set for myself three weeks ago. However, I thought about it for a second, and after some serious ego rationalization, I’ve decided this is a challenge in its own right: I usually spend at least two hours on a blog post, and I’m seriously lacking in the time department right now. How about I talk about my creative process for a while?

Ethics and Purity Reclaimed

            I can’t even begin to tell all of you how grateful I am for the opportunity to speak in front of this beautiful audience today. While I don’t usually attend speak publicly at political activist campaigns, I feel like this issue has persisted for too long, and deserves my utmost attention. Never again should a child be subjected to parents of two different races, or have to endure the pain and humiliation of being born a half-blood. My name is Cassandra Gedrarian – though most of you know me by name online name, Cassy Gregarious – and I am pro-pure marriage!

Well Wishes

            “If ever you need a friend, I’ll be there ‘til the end.” The card featured a childish animation of two stick people holding hands underneath a sunny blue sky, unidentifiable animals frolicking in the background. Norman smiled as he read the handwritten note underneath the message. Jen cared about him, and whether she would ever reciprocate his feelings for him or not, Norman was happy to have at least this sentiment. When he saw Anthony walk into the hallway, his smile shifted into a scowl. Norman threw the rest of his things into his personal space, slammed his locker shut, and shouldered Anthony aside as he marched to his next class.

Pastoral Poetry

            I led a fascinating life for the first eighteen years of my life. I grew up in a small rural town, miles from any major city, and helped out on my parents’ farm after school. Living so far out in the country, I was sent to private schools from kindergarten through high school, and was exposed to few other cultures. I tried to befriend the few students at my schools that would be considered ethnic minorities, but doing so led to disapproval from my peers. I sympathized for those students, but in the world of children and adolescents, fitting in is more important than living by principles. As a farm boy, I was subjected to a fair amount of teasing as well, but as people gradually came to see I had money, they backed off. I call those people Money, because it’s their defining feature. They like Money, Money makes them happy, and when they encounter things that are not, or defy, Money, they tend to either throw Money at it, or take their Money and run far away. In the fifth grade, I once declined an offer to go to recess with a girl because she looked unkempt and somewhat malsuited to her uniform. That was the closest I came to being Money, and when I saw a group of Money pull her hair at recess that day, I immediately apologized to the girl, and befriended her. We dated for a few years, but that wouldn’t come for a while longer in my education.

Crunch Time

            Julian started freaking out. It was 8:19 pm, and he had a group paper to finish by midnight. 2,000 words on a current political issue was his contribution to the group, and it was the last day of classes, so people were vomiting left, right, and directly behind him. Julian knew it was partially his fault. He had all day to finish the assignment, and there he sat, pulling his hair and clawing at his eyes and cheeks. He put into a fair amount of thought into it during the day, though! He read a newspaper that morning to get ideas, attempted to engage in some political discourse with a guy on the bus – he ended up being asleep, and homeless. He spent the rest of the day trying to keep other things off his mind – his girlfriend was getting clingy, his parents weren’t talking to him, and he got two failing papers back.

Gay Straight Alliances in Middle and High Schools: the positive effects of support systems for sexual minority youth

Today, I'm posting the paper I wrote for my Psychology of Sexualities class. It technically meets all my requirements (it's over 2,000 words, and it's going up before midnight), and if you want my references, leave a comment, so I can send you/post the articles!

Initiative P

            Beelzebub sat on his throne of adulterers – the sinners of the day – and let out a deep sigh. Was this really what he wanted to keep doing with the rest of his eternity? That coup he tried to pull seemed like only a few months ago, but he knew based on the rate of new souls arriving, a couple thousand years had to have passed since then. He grabbed a body from the upper portion of the throne’s back, and munched on the cheater’s leg as he thought about the concept of damnation. It seemed like a pretty arbitrary process. Beelzebub had no say as to who made it into Hell; he only got Gawd’s leftovers. There must be some sort of screening system. If the human was only kind of bad, didn’t that at least warrant them a second chance? Beelzebub chuckled the first time he heard someone ask if they could get their sentence lightened to purgatory. As if purgatory actually existed. The stories humans tell themselves to sleep better at night, seriously. No, Beelzebub sat on the red frowny face end of the spectrum, and the only other option was the blue smiley face way on the other end, with mortality smack dab in the middle.

Night In

            The motor in Sean’s car purred more and more quietly as it cooled off, leaving Sean with the difficult decision of sitting in the ever-cooling car, or braving the 20 second cautious jog to the front door. The door of the car creaked open, and the cold evening air rushed into the car. There was no turning back now. Sean felt his legs creak as well, and apologized to the car door after hearing it close much more violently than he anticipated. The air made everything feel more rigid. Individual blades of grass stood erect next to one another, threatening to shatter on impact, lodging their clorophyllic shrapnel into whatever shoe disturbed them. Sean was careful to tiptoe over the lawn: his shoes were leather, and exposing them to ice in this weather would stain them worse than the diluted tomato sauce stain on his shirt. He scanned the pavement leading to the door, and identified the patches of black ice he would have to avoid. Although they seemed innocent enough, the obsidian patches of sidewalk meant a dislodged kneecap and a twisted ankle. Sean shuddered as he imagined the tendons being ripped from muscle, and the sickly crunch of bone on bone.

True Romance

            By the third time I had read Penny Babcock’s Midnight Dawn, I knew I was in love. Not with her, of course! I’m talking about the book, obviously. I don’t like women like that. But I do like women! I have plenty of girl friends! I mean, they aren’t my girlfriends; they’re my friends who also happen to be girls. Oh, listen to me; I’m a mess. It’s just that whenever I talk about Babcock my heart starts pounding and I get all flushed and start thinking about how I’m going to meet the man of my dreams one day while in a coffee shop reading the same Babcock novel as him and our eyes will meet but not for too long and he’ll introduce himself and we’ll fall in love from first sight and spend the rest of our lives and eternity together! Her works are pure poetry. I don’t know where she gets her inspiration, unless she herself has been through all the romances and heartaches her characters have faced. I’ve had a handful of boyfriends myself, but none of them are nearly as magical as the stories I read. My last boyfriend, Doug Parker, turned out to be a real asshole in fact!

'Rithmetic

            Mariella decided that she wanted to count to two thousand. That day in school she had learned to count up to 100, and she felt that now her grasp on the number scale was strong enough for her to attempt a personal endeavour outside of school. Mariella had always enjoyed taking her education into her own hands when she found her regular lessons to be below her personal standards for academic achievement: for example, after her first day of kindergarten, Mariella rushed home to tell her mother all about her lessons, crafts, and how nicely the letters seemed to flow in alphabetical order. She demanded to see a dictionary, and while she was still unable to read words longer than two letters, she explained that by bedtime, she could easily have half the alphabet memorized. At the dinner table, Mariella was able to recite the entire alphabet up to W without the aid of the catchy jingle.

Strong Organization Skills a Must

            “I would like to raise a toast to Phil and Karen Everett, without whom any of tonight’s huge success would have been possible!” The fundraiser committee clapped enthusiastically as Karen and Phil raised their champagne flutes, eyes glistening tastefully as a sign of humility. The remainder of the charity organization clapped politely, eyes rolling at the dramatic display.

            “Really,” Clarence Peathorn mumbled in a hushed tone to his tablemates, “do they have to act so tacky? We all know how much time they spent planning this event, assuming they worked at least have as hard as they complained about how much they had to put together!” Clarence was bitter about not being re-elected to the fundraising committee for the current term, but his neighbours agreed wholeheartedly. The Everett’s had decided to head the charity ball a year prior in a clever move that allowed them to bypass the electoral process: as event coordinators, they would remain in their position until the next election after the termination of the event. Clarence had used a similar tactic two years ago, but the sudden power outage during his charity singles’ mixer left his leadership skills vulnerable to attack from the Everett couple. He knew they wanted his seat as chair of the committee, but was helpless to the overwhelming campaign they ran, using “a fresh approach” as their main image. Clarence was deemed a stagnant head of the committee, and received the boot in a near-unanimous vote.

The Oldest Profession

            Colin stepped out of the shower, and smiled at the fogged up mirror in front of him. Fog meant that Colin didn’t have to face himself for another day. Fog meant that Colin could have a slice of pizza that night and not feel like a disgusting pig. Fog meant that every bump and curve in the reflection could be blamed on a distorted view; this was not the real thing. He went to his room, put on his nicest suit, grabbed a briefcase that contained his lunch and a copy of a fag rag he had picked up last week, and headed out the door. Colin enjoyed carrying his personal items in a briefcase; he relished in tricking the world into thinking he was a respectable, upstanding citizen. Living in a large city meant putting appearances first, as 90% of Colin’s regular interactions with other people lasted fewer than two seconds. Appearances were easy,

The "y" is Silent

            Once upon a time, there was a boy named Kelly. Kelly did not choose his name, and for the first several years of his life, Kelly spent his nights lying in bed wondering what it would be like if only was Jack or Fred instead. When anyone laughed at his unorthodox nomenclature, Kelly filled with deep shame and resentment. Unfortunately, Kelly had no outlet to direct his sorrow and rage, no place to throw the blame: his parents died the night he was born in a tragic maternity ward shooting, and Kelly was left with only a birth certificate to his name and the blanket wrapped around him. Partly out of pity, but mostly because he was a blue-eyed, white baby, a loving family of normal-named people quickly adopted him. Ted and Sue Plain had difficulty conceiving, and already endured one painful miscarriage too many, so when they met the boy with the girly name, they knew they were in the presence of a kindred spirit.

Paint Shit, Make Money

            Red is the best flavour of candy I can think of. Cherry tastes like medicine, strawberry and raspberry taste like each other, but red flavour tastes like everything red ought to taste like. Red candy is like purple drink: it doesn’t have a real worlds fruit correlate; it just tastes fucking delicious. Unless it turns out to be cinnamon, the flavour of a red candy neither shocks nor disappoints you. It’s like buying a lottery ticket you know will win you triple the price of the original ticket.

            Why, then, is it so difficult to find a two-bedroom apartment in the West End for less than an arm and a leg? After hours of scouring newspapers, online listings, and three real estate offices, I have found nothing I would consider livable for any less than $2,500 a month. A month! Drive a few hours east to Chiliwack, and you can find a three-bedroom house and pay $2,500 for four months’ rent. I am appalled at the availability of affordable housing in this city, and frankly, I’ve had enough. I don’t want to be sold a “real fruit juice, not from concentrate, additive free” cherry-flavoured apartment. I want a red one! However, I should add that while red candies don’t do wonders for your teeth, at least they aren’t infested by rodents and surrounded by homeless people and young vagrants who enjoy having spitting contests to see who can land a loogie inside someone’s window. I came to this city to make a living for myself, maybe raise a family, but several forces at work are currently keeping me far away from this dream.

Scandal and Controversy

            “Jordan Smith was born on October fifth, after his mother spent a considerable, but unremarkable amount of time in labour. He grew up in a suburb of a major city, and attended a well-ranked elementary, middle, and high school. He wasn’t the most popular boy on the playground, but he had several close friends with whom he could spend lengths of time sharing activities and stories about what life is really like when you grow up. He participated in team sports, but never settled on one favorite, and dabbled in the arts, but never found himself particularly talented. He was accepted into an internationally recognized post-secondary institution, where he majored in History. He considered switching into Psychology, but decided against it, and settled on a minor in that concentration instead.

Breakin' Those Barriers

            Today, I think I need to break the fourth wall, and really level with you. For the past seven days, I’ve poured whatever my heart and soul could give into this video blog, and now I need something from you in return, my dear vlog-watching community. It isn’t much, but lately, I’ve been feeling disrespected by you all. Day and night, I toil for my art, but all you do is hate on me. You’ve called me every offensive name I’ve ever heard, and I learned a few new ones as well. And I am sick of it. From here on out, Jonny boy is in charge. I control the content of my videos, and if you don’t like them, then you don’t have to look. Go watch a makeup tutorial, or cats doing funny things in people’s clothes instead! Either way, you can take your negative energy, and keep it far away from me.

House at Sea

            Due to their incredibly patient natures, houses do not get lonely the way people do, even when left empty for long periods of time. When they live in a city or a neighbourhood with other houses, they always have plenty of company, and when they are on their own, they have plenty of scenery to take in. City houses and country houses do not disagree about who has got the best lifestyle, because they have never met to ponder their differences. Fancy houses do not look down on shacks, because for all they know, the world outside their shiny black gates looks just like what they see around. The one thing that can make a house sad is when it is torn down. They understand it is nothing personal; the owners do not hate them, they just want something fancier, or more minimalist. Regardless, being replaced on the site of their own grave is a hard truth many houses must come to accept, otherwise they start leaking, and have to deal with more plumbers than they care to.

Only Desserts

            She never could control her sweet tooth. When she was young, she would always give her mother’s sleeve an extra hard tug as they passed the patisseries of Paris. It’s not that she was especially weak when it came to baked goods, but the way the gateaus looked like a forest out of Candy Land always mesmerized Joanna. Even after her family moved back to the states, Joanna loved walking by bakeries, and smelling whatever had just been pulled out of the oven. As she grew up, she tried her own hand at baking, but was a complete failure. She followed recipes to the letter, yet for some reason her cookies burned, her soufflés fell, and her pudding curdled. By the time she finished school, Joanna had managed to ruin every recipe in her mother’s cookbook. Somewhere along the way, though, she found her true calling: event planning.

Decision Day

            Today is decision day. Everyone’s been up in arms over these ridiculous elections for the past month, and now that they’re finally here, everyone’s gone all diplomatic. Bullshit! No one wanted to be friends back when the platforms were submitted, so why are people suddenly wishing me “best of luck”? What does that expression even mean? Is the worst of luck bad luck, or just no good luck? And now everyone expects me to reciprocate and be nice in return. As. If. I spent hours working on those posters and campaign fliers, and the position of student body present belongs rightfully to me. I suppose I should discuss why my fellow candidates for this prestigious position don’t come close to holding the great honour and responsibility of being North Valley High’s Student Body President for the 2011-2012 Academic Year, and what makes me, Richard Pratt, the obvious choice to lead this school to victory, in the classroom and on the sports field.

Gazelle's Den

“Ladies and gentleman! Boys and girls! I present to you-“

“Are you a ringleader for the Barnum and Bailey Circus?”

“What? No! Let me get my opening speech out.”

“Why? You aren’t even talking to anyone? I’m sitting behind you.”

“I’m practicing.”

“Fine. Carry on then.”

“Thank you. Ahem. Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! I know you’ve seen many strange things in this world, but I guarantee tonight will be an eye-opening-“

“How do you know what I have and haven’t seen in this world?”

“I’m not talking to you.”

“Well I’m calling you out on your circus act! Why does it need such a fancy beginning?”

“It doesn’t. And it isn’t a circus act, it’s my presentation of the Loch Ness monster to the world, and I’m going for a certain impact. Can I continue?”

“…”

Let's Begin

            How do introductions sound? I’ve never much cared for them myself. I’ve always preferred jumping straight into the good stuff. “So, how do you know Andrew? I’ve slept with him a few times, have you? I think he’s terrible in bed, but he’s a sweet boy, and he means well. Don’t you agree?” I have never slept with a man named Andrew, but if I did know an Andrew that would conceivably sleep with me, this is how I would choose to open a conversation with a friend of his. Rather than facing a potentially uncomfortable moment spent figuring out what chit-chatty question to ask next, I prefer to take the offense. Keep the other on their toes. I always feel better when I’m in control of the dialogue, because I have trust issues. I’ll be frank; I may as well, if we plan on spending the next thirty days together.