Thursday, May 31, 2012

The Man of a Hundred Quotes

Also known as G. K. Chesterton.

Best British genius ever.

“Fairy tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.” 

“Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.” 

“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.” 

“The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost.” 

“The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried.” 

“A good novel tells us the truth about its hero; but a bad novel tells us the truth about its author.” 

“Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again"; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.” 

“There is the great lesson of 'Beauty and the Beast,' that a thing must be loved before it is lovable.” 

“An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is an adventure wrongly considered.” 

“Drink because you are happy, but never because you are miserable.” 

“Do not be so open-minded that your brains fall out.” 

“Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly.” 

“Love is not blind; that is the last thing that it is. Love is bound; and the more it is bound the less it is blind.” 

“There are no rules of architecture for a castle in the clouds.” 

“If seeds in the black earth can turn into such beautiful roses, what might not the heart of man become in its long journey toward the stars?” 

“The most incredible thing about miracles is that they happen.” 

“If you happen to read fairy tales, you will observe that one idea runs from one end of them to the other--the idea that peace and happiness can only exist on some condition. This idea, which is the core of ethics, is the core of the nursery-tales.” 

“There are two ways of getting home; and one of them is to stay there.” 

“The man who kills a man kills a man.
The man who kills himself kills all men.
As far as he is concerned, he wipes out the world.” 

“I earnestly hope that all children will spoil this book by painting the illustrations. I wanted to do this myself but the publishers would not let me. But let the colours you lay on be violent, gorgeous, terrific colours, because my feelings are like that.”

“Anything worth doing is worth doing badly.” 

“Dear Sir: Regarding your article 'What's Wrong with the World?' I am. Yours truly,”
― G.K. Chesterton

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Papaya Art

My sister came home from college with the most fantastic notebook I've ever seen.

Thanks to my access to the internet and my holding of a job and my possessing of a debit card, I took the liberty of looking up the company, finding the site, and purchasing one of my own.

Unfortunately, I want just about everything on the site.

AND I found images of one of their store locations.


PAPAYA! Living

PAPAYA! Living

PAPAYA! Living

PAPAYA! Living

PAPAYA! Living

PAPAYA! Living

All of it. Yes. Please. 

Monday, May 28, 2012

Ponderings on a Disney Princess, Part 2*

I realized I never got around to continuing my series on Disney Princesses, so here we go!

First post: Snow White


Cinderella was released in 1950, which was a while after Snow White (1937). Cinderella's tale is probably the most iconic fairy tale of all time. It's the tragic, rags-to-riches tale of a beautiful girl who loses her father and is made a slave by her step-family. I probably watched this movie 5,000 times in the course of my childhood, and I still love it. However, as I got older, I grew rather annoyed with Cinderella. She's just so...PERFECT. She somehow gets everything she wants, and she's supposed to be miserable and underprivileged, right? Overall, the original fairy  has a better, more satisfying story...and, dare I say it? A more likable heroine.

Personality Rating:

Recalling our scale of 1-10 (one being 'I can't stand this grating female' and ten being 'I WISH I COULD BE HER!'), she gets a 4. Overall, she's neither her nor there for me personality-wise.

Interestingly, I was just discussing this with some girls. In a heroine, it's difficult to strike a balance between helpless and overly independent. Cinderella comes across as pretty helpless to me...what could she accomplish if not for the many birds, mice and dogs in her life? Not to mention her wish-granting Fairy Godmother...

Movie overall:

There is so much sentimentality childhood nostalgia for me in this movie, so I still love it. The plot is really good, because the 1950's was back when if you were animating a movie, you were gonna do it RIGHT. None of these plot holes, OH NO! Disney had class back then.

Supporting Characters:

ALMOST ALL OF THEM ARE ANIMALS. This irritates me. But, the human supporting characters are PHENOMENAL! From the step-sisters to the epic Duke who goes around with his lame little monocle, I love them all. My sisters and I still quote the scene where the King tries to kill him all the time, especially when we're making our mom mad.


I think there are two villains in Cinderella: The Wicked Stepmother and the Possessed Cat. Lucifer scares me out of my mind. Maybe that's where my deep-rooted cat trauma comes from. Huh. Anyway, we'll just stick with The Wicked Stepmother. Like the Queen in Snow White, Cinderella's stepmother is creepy and wicked. She is looking out for the interests of her own daughters, and sees the beautiful Cinderella as a threat to their success. She's the meanest thing to hit television, quite frankly. The scene where she endlessly lists Cinderella's 'chores' always made me what to hit her...if it weren't for that stupid cat cuddled up next to her, grinning like a demon. Yuck.


On my last post, I complained that Snow White's Prince had no name, but a commentor informed me he DOES indeed have a name; Ferdinand. So I won't proclaim Cinderella's prince to be nameless. I just don't know what his name IS.
That being said, Prince Charming disappoints me. He is so daring and romantic when he meets Cinderella at the ball, but when push comes to shove, it is NOT the prince who goes forth to find his fair maiden, but the Duke. Seriously? This is true love we're talking about here, pal. Did you need to sleep that badly? Or maybe a prince rushing off in the wee hours of the night to try shoes on random women simply isn't done. Oh well. On our prince scale On the scale of prince-ness (one being 'no comment' and ten being 'WHY CAN'T HE BE REAL SO I CAN MARRY HIM!?!?), he gets a 5. 

Best song:

Favorite line:

Grand Duke: "Now, Sire, remember...your blood pressure!!"

* This post and all similar posts may be classified as pointless ramblings. I feel very strongly about Disney Princesses in general, and as this is my blog, I would like to share those strong feelings. Feel free to ignore them, or even deign to agree with me.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

Forget Me

This was something I wrote a while ago, and edited recently for an online writing contest. It was originally part of a book about a knight who falls from a tree, and wakes up with no memory of himself or the world around him.

Pain, and dark, and that was all, for how long, he didn’t know. But that was all he knew.
Suddenly, more pain and lack of darkness jarred him out of his restless sleep. He tried to open his eyes, but they didn’t want to. One eye opened, but couldn’t see very well yet without its partner. The other eye felt stiff, like something was holding it shut. He reached up his hand and felt it. It was stuck shut somehow, but with a little rubbing with the back of his hand, he managed to open it. He shook his head, because his eyes still wouldn’t focus on anything.
Finally, the white and blurry began to soften, than sharpen, and he saw trees. He was in a forest. So I know trees, too. He concluded. And, I must know eyes and hands and how to use them.
He was sore, and his head began to ache terribly all of a sudden. The fog in his eyes may have cleared, but his mind was taking a moment.
Finally, the pain went away a little, and he got to his feet. I know feet, and legs, too…and ground. I know much more than pain and dark. He began to walk slowly, and found that he couldn’t walk very well if he thought about it. Maybe I haven’t always known walking. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to think about. Maybe. He sighed, covering his face with his hands, and looked around, but nothing changed. Trees and ground and trees. He shook his head again, wishing he knew where he was. And that made him think again, so he had to sit down against a tree and rest his mind a while.
I’m thirsty. He suddenly thought. How did he know that? I need water. Water. What was water? Did he know that? He must know it, somewhere in his mind, or he wouldn’t be able to know he needed it. Water was first. Thinking was second. He headed off in a random direction, hoping he would find water, and wondering what he knew. And how he knew it.
It got very dark, almost as dark as the dark he knew before, but somehow, he knew it was night, and he wasn’t afraid of it. He lay down in a soft, cool bed of grass, feeling safe and frightened at the same time. It took a while, but finally he fell into what he knew was sleep.
He woke up some time later as bright, morning light flooded over him from the east. He was even thirstier now, and began searching for water again. Soon, he left the trees that all looked the same and was met with a brilliant blue sky lined with cheerful white clouds, moving slowly along in the breeze. It was a long time later, when exhausted, thirsty, and starving, he found water; a river. He knelt down on the bank and lifted water to his lips in his hands again and again till his thirst was quenched.
Then he went on again. The more he walked, the more he was amazed at how much he knew. His mind slowly cleared, but somehow, he knew there were holes. Why had he been lying on the ground?
Suddenly, he remembered his trouble opening his left eye, and he felt it again, and the area around it. When he took his hand away, there was dried blood crumbled against his wrist. He swallowed, and slowly felt his way up his face until he reached his brow and winced. He didn’t know how deep or serious a gash it was, but that’s where the blood was from. It was bleeding a little, but he was still following the river, so he stopped once more and let the cold water soothe the mysterious wound.
He went on again, and found more and more he knew the longer he went on, thinking and walking and taking in everything around him. It was all new, and beautiful, like he’d never seen grass or wildflowers before, but he had to have, somehow, even if only in a dream, because right away he knew what they were. He rested by the river which seemed endlessly long, and looked about for food.  Hunger had made food something he remembered quite well, and hoped he’d be able to find some before it got dark again.  He found a small bush of berries that kept him from going completely hungry, but he still wished for more. Weary from hunger and confusion, he finally lay down to rest once more, hoping the morning would bring answers.
Another morning came, and he got to his feet and went on walking again, yet another day without food. He drank from the river which still led him onward. Soon he was miles and miles from the place he’d woken that first morning. The day grew hotter than the two days before, and soon he walked beneath the trees that lined the river to keep cool. The river was inviting, and occasionally he’d stop and splash some of the cool water over his head. He found a few more berry bushes and loaded his hands with them.
 He wished it would get dark and cool again, but he kept walking. Eventually, he concluded, he would come across something that would give him answers, and that was something worth moving towards.
Yet another night came and went, and he woke the same way he had the last two mornings, going to the river to drink and hoping more food would come his way. He walked and walked farther than he had the morning before, stopping fewer times and getting more and more confused.
He walked and walked, and gradually he forgot to even think about anything but walking. His thoughts repeated over and over. Where am I going? Where am I? Why do I know what I know? He grew frustrated with thought and walking, and began to run, because that, at least, would be something new. Running was a thought process in and of itself. He rested frequently but briefly. Resting meant time to think.
Finally, when sun was deep in the west, he came to what seemed like the end of the river. It spilled over a large cluster of rocks into a pool below and there it stopped and grew still. It flowed up onto the bank, slowly lapping on the bank.
Exhausted, he stumbled down the hill and dropped to his knees at the water’s edge to drink. That was when he saw something. He leapt back a little. “Ah!” he cried. And that made him stop, confused.
The noise. It had come from …him.
I have a voice, he suddenly thought. “I can speak,” he said aloud in wonder.
Then, he remembered what he’d seen, and he slowly peered over the water. There it was. He knew, somehow, it was a person. He frowned, and the person in the water frowned. He backed away a little, and so did it. Confused, he put his hand out to touch it, but it did the same.
He studied this thing. It had a face. It had eyes, a mouth, and a nose. It also had a fresh scar at the top of its forehead. It looked confused, just as he did, and whatever he did, it copied him.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The thing’s mouth moved and formed the exact same words, but it didn’t seem to make a sound. It blinked just as he did, and then it copied his puzzled, wondering face exactly. He slowly reached toward it, but it reached toward him. He pulled his hand away and tried again, but the same thing happened. Finally, he reached forward very suddenly and touched…water.
There was nothing there…but water. And the rippling image of a face.
Sudden realization made a chill run down his spine. “It’s me,” he said. “It’s me,”
And that wouldn’t have been such a bad thing to realize. It gave him an answer to what was carrying his thoughts and voice and feelings around. It was a new, amazing discovery.
What scared him, what made his heart start pounding, was that he didn’t know the face. It was indeed him, there was no doubt about that, but he didn’t know who it was. Who he was.
“I just don’t know.” he murmured. “This is who I am, and I have no idea who it is.”
The more he faced it head on, the more it hurt deep within his heart. Because he’d lost the one thing he hadn’t even known he had. Memory he was sure was missing; pieces to a puzzle of confusion; answers; his ability to think the mystery out; to discover.
All discoveries had come to an end, because this was it. This was what he’d been looking for, but it was exactly what was missing.
His identity.

The Technicolor Phase

I know I just posted an Owl City song, but I can't believe I'd never heard this one until last night.

And I am the blue in your back alley view

where the horizon and the rooftops meet...

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Five Things That Inspire Me





“There is the great lesson of 'Beauty and the Beast,' that a thing must be loved before it is lovable.” 



Source Credits

Sunday, May 20, 2012

A Nice Clean Fall

Almost all the episodes of The Dick Van Dyke show make me laugh, but this one makes me cry.

Saturday, May 19, 2012

Composition Qtr 4 Week 8 Essay, A New Fable

This was my FINAL ASSIGNMENT for school. I still have some algebra I'll probably have to do over the summer, but other then that, I AM FREE.

Enjoy ~

Clare Speltz
Composition Qtr 4 Week 8 Essay, A New Fable

Elliot, the Puny Hedgehog with the Tiny Voice

            Once in the forest of Lump, there were two hedgehogs that fell in love. They got married in an old tree stump, where they wanted to raise a family of at least twelve. But they only ever had one son; a very, very, very small hedgehog that they named Elliot. He had a voice so quiet, even when he shouted it came out like a whisper.
            “So puny!” Elliot’s father complained upon his birth. “What a pathetic little son we have!”
            “Nonsense!” Elliot’s mother cried. “He’s perfect. I love him dearly.”
            It was only the dearly love of Elliot’s mother that kept his father from throwing him out of the tree stump to live a life alone in the forest.
            As Elliot grew into an only slighter larger but still rather diminutive hedgehog, he knew his father thought him a total disappointment. And so, much of Elliot’s time was spent trying to impress his disappointed parent. Elliot was very smart, and mastered twelve languages before his first birthday, including Arabic. The thing he was best at was talking, but always in a very, very quiet voice.
            Alas, brains and quiet conversation are not what impress a hedgehog father. Physical feats of death-defying nature were what impressed a hedgehog father. Unfortunately, Elliot was not good at physical things. Even walking in a straight line was a challenge. He was clumsy, and found himself rolling down hills more often than not.
            “Puny, pathetic son.” Elliot’s father would grumble.
            “Perfect little Elliot,” Elliot’s mother would chime in. “I love him dearly.”
            Naturally, Elliot didn’t like to spend much time at home. So he would wonder off on his own a lot, which worried his mother and irritated his father. As he grew older, he went farther and farther into the forest. For this reason, he met a lot of creatures and become friends with many of them. He would tell hilarious jokes that made everyone from the fox to the falcon laugh ‘till they cried. No one minded that they all had to be completely silent to hear the punch line. Unfortunately, quiet little Elliot was also a bit of a gossip.
            “Did you hear the one about the Rabbits?” he’d asked a friend in a breathy whisper as he passed them on the way to the berry bushes. “They’re having another one. Honestly…aren’t the fifteen children enough for them?”
            “Good grief, Mr. Bullfrog is putting on so much weight! There won’t be room in the pond for the fish soon!”
            And even
            “Jumping juniper berries, wait ‘till you hear what the Blue Jay and the Mockingbird said about the Cardinal…”
            Obviously, all of this was none of Elliot’s business, and it was bound to get him into trouble someday. But in the meantime, Elliot’s very quietly whispered gossip seemed to make him very popular. He was soon in the loop with every creature in Lump, and even Elliot’s disappointed father had to admit his son might actually make something of himself someday.
            “He’s still puny, and I can barely hear him when he talks, but with so many friends, I guess he’s not that pathetic,”
            “Hm,” said Elliot’s mother worriedly. “My little Elliot is not so perfect anymore. But I still love him. Dearly.”
            One day, as he journeyed the farthest from home he ever had, he came to a river. Sitting beside the river was a strange creature; a creature unlike any Elliot had ever seen. It was bigger than he was, but most creatures were. It was relatively hairless, except on its head. It was sitting upright, making lovely noises come out of its throat. It dipped its legs into the water and ran its paws through its long, golden fur. It had large, blue eyes. Strangest of all, it wore some colorful cloth on its body.
            Elliot, being in the loop as he was, knew right off that this creature was a human, and a female one at that. Now, if Elliot were a tactful hedgehog, he would know that humans and hedgehogs ought not to mix. But Elliot was not tactful. It could be said that Elliot was entirely, ridiculously, pitiably tactless. This lack of tact was about to bite Elliot on the bottom, for within the course of five minutes, he fell completely and madly in love with the human.
            Flaunting his lack of tact for the entire world to see, Elliot strode right up to the human and introduced himself. It took him several tries, but finally, he shouted loudly enough that she heard him.
            “Hey there, Gorgeous! I’m Elliot Hedgehog, the most in-the-know hedgehog in Lump. And what might your name be, Little Lady?”
            The human looked down at Elliot and screamed hysterically. She also fell into the river.
            Elliot stood by unhelpfully as the human emerged from the river and peered down at him in terror, shying away from him and patting her heart.
            “A talking hedgehog!” she shrieked.
            “It’s a wonder to behold, isn't it?” Elliot said softly, grinning. “Now, what is your name, pretty thing?”
            “Um…Henrietta,” she replied. She slowly crouched down until she and Elliot were almost nose-to-nose, as his voice was hard to hear. “Wow. You really are a talking hedgehog!”

            “You know it!” Elliot said, winking. It takes a real flirt of a hedgehog to manage a wink. “May I just say you are the most gorgeous human I have ever laid eyes on?”
            Elliot, of course, did not mention she was the only human he’d ever laid eyes on.
            “Really?” Henrietta said, blushing. “Tell me, little Elliot…how is it that you can, even though very softly, speak English?”
            “Well, Angel-Face, it just so happens that I am really a prince, who was, tragically, turned into a diminutive, soft-voiced hedgehog, simply because I was so handsome and my voice so baritone.”
            If that isn’t a tactless thing for a hedgehog to say, I don’t know what it.
            “My goodness! You poor little thing!” She patted him on the shoulder, and then had to suck the blood off of her pricked fingers. “Ouch!”
            “It’s a shame, isn't it? Trust me, if I weren't trapped inside this horrendous little hedgehog body, you’d be kissing me right now!”
            “If I kiss you,” Henrietta said eagerly. “Will you turn back into a human?”

            “Alas, Baby, it’s not that simple,” Elliot said sadly. “The only thing that could grant me my human-hood back again would be a magical spell,”
            Henrietta thought for a moment. “Say…back in town, there’s this old witch. She’s turned animals into people before!”
            “Really?” Elliot asked, feigning surprise. Of course, Elliot, being so in-the-know, had already known about the witch back in town. He’d heard about her from a poor soul who had come to live in the forest after the same witch turned him into a mouse. 
            “I’ll go right away and ask her for a spell!” Henrietta cried. She gently picked Elliot up and kissed him on the snout. Elliot practically swooned in delight.

            “Promise me you’ll be here when I get back!” Henrietta cried.
            Elliot winked again and answered in a barely audible voice, “You got it, Doll-Face!”
            And so, Henrietta rushed off, and Elliot settled down by the river to wait for his destiny.
            After about an hour, Henrietta returned with a very old, very ugly old human. Elliot shuddered, and looked back at Henrietta to help his eyes recover.
            “Here he is!” Henrietta cried, kneeling down beside Elliot and gazing at him in total adoration. “Do you think you can help him, Witch Hazel?”
            Witch Hazel squinted down at Elliot appraisingly.

            Elliot grinned and even managed a wink at the ugly old human.
            “Well,” Witch Hazel said, rubbing her warty grin chin with her warty green fingers. “I could quite easily turn this puny hedgehog into a human. But such a transformation takes references. Tell me, Elliot Hedgehog, who are the three creatures here in the forest who know you the best?”
            Elliot thought fast. Who could he trust not to give up his ruse?
            “The Crow,” he said.
“What?” Witch Hazel grumbled. “Speak up!”
“The Crow!” Elliot shouted. “And the Tortoise! And…and…” He pondered and puzzled.
            Witch Hazel tapped her foot and Henrietta nodded eagerly.
            “Well…erm…I guess my moth—I mean, one of the other hedgehogs. Mrs. Hedgehog. She and her cranky husband took me in. Poor brainless creatures…they think I’m really they’re son,”
            Witch Hazel raised a scraggly black brow. “I see. Well, I will go and speak to these three creatures, and when I return, you will get just what you merit.”
            Witch Hazel went off through the forest, and easily found the Crow. He eating bugs in the field.
“Hello, Mr. Crow,” Witch Hazel said. “I was wondering what you could tell me about your good friend Elliot Hedgehog. I’m checking his references for a prestigious position in society,”
Crow cackled in glee. “Oh, the dirt I could tell you about Elliot! He’s lots of fun…we hang out all the time.”
“Oh?” Hazel said. “Doing what?”
“Oh, you know…playing jokes on other animals, finding out what everyone’s up to, sharing stories…it’s great fun! Elliot doesn’t know it, but he’s the best guy to gossip about. What with his itty bitty body and quiet little voice…and he’s always doing something stupid I can poke fun at,”
“My,” Hazel commented dryly. “You certainly are a model friend.”
“Hey, don’t mention it. Tell that knucklehead I said 'hi'. I haven’t seen him all day,”
“Hmph.” Hazel said, and headed off to find the Tortoise.
He was sunning himself at the pond.
            “Hello, Mr. Tortoise,” Witch Hazel said. 
            “Hello,” the Tortoise said cheerfully. “How can I help you this fine, sunny day.”

            “I’ve come to get some references for a creature here in the forest,” Witch Hazel said.
            “References?” the Tortoise asked. “Is someone applying for a job?”
            Witch Hazel grinned. “You might say that. I’m looking for a really quality creature; honest, loyal, humble and true,”
            “I’ll do my best to help you,” the Tortoise said. “Who is it?”
            “Elliot Hedgehog.”
            The Tortoise’s head shot into his shell, and he hissed angrily. “Idiot!”
            “Really?” Witch Hazel said, stroking her chin.
            “He calls me Slow Shell. Even when I’m standing right there, he talks in that tiny little voice of his and makes jokes about me. He thinks I don’t know, but I’ve heard from several other animals that he says I’m a stupid, useless creature!”
            Witch Hazel bent down and patted the Tortoise on the shell. “He’s wrong. Thank you very much for your time.” And the witch headed off to find Elliot's mother.
                        Elliot’s mother was ambling through the forest, looking about, hoping to find some clues as to where her son had disappeared to. Suddenly, she was approached by a human…the old witch from the village.
            “Hello, Mrs. Hedgehog,” Witch Hazel said. “I was wondering if you could spare a moment and tell me about your son, Elliot,”
            Elliot’s mother burst into tears. “I’m terribly sorry, Witch Hazel! I’ve always told him he shouldn't gossip, and he should never speak poorly about witches, but he thinks he can get away with anything if he says it quietly enough, and he’s just so tactless!”
            “What now?” Witch Hazel said. “What did he say about me?”
            “I don’t want to repeat such a dreadful story, Ma’am,” Elliot’s mother wept.
“I insist.” Witch Hazel said angrily.
Elliot’s mother coward. “All I know is that he talked to Ferdinand, that fellow you turned into a mouse for stealing. Than he came home and said…he said…”
“Go on,”
“He said you were a pushover!” Elliot’s mother sobbed. “He said he could trick you, because he was clever, and he’d love to get the chance to make a fool out of you!”
“Hm,” Witch Hazel said, stroking her chin. “I see.”
“Oh, please don’t hurt my son!” Elliot’s mother begged. “He’s a tactless, puny, pathetic hedgehog, but I love him! Dearly!”
“And your dearly love shall preserve him from the worst fate, but he cannot go unpunished,” Witch Hazel said.
Elliot’s mother nodded sadly. “Well…do what you must, than,”
And so, Witch Hazel returned to the river, where she found Henrietta feeding Elliot blueberries and fanning him with a leaf to keep him cool.
“Well, Elliot Hedgehog,” Witch Hazel said. “It’s fascinating what people have to say about you. It seems you are a horrific gossip, and a liar, too.”
Henrietta gasped. “What?”
            Elliot squirmed. “Oh, surely not…surely you've heard all kinds of nice things about me…right!? I’m the most popular creature in Lump!”

“It seems, Elliot,” Witch Hazel said. “That you use your quiet little voice and your tiny body to sneak about gossiping about everyone…including me. You also thought it could help you trick Henrietta into thinking you were a prince,”
Henrietta gasped, and threw her handful of blueberries at Elliot. They clunked him on the head.
“Hey, watch it!” Elliot snapped.
“You and I are through, you pernicious hedgehog!” Henrietta shrieked, and stomped away in an indignant huff.
Elliot watched the human of his dreams go, and then looked warily up at the witch.
“What are you going to do to me?” he whimpered in his teeny, tiny, quiet voice.
“Exactly what you deserve, Elliot. You’ve used your soft little tongue to run amuck. You’ve hurt the feelings of countless creatures here in the forest. You’ve claimed you could trick me into making you, you, so selfish and spoiled a hedgehog, into a human. You’ve broken your mother’s heart. From this day forth, when you speak, it will come out like a boom of thunder. Everyone in the entire forest will be able to hear every word you say. Every word, Elliot. Maybe that will teach you not to say things you don’t want everyone to hear.”
With that, the Witch vanished, and when Elliot grumbled, “Mean old hag…”
It came out in a mighty rumble, and everyone in the forest heard it.
And ever since, Elliot the Puny Hedgehog has been very, very, very careful what he says.

The End

Monday, May 14, 2012

A plethora of redheads

It seems the world is becoming rather obsessed with redheaded ladies.


Lucille Ball

Megan Follows as Anne Shirley, 1985 version of the movie Anne of Green Gables.


Scarlett Johansson as Black Widow from the new Avengers movie.

Reba McIntyre

Merida from the new Pixar movie, Brave

Julianne Moore

Emma Stone

Lindsay Lohan

Shirley Temple 1936

Shirley Temple 2006, still a redhead

And me, but I don't really count, because no one knows who I am and I'm not famous. Still, I do have red hair. 

Wasn't that A LOT of redheads?

I know they weren't all current, but chances are you knew who most or all of them were. 

I just find this very interesting. 

And apparently 'redhead extinction' is a hoax, so it's not like red hair won't be around in 50 years or so, which people thought for a while starting in 2005. 

Once upon a time, red hair was considered extremely undesirable...even ugly. See Anne of Green Gables.

I don't know exactly what the fascination is, but maybe it's just because red hair is DIFFERENT. In a world filled with a lot of variations of brunette and blonde, red hair stands out. 

And then there's also at least three redheaded men that come to my mind...

Conan O'Brien

Shaun White (a.k.a. The Flying Tomato)

Rupert Grint