Thursday, November 5, 2009

Cleaning Brings Surprises

If you have been on this blog at all in the past couple weeks you may have noticed we currently have a show running called "Mrs Gruber's Ding Dong School". It's all about a teacher and kids and puppets and school and the like (if you need a more detailed description, look through the previously mentioned last 2 weeks of posts - and for that matter why haven't you been to this blog before. Shame on you).

Yesterday I did a thorough cleaning of my apartment storage area. I have a hard time throwing things away, which is sometimes a good thing. I have a hard time throwing things away because when I look at something my mind says "Maybe I will study Latin again, so these conjugated verb sheets could come in handy" or "What if I suddenly need to write an essay on Bertolt Brecht and my internet isn't working and all of the libraries have been exploded up. I would feel like a right fool for throwing out these notes from my Theater History 303 class" or "How could I ever throw this story away. I mean, I guarantee that some day I'll stumble across it and it will be the perfect fit for a blog entry which I'm sure will make sense once someone invents the blog and tells me what it is because I've been dragging this thing around with me well before the inernet was even being utilized by everyday people." Well that day has finally come.

I submit below my own, original, childhood story creation. Based on the heading at the top it was an assignment for English class, it is a story, it was created by me on November 3 1988, and my name is Geoff. I do remember the assignment. We basically had to come up with some kind of alien creature of our own imagination, draw it, and then write a story about it. This is potentially the first story I ever made up completely on my own and actually wrote down. It is at least the earliest one I ever remember writing down.

I hear a lot of arguments about how video game violence and video game sex and TV violence and TV sex and violence and sex in commercials and violence an sex on the bus and drugs and lead paint and home environment and your drunken father/mother/grandma/dog and the whole despicable world in general warps young minds and makes people into the adults they are. If that is the case then I must have been through a lot of warped stuff that I certainly don't remember because, as you can see from this story which I wrote when I was 10 years old, my comic timing and sensibilities have not really changed much in the last 21 years. Neither has my handwriting.

Looking at this story now it still makes me laugh, and it helps solidify my belief that while our environment and upbringing can shape us a bit we are pretty much who we will be our whole lives from birth, although I'm sure the fact that I got an "A" on the project only reinforced my creative style. I have included the original drawing and story below, but for those who don't have super vision I will type out the story here and now (keeping all original grammar in tact). One note - the capital L nose is actual a cursive L, but I don't know how to type a cursive L on this thing. Enjoy:

My Alien

My aliens name is Winz Wonz and he comes from the planet Wing Wong Wang. He has a red body. Winz Wonz has a capital L shapes nose + two black round eyes. It has two legs and two arms with three fingers. He has two little green ears. He has five foot long hair that stands up. Winz Wonz has a mouth that looks buildings conected with a capital V.

Winz Wonz comunacates throug his hair. He feels slimy and doesn't smell to good. Winz Wonz doesn't have any organs. When talks it sounds squeaky.

I was trick-or-treating when he rode infront of me in his space car. We talked and described our planets. We played games and had fun. He seemed friendly. But when he was about to leave he pulled out a gun and shot me in the head.


I remember someone, it was ether my teacher or my mother, asking why the alien shot me in the end and I replied to the effect of "Cause its funny".

I have on several occasions suggested to the other RvD writers that we end sketches or scenes with someone just pulling out a gun and shooting the other person on stage. I guess some things just never change.

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