21 June, 2008

Summer! Sea! Stupidity!

State of mind:
Current soundtrack: Playlist name - series - song title (artist)

I—buh. Ultramanland is INSANE. (taken from their official site)

★Shoowatch Stage★

Dates: 19/7 - 31/8
Time: 1230 (until 31/7), 1300 (whole of August), 1500 (13-15/8), 1330 (16, 17/8)

For the summer holidays, we're having a daily special show!
There's the cheerful presentation by the Ultra Warriors of 'Ultra Manzai'
The earnest battle of 'Ultra Kaijuu Pro Sumo'
Heroes fighting to a jaunty beat in 'Ultra Stomp'
A slightly different type of souvenir photo session, the 'Memorial Photo Battle'
And on top of all that, a fun stage show you can sing and dance to with the Ultras and aliens 'Ultra Feature Band'!
All this and more at the daily special show!!

Somehow, I THINK I see where some of the really cracky fanon characterisations come from. This seems like fun; I'd be crying with laughter over there at almost everything. Ultra Stomp sounds like great fun! And ZOMG, the band. Song, dance AND Ultraman? YES YES DO WANT. I probably expose my geekery (and fujoshidom) when I say that a stage show where the audience *sings* the hero back onto his feet would be for the win. Especially since if I were able to attend one, one loud female voice would rise above all others—and if it was one of the post-Heisei Ultras, the words might even be English. (Note that I never said 'melodious'. I've had several opinions on that the past few years.)

Anyone going to Kumamoto come summer? Want a translator? I will work very hard. :D;;;

But let us all remember; Ultraman isn't just manzai and songs and sumo; it is the glory of victory and the light of day; the bitterness of sorrow and the sharpness of defeat; the sweetness of belonging and the strength of connection. It's that and this and a little bit of that other stuff over there, and THAT'S UM. :3

There's also mention of some kind of Japanese Matsuri-ish thing, AND Ultra Bon Odori, but if I go on talking about those, my brain will explode out of my skull and go to Kumamoto itself.

10 June, 2008

Maybe because I feel like a nightingale

State of mind: uneasy
Current soundtrack: When You Say You Love Me (Josh Groban)

Today for no apparent reason I wish to point out/share one of Those Stories by Oscar Wilde. You probably know the type. Oscar Wilde has all these slightly poetic and sometimes religious short stories, which also oftentimes contain Enragingly Stupid People.

This one has a bonus—TWO ESPs! And I first found this on—of all places—ALC, which is where I currently go to do most of my JP-EN-JP translation.

The Nightingale And The Rose

"She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student; "but in all my garden there is no red rose."

From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.

"No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched."

"Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow."

"The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night," murmured the young Student, "and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break."

"Here indeed is the true lover," said the Nightingale. "What I sing of, he suffers - what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold."

"The musicians will sit in their gallery," said the young Student, "and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her"; and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.

"Why is he weeping?" asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.

"Why, indeed?" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.

"Why, indeed?" whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.

"He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale.

"For a red rose?" they cried; "how very ridiculous!" and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.

But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.

Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.

In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are white," it answered; "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are yellow," it answered; "as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year."

"One red rose is all I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?"

"There is away," answered the Tree; "but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you."

"Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid."

"If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine."

"Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?"

So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.

The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.

"Be happy," cried the Nightingale, "be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame- coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense."

The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.

But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.

"Sing me one last song," he whispered; "I shall feel very lonely when you are gone."

So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.

When she had finished her song the Student got up, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.

"She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove - "that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good." And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.

And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.

She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the top-most spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river - pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.

But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.

And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained white, for only a Nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.

And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.

And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.

But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.

Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.

"Look, look!" cried the Tree, "the rose is finished now"; but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.

And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.

"Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!" he cried; "here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name"; and he leaned down and plucked it.

Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's house with the rose in his hand.

The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.

"You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose," cried the Student. "Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you."

But the girl frowned.

"I am afraid it will not go with my dress," she answered; "and, besides, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers."

"Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful," said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.

"Ungrateful!" said the girl. "I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew has"; and she got up from her chair and went into the house.

"What I a silly thing Love is," said the Student as he walked away. "It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics."

So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.
[+/-] The Nightingale And The Rose

03 June, 2008

Just to say I am alive

State of mind: pleased
Current soundtrack: SKILL (JAM Project)

Rather a bit has happened in the past month. For one thing, I graduated, hopefully seeing the last of my batch pres for some time; I received confirmation that M.Y. + traditional Chinese costume = hotness; I cried as I watched Mebius in its entirety; two-three of my colleagues have headed out to do their own thing and follow their dreams; three classes now face the horror that is Grammartutor; work gets busier and busier; we had a barbeque at Joanne Kok's place the other day, which included swimming and alcohol; I need to do something about my flabby middle other than dance madly. :P

I am brilliantly, gloriously un-emo, thanks to good music, science fiction and thoughts of a certain race of silver giants. Thank you, son of Candela, son of Darwin—bless you, the sons and daughters of the shining grounds!

03 May, 2008

Very quick SULK.

State of mind: frus-case
Current soundtrack: quiet office-type noises

In Pyramid: Ultraman Max's Malaysian tour.

In office until 1 p.m. - M.Y.

Noooo I wanna gooooo I bet you I'm the only person in Malaysia who can sing the Max theeeeeeme I want to see the big cross-eyed lunkheaaaad GAAAAAAAA HALF-DAY LEAVE HALF-DAY LEAVE I WANNA GOOOOOOOO WANNA SQUISHGLOMP MAX AND XENON AND SING HAPPY UM SONGS~~~

*sob!*

*goes back to burning videos for great justice*

28 April, 2008

My emo and my e-moment

State of mind: relaxed
Current soundtrack: Playlist name - series - song title (artist)

Work was slightly awkward today. Bad day.

Went home and talked mom's ear off. Not so bad day.

Poked Alphonne awake and turned on some AAA full-blast. Emo level decreases. Rationality returns. Acceptable day.

Anticipation of a peanut-butter sandwich with milk and a cold pill before bed. Not too bad a day.

-

You know how there're the Befrienders and the Samaritans? I was just thinking—there should totally be a Dial-a-Buddha service.

"Dial-a-Buddha, Manjusri speaking. How may I help you?"
"AIYO, Wen Shu. Terrible lah, my day today. Why are people so sorhai one?"
"It is the way of the physical world, caller."

26 April, 2008

Pomp and Circumstance(s)

State of mind: gleeful
Current soundtrack: middleboss.Vince's iTunes turned up loud XD


Life has been quite good of late (except for that one blip last Saturday...), for the following reasons:
  1. I got Patapon. And played it. And went crazy over it. And played it through (in a little more than 40 hours, because I inSISTED on grinding for another Barsalapon before going out to fight the final boss. Review sometime.)
  2. I went to the 2008 Adobe Creative Leadership forum for two days, which was a good break from the office. I saw silly people and shiny presentations, drank some wine, danced a bit and received knowledge that Kali was going to stomp on my enemies for me. Gee, ma'am, thanks...
  3. A...nun blitzkrieged me the other day. Yes, I got shtupped by religion. Again. But for the first time in my life, I am wearing a rosary. OK, a fake rosary with plastic beads, but still. You can never have too many Kuan Yin talismans. Especially one with all the festival dates on the back...but still, where's my man Wenshu, yo? Protector of the rabbits and wisdom needs to represent D:
  4. I got a very nice call from a very nice dude offering a freelance job that seems right up my alley. :D
  5. Last but not least, I am finally graduating. Today. Yes, tonight. Yes, I'm in the office. No, none of the others involved are. I have no leave, and had plenty of stuff to finish. Shurrup. :P
So things are starting anew again, in the middle of the year. Here goes!

12 April, 2008

Fanfic Writers' Meme

State of mind: hungry

Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad. While you go out for dinner tonight, I shall stay home, eat chow fun and ramble about Ultraman to other fans! Good times.

And by the way, Sakon, noooo I don't hate you for this meme. So I'm ganking it. ♥ ^_^

How about a brief introduction?
Call me Ishmael. Oh, you mean ME. Hi. Call me M. I write stuff.

Fabulous! And what got you into fanfiction to begin with?
Powerpuff Girls and Ultraman. Not necessarily in that order. I used to write all these kiut kiut stories about what the six brothers did when they were younglings, and after that went on to writing OC Ultras...

I see. So what kind of fanfiction do you like to write?
Gen with some romance/action thrown in, and themes of mystery, sacrifice and acceptance. One day I WILL write that long, sprawling epic about the Emperan Occupation (it had to be an occupation, says the back of my brain, or Zoffy could never have fought in it) and or Zoffy and that sword-of-light, but eh.

Do you find writing easy? Hard? What are the aspects of writing you struggle most with?
I write a beginning, and sometimes I write the end...and the middle dangles tantalisingly out of reach. In place of that I get snips of conversation and descriptions that are beautiful, but perhaps don't quite fit the context.

Write a few sentences or so of your favorite pairing or character.

He is beautiful, in a way very few things are beautiful. Light made flesh, so different from our flesh made light; he is the midnight sky and the silvered moon and quiet, deep water all together. His awe at our lands is tempered with caution and backed with curiosity. He desires to know us. Perhaps he is the one, the 'hero descending from the heavens'. But we shall see.

Bonus points if you know who the narrator is and who's being referred to. XD

Are there any fanfiction clichés or trends you're sick of or just can't stand?
Feminine Ukes and Super Virile Sekuhara Semes. Let's not get any more specific, shall we?

Are you guilty of any fanfiction clichés you hate? Or any other ones?
Forgive me, authors, for I have sinned. I once wrote Mary-Sues, self-inserts and character bashing all in one fiction. I'd like to think my favourite OC has mellowed out of her uber-specialness, though.

What was the first fandom you wrote for, and do you still like/participate in it?
In two words, Ultraman. Yes. Whee!

Name your OTPs or most frequently written pairings/characters and explain what it is about them that you love to write.
Saiyuki; Gojyo/Houran, because I pray they will find their understanding. Yes yes, I know Houran is jailbait at the time of the movie. >_>;;; 585 because it's so easy to see the two ease into a dependable relationship.

Ultraman: Tiga/Dyna/Tiga, the brothers-in-arms. See them fighting in perfect tandem in the TD movie, and tell me they're perfect strangers. I'd like to think they once worked together, on the superancient Earth. Hikari/Mebius/Hikari, again for the brothers-in-arms thing and the progression of a stout friendship to a partnership on fairly equal footing. Noa/Zagi/Noa just to see them play off each other, yin and yang, light and dark. Only Zagi can destroy Noa can destroy Zagi. Anything else in the way would probably get smacked out of commision. XD

What would you call your writing style?
Long and descriptive. Evocative. XD

Do you read other people’s fanfic? If so, what do you find yourself reading the most?
Yes. I find myself looking for fics that break the extreme uke/seme dynamic.

Name one thing you'd LOVE to write, but have been too afraid or shy to do.
Full on sex scene.

Do you have trouble taking criticism? Or worse yet, do you have the dreaded bloated ego?
I think I do, sometimes, but it's part of the process of posting stuff online.

When you write, is there anything that helps? Music? Quiet room?
Music sometimes. And talking through it out loud.

What inspires you?
Writing, reading other people's stuff, random imagery that pops into your mind on a lunch break.

Lastly, how would you sum up your fanfiction experiences and yourself as a writer?
Sometimes it's fun. Sometimes it's painful. Sometimes it's desperately cathartic.

Tag some friends because they'll hate you for it.
Well, I'm not forcing them at gunpoint to do it! But anyway, it's free for the taking so spread the love/hate!
[+/-] Fanfic writers' meme

30 March, 2008

I laugh like a firehose.

State of mind:
Current soundtrack: Playlist name - series - song title (artist)

Sigh.

M.Y.: GAAAAH My Alphonne-chan is all DIRTEH!
Cleaning solution: *spritz spritz*
Cloth: *squeek squeek*
Al: *cleeeeeeaned*
M.Y.: Yay! Hallo Internetz, what do you have for me today?
Internetz: OH HAI. YUR FREN SANDPANTHER HAS PICTURES OF 8 KYOUDAI HOSTS TOGETHAR ROFFLE.
Picture: *is four different kinds of crack**
M.Y.: *SPORFLEDY*...hoship.
Al: ...D: *covered in sporfle and a single mysterious booger*
M.Y.: AAAAAUGH.

* Asuka looking like Aznil Nawawi in general; Daigo in a suit; Gamu's jeng boots; Goh's biker leathery getup

28 March, 2008

Get out of my dreams and into my, uh, laptop?

State of mind: drowsy
Current soundtrack: Ultraman Mebius - Ashita e no Hishou (Sahashi Toshihiko)

Tagged by Labucchi! Sort of...

List 10 fictional characters you wouldn't kick out of bed(in no particular order) and tag five people to do the same.

  1. Hikari - excuse please, but who do you think one attempts to dream of on Fridays?
  2. Mebius - far from kicking him out of bed, I would grab him and tickle him and hug him and wuv him...*flees enraged Mebifans*
  3. Dyna-shihan - although I might spend the rest of the night cowering at one corner of the bed in utter stupefaction.
  4. Tiga - who would be glomped tight and never let go. EVAR. *laughter from pits of hell*
  5. Sha Gojyo - yes, I would spend the rest of the night telling him to stop propositioning me, but I wouldn't kick him out of bed. I think. I'm pretty sure...
  6. Cho Hakkai - I...would not be able to resist. D:
  7. Kikuchiyo - he'd be like a hot-water bottle. A big, weird, metal hot-water bottle...
  8. Black Jack - mind you, he would probably get out of his own volition. And I don't want to ever be so sick such a situation is warranted...
  9. Katsushirou - see the entry pertaining to Mebius.
  10. Hikari - Again, it is FRIDAY. *sigh*
[+/-](Not *quite* SFW)
I'm tagging you, you, you, you, and oh yeah, you.

In other news, I turned 21 last week, I am full of misanthropic tendencies and someone shanghaied me into a ParaPara Paradise dance-off on Thursday. I would like to say I whipped that young snapper properly, but really, the best I could do was beat him by a few thousand points. *shrug*

25 March, 2008

Noa Reborn(?)

State of mind: agitated
Current soundtrack: white noise

I think I may have found Noa-tan.

One of the handphone people who shares shop space with Vision Art, behind TOA, has a sort of blocky laptop—Compaq, because the old logo sans really swooshy Q is on the back—with a black back and rounded corners. And one of the keys in the top row is missing. I haven't gotten close enough yet to verify that it's the U key (which I had to tape to Noa a few months before his disappearance), or if it really IS a Presario M2000.

If it looks like a duck, and sounds like a duck...but may not quite be your old duck...then what is one to do?

(ETA 1710 - You eat your face about it for a while, then go down and check, apparently. The key is missing from the wrong row, and the M2000 insignia isn't there. *sigh* False alarm, people. But honestly, I still hope Noa-tan IS out there, not broken to piecemeal for crystal meth, and...maybe at least being loved and taken care of, and once again storing founts of work, art and dodgy fanfiction?)