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Whoa! How did I get here?

I forgot I even still had this journal.

Switching accounts for some reason

Hey everyone! I probably won't be updating this anymore (although it will still be here), so go friend platokasserman! While you're at it, you can look me up on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/plato.kasserman -- I have a Twitter and MySpace and all that, but haven't got around to updating them lately.

Oh yeah, and I know the layout isn't that great on that other journal, but I'll work on that later. Blegh!

Writer's Block: Talk to the animals

What would you do if your pet dog or cat suddenly started to talk to you, but nobody else could hear it? Would you assume you'd gone mad or simply be happy for the company? Would you try to convince your friends and family or would you be satisfied keeping it to yourself?

I'd be pretty annoyed since the cats wouldn't say anything particularly interesting. It'd just be "GIVE ME FOOD! NOW!" or "LET ME OUT!! OH, LET ME BACK IN!!!"

Bumble Bing

Caspian told me this story as his entry for a young storyteller/illustrator contest for a local TV station. I thought I'd share it with you too.

Bumble Bing

by Caspian, age 4, as told to his father

(Regarding his chosen title, Caspian has informed me that “Bumble Bing” is the name of the Tyrannosaurus rex.)

One time there was an old, old, old house and old-fashioned car, and dinosaurs ruled that place. And then people were in there and they said they gotta fight them. “Okay we all gonna fight them.” And all the dinosaurs said “Raaah! What? What? What?”

Then one time they were Easter egg hunting and there was a ghost. He had all the eggs in his mouth so he could protect them. There was a big, big Gouda—a Gouda is a type of dinosaur. They have those in Arcata. It had a big bad feeling. It swacked its big spiked tail.

There was an old, old, old house that was very old, then very old car, then very old flowers, very old, old garage, and very old furniture. And then what happened, their fence was very, very old. Their car crashed into their fence that was very, very old. Then a big, big witch came and turned the whole place into a tree house.

And so they said, “Hmm, the whole place is a tree house. I don't like that whole place as a tree house, that tree house place.” It turned everything in the house, their books and their toys and their shelves into part of the tree house. The witch did that because she thought it would be funny if she did that.

The people weren't inside. They were outside and they came back and saw that their house was a tree house. They had magic wands and they turned the witch into a rusty old house. They didn't live in the rusty old house. The old, old car lived in the rusty old house, not the people. The car was alive and the people lived in an old, old hedge. The Easter eggs were in the hedge; the ghost put them there. The witch stayed a rusty old house and the tree house got eaten up by a Tyrannosaurus rex. They took some food and brought a table and put the food on the table and brought some toys and books and bookshelf in the hedge.

The ghost then flapped his wings then landed on the ground and opened the door to the hedge and said “Hi. Do you have any accidents?”

“No, we're just thinking our bunny had an accident with our car. Our car ran over our bunny.”

“Oh, I can fix that,” said the ghost and then he took the people on a ride to the future.

Feb. 14th, 2010

I want to take my family and travel across the US in a vardo. It's been awhile since I did something crazier than putting off my homework and I think it could be fun if only I could find the safe trails to go on and have enough food on hand to keep us all alive and healthy. I'll bet someone would pay me to do it if I wrote up a good book proposal and kept an entertaining record of the journey. It sounds nice. Seeing the country; traveling at a horse's pace; sleeping under the stars in a nice warm vardo with a wood-burning stove to cook on. If only it were feasible in this day and age, then again the perceived unfeasibility of it is precisely what makes it so novel that I'll bet someone would want to publish a book about it and local media would want to tell the story. Yeah, I should probably just go to bed and study hard to be a good librarian.

This would just be a one-time journey, I think. I don't expect I'd want to live that way. Even real Travelers use motorcars these days, I should expect. I just think it'd be a nice break from the everday lifestyle of the modern world.

Twig Eater!

Caspian: I ate all my eggs. I was a twick (quick) eater.
Me: You were a twig eater.
Caspian: Dada, was an apatosaur? Because I ate twigs?

Poop car!

"Poop car! Dada I'm givin' her a joke! Somebody poops on a car. What will we do?! Turn on the engine and the poop will melt. Poop car!"

Oh lord, where did he get this sense of humor? I swear we don't encourage it.

Head Soup?

"Dada, sometimes when people die they go into a pot with some vegetables, because, because some witches, they like head soup."

-so quoth Caspian as I was trying to get him to sleep.

As a parent, how would you even respond to that? I know exactly where he got it from too. The public pool where he takes his swimming lessons is wedged right between a cemetery and a high school, so after his swim lesson I took him for a walk through the cemetery because it was a nice sunny day. He loved it and fed the crows some rice cake bits as we were leaving. Of course I had to explain to him that dead people were under the ground pretty much everywhere we were walking, which made me slightly uncomfortable wherever there were dips or mounds. So that's why dead people were on his mind, I guess. As for the witches and the head soup, well, at the public library where Kristen works there's a big glass wall that separates the young adult room from the check-out desk area. On that glass wall are painted murals and one of them is of a witch stirring a cauldron that contains a strange brew that has taken the shape of a green bubbling face that stairs up at the witch. When he saw it one night when we went there to listen to stories, Caspian said to me, "Dada, why is she making head soup?" I tried to explain to him that it was just magic soup that took on the shape of a face for the purpose of divination, but I guess the cannibalistic explanation he came up with himself was the one that stuck. Tonight I told him that witches don't eat head soup and that it was just a magic reflection like you'd see in a mirror or a shiny puddle. I really hope he doesn't have nightmares tonight. :/

Argh, Zinny can't sleep. I'll have to try doing a sleep spell.
By the way, I found out where I go when I wind my handle and disappear in the air. I asked Caspian and he says I go upstairs and then I fly out the neighbor's window and in through our window. That's how I get back, he says.

I magically disappeared

Caspian stirred in his sleep so I went in to check on him and he said "Dada? Dada?" and I said "Yes," but he didn't say anymore. He was asleep. Then just now he woke up and said "Dada!" so I went in to check on him and you know what he told me?

C: Dada, you magically disappeared.
Me: I'm sorry. I'm here now.
C: I saw you wind yourself. You winded your handle and disappeared in the air. I didn't know you could do that.
Me: (trying not to laugh) I'm sorry. I'll try not to do it again.

Of course then he asked to sleep in the big bed and I told him that he should try to sleep in his own bed, so he flopped back down, using his "Babaa Sheep" plush as a pillow, and fell right back to sleep. I should probably go check on him again so he doesn't think I'm some kind of clockwork magician who disappears all the time. He must have got the wind-up thing from thinking about his favorite flashlight that winds up, by the way. You know how dreams are. He thinks about me and a wind-up flashlight at the same time and suddenly he envisions a wind-up Dada. I was there one moment and left the room the next, plus I do use sleight-of-hand "magic" to make things "disappear" from time to time. I guess it's my own fault there. Sorry kid. :( Didn't mean to give you nightmares.