We're Going to Australia! (also, I suck at planning)

Did I say Australia? Yes, I did. Did I say videos? Yes, I did. Will either of these things make this post any more entertaining, readable, or even just tolerable? Probably not. After all, I'm still the one writing. But if I can just take the time to write these haphazard posts when I remember to then I'd like to think I am getting some use out of my English degree.

Though sometimes I think this might be a better option

What was I... right, we're going to Australia! I'm assuming your reaction is either "Wow, that's cool!" or "Wow, you're finally doing something cool!" unless you're one of my co-workers, then its probably "You're going to be gone for a week?! I'm not doing your work. Fuck you, Alan!" Don't worry, though, I've got it all planned out. And if you read the title you know that's a lie. Honestly, I plan to just leave a list of work on my desk and hope everyone can split it without burning the place down. Haha, yeah, that's what my parents would always say when they left my siblings and I alone. "Don't burn the house down," they'd say as they drive off. Such confidence my parents had in our survival skills.The saddest part is they still say it. All the time.
   Damn, distracted again. Okay, plans. I was talking about plans. Yep, three of us will be traveling to Australia. I assume everyone in the group has already made a list of things to do. I am hoping, if they have a chance to get away from their daily lives, to meet up with some of my old Plume IS dorm mates and do Australian stuff (like ride kangaroos, compare knives, and um...kangaroo boxing... I know nothing about Australian culture). Also, we will probably, hopefully, take a much needed (I am anticipating) day to all split up and wander off individually, because if you've ever spent a week straight with me, you're either family or else have been driven clinically insane (as the old saying goes, Not everyone whose clinically insane is family, but everyone in my family has been fitted for a straight jacket).
     Yep, one week Down Under (do people still call it that?). One week in a country stereotyped as the land where everything is actively trying to kill you. One week of trying to keep my sanity as I watch the toilet flush counter-clockwise (I promise a video if this is actually true). One week in a country whose main attractions, according to the Internet and my search preferences, are koalas, kangaroos, Drop Bear myths (a thank you to Jane for the link and for causing me to piss my pants when I thought they were real), that's-not-a-knife jokes, and stalking this girl (you will be mine)

It's gonna be great!
....Sadly, that's where all my contributions to the planning of this trip end. Because I suck at planning.
   Thinking back to all the trips I've been on, I tend to contribute as little as possible to the planning of trips. I know this is probably going to piss you guys off if you're reading this right now, but it's the truth. Luckily, no one ever reads this so my secret is still safe. It's not on purpose. Honestly, it's because the things that sound interesting and I suggest we do usually turn out to be quite horrible (more on that later). Besides, wandering around and even getting lost is sometimes the best part of traveling. But seriously, very little is given to the planning process by me. My contributions to the Seattle trip was giving everyone a ride to the airport and this dialogue (practically verbatim):
    Ben: "Hey, we're going to visit Allison in Seattle over spring break. Wanna come?"
    Me: "OK"
This is also the same conversation I had regarding the Kyoto trip planning:
    Terry: "Hey, wanna go to Kyoto?"
     Me: "OK"
I take that back, I did say that we should wander around Fushimi Inari shrine. Remember how I said that the things I plan turn out to be horrible? Yeah, but that turned out to be fun, right?

The stairs would never end. And there wasn't anything at the top. Yeah, Terry still won't let me live that bad idea down. Thanks again for planning out all the other sites to visit as well as booking the round trip bus ride and hostel rooms.
    Though, I'll also admit that my lack of planning does get me into trouble at times. Like apparently  the reason you hike Mt. Fuji in the summer is because doing it at any other time during the year will kill you, and not because it's hot and humid like the rest of Japan. And at the top of a mountain is ice so you should dress in your winter clothes... but I'm from Hawaii and winter is just a story you hear about in school... you know, until you actually experience cold

Honestly, I also avoid planning because nothing ever goes according to plan, not even partially. Everything usually goes awry right from the start and I don't even make it through phase one. But, luckily, I travel with people who are not only great planners, but they've got luck on their side, usually.


As a side note before I go, I would also like to acknowledge that my knowledge of Australia (and everywhere else, in fact) is severely limited by my lack of travel as well as my laziness to actually research into this place we call the Earth to the point that it is almost offensive and possibly inaccurate to say that I live on this planet. That being said, most of what I know about Australia comes from that one movie, you know, with the American in Australia.

No, not Crocodile Dundee. The other movie, with that one character with the European accent.

No, not Quigley Down Under, either. Wow, you are horrible at this. Come on, what was the name of that movie... it had the European one, the American one, and the Australian one... oh, and John Candy was in it... ah, I got it

Yeah, that's the one.

The Origin Story (and more writing junk)

So, a lot of you have been asking me where the name of the blog came from. That's not true. No one's been asking. No one ever asks... Anyways, I just needed a set up so I could spend time talking about where the name Funhouse Building comes from. I take that back, its half true as people have asked me about the sketchiness of the name alansfunhouse and why, when they visit, they can't seem to find any child pornography, as the name suggests. Well, to those people, I say you're just not looking hard enough.

huh, I swear I posted it there last week

Sadly, the worst part about that joke - I spent roughly two days trying to think up the perfect pedophile joke for you... and that was the best I could come up with. I know, you deserve better and I'll try to do better... but don't get your hopes up (besides, I've accepted that I'm not that funny, you should too).
     Back on topic. Funhouse Building. I stole it. Sort of. Yeah, I stole it. But before you go getting all high and mighty on me, remember this quote from Lionel Trilling: "Immature artists imitate. Mature artists steal." (yeah, I'll even take quotes from people to fit where I need them). Back when I was in college, I read John Barth's short story Lost in the Funhouse and the story stuck to me. Why? For the most part, its a story about writing, at least that's what I interpreted it as. The Funhouse being the story, the lovers wandering through it as the readers, and the narrator is the one who builds the funhouse. Also, through the narrator's ramblings, you get a first-hand glimpse at the difficulties of building a story and that related to me (the confusion, the writer's block, the characters not following the paths laid out for them, etc). And thus I titled this Funhouse Building.
     And now you're probably wondering why I'm only bothering to tell you all this now, especially since I started this blog a couple years ago already? Honestly, its because I finally joined the twenty-first century and started ordering crap from the internet. And my first purchase? Yeah, I'm sure you guessed

And yes, I bought a whole book just for one short story

I finally gave up looking for it at Barnes and Nobles (the last bookstore on Oahu). As I've already said, it was definitely one of the better reads I had during my time in college. Its too bad I never got a chance to scan the story before reselling the textbook back, especially since no one is willing to buyback the book once you've taken an X-acto knife to it.
     Anyways, that's where I got the name for the blog. But as everyone whose read comic books knows, it takes more than just a cool name to be a superhero. Not to say that having a cool name isn't important, just not enough to get you out there fighting crime. They need that initial motivating factor (usually a parental figure being killed in front of them). So, I think I started trying to write maybe either my freshman or sophomore year of college and when I got to Japan I found myself with more free time than I knew what to do with (I spent 12 hours a week in school with less homework than I've had since elementary school... I had some time to kill). So, with my new-found free time, I spent more time writing and coming up with ideas which I had hoped to use as starting points for new stories

to think, just 4 years ago these were all taped to my wall

     While visiting, Jacob suggested I should start a blog to write all of these... and I did. Yep, its as simple as that. And yes, I know that's a horrible picture of him since it doesn't even show his face but its all I've got. If you're curious, check out his blog as well as his experiences teaching English in Korea (both of which can be found on the side bar to the right under No Laughing Allowed and Nowhere Korea).
    And, if you've got the time, I figured I'd get out everything I had on the topic of writing all at once with more on my personal writing method (and as you can tell from my infrequent posts and unfinished stories, it's not a good method, nor is it a productive one and thus not one to be copied... by anyone). If you're not interested in anymore reading however, here's a video for you instead

Hope you enjoyed that little flashback video from four years ago. Sorry, I missed fireworks this year for Fourth of July and its just not the same without them, though I guess its good since now I don't have to wonder if this will be the year when my neighbors burn down my house (since I'm pretty sure these are the same people who were allegedly shooting guns in the air instead of fireworks this year).
    But back to what we were talking about... which was... writing. First off, as I'm sure I said before, I'm pretty incapable of writing on my laptop for a variety of reasons. Spending 8 hours a day at work in front of a computer is one of them. Also, with a basic lack of focus I tend to work on multiple stories at once so I would need a bunch of windows open when its so much easier to switch from packet of paper to packet of paper. What do I mean by "packet" you ask? You didn't.... well, I'll tell you anyway. With all the scratch paper we accumulate at work, I figure we shouldn't let it go to waste, so I steal it, staple about a dozen or so pages together and take it home to write on (it doesn't count as company theft if they were just going to throw it away, right?). Also, I tend to be a stickler with pens. As in I buy pens based on the way they write, how much pressure I need to apply to the paper for it to write, how smoothly it writes without skipping, if they have click-tops, etc. Its just as bad as when I used to write only with newly sharpened pencils. I still refuse to use the pens provided at work, meaning all the pens on my desk are my own.

So are all of these

And that's it for now. Also, if you were wondering how I got this post out so fast (you know, compared to the month I normally would take between posts) well, I've been trying to fight my minor motion sickness to start writing on the bus on my way to and from work rather than just sleeping all the time. Plus it stops me from leaning on people while I sleep, which I tend to do depending upon which seat I get, though to be honest I'll lean on people no matter what seat I'm in.

The Sovereignty (part 6)

     I propped Blaine up against the far wall of the break room then ran back to lock the door. "That's not going to work," he said, barely loud enough for me to hear across the room. Hell, it would've been quiet in a monastery. I took a seat at the single, round table in the center of the room and tried my best to slow my breathing. I knew the door wouldn't hold for long. We needed a way out. In the corner of the room was a mop and bucket, nothing that would stand up to that psychic armor. Materialized imagination. Complete bullshit. And no way for Blaine's mind-control to get to him with that helmet.
    "Why'd you come back?" Blaine wheezed with every syllable, confirming the broken ribs theory. But he still asked, knowing how much pain every word caused as he uttered them. One of his arms held his side as he spoke. His ceramic mask was cracked and parts of it had already fallen off so I could see his bruised and swelling cheek. There was blood on his shirt and coat though I couldn't tell where the blood was coming from.
    I looked at my left arm, still hanging at my side and throbbing with pain. "Because you're an asshole." I paused and shook my head. "Why do you think I came back." I stared at the floor. I really should've just ran away. Now I was stuck hiding in the break room with a half-assed supervillain and the cops would probably be charging me with aiding and abetting if I got the chance to get out of here without being killed by the possible sociopath that the League sent. All because of Blaine. Would a friend force you to break your own arm? Would a friend put you in a possible life or death situation? Would a friend rob a bank you work at without telling you to at least take the day off?
     Blaine reached up, slowly, and took off the mask. Underneath, his face looked a lot worse than I thought: a mass of swelling and bruising and bleeding. That Red Armor guy had turned his face into a Picasso painting.
     But he was smiling. That fucking asshole. Reluctantly, I smiled back.
     "Come on out, little piggy's." One knock. Two knocks. The third felt like it shattered my eardrums as the sound echoed throughout the room. The force of it shook the shoddy cabinets and even shifted the table a couple inches. Have you ever felt shock? That moment when everything stands still and your body and brain aren't even sure what to comprehend, can't seem to figure out what just happened? Because I think that 's how the door must've felt. Hell, from the sound alone, I thought the door was going to fall off its hinges. Instead, it just stood there, steady. For about two seconds. Then it exploded. Splinters spread like shrapnel across the room: lodging into the cupboards, the table, and three in my legs and roughly a dozen in my arms.
     There he was, standing where the door just was a couple seconds ago. A thin red line ran across his forehead and down the side of his face and his red coat was slightly singed and ruffled. Pretty good for just getting blasted across the bank lobby with a bolt of lightning. "So, you fuckers think that was funny, huh." He cracked his knuckles and started forward.
      I fell off the chair and crawled on my ass back to the wall where I had leaned Blaine. I was up against the wall now, literally, praying that I might be able to just slide into it and disappear - either into the wall or even through it. Last resort time, I thought as I saw the red gauntlet start to materialize around his fist and forearm. "I think we all know that you've got us beat so let's just call the cops in here and we'll surrender." Better jail than dead, after all.
     He let out a laugh and brought his right arm back. I looked over at Blaine. He was either pretending to be asleep or he was unconscious. "Actually, I don't think anyone's gonna mind if we have a little fun together first." The red knuckleduster formed, perfectly as before, and he swung.
     Even as I threw my hands in front of my face out of fear (as if that would protect me from something that could vaporize a door) I couldn't take my eyes off of the gleaming red, shinning bright and bathing the room in the same glow. And, as I stared, my eyes began to burn. No, not my eyes, but that area just behind your eyes. A searing pain, like a migraine on steroids, traveling, no blazing like an avalanche of fire across the rest of my skull, my brain. I tried to shut my eyes, thinking it would help, but I couldn't get them to close. No, looking back, I think I just didn't want to close them, not with his fist so close. And just as it approached my outstretched hands, it appeared.
      It was red, too. The same tone and tint, identical. It was small, square, about the size of a quarter. Yet I couldn't see any of this from the other side of my hands, but I could feel it, sense it, just on the other side of my palms. Another wave of pain scorched my skull and the red square grew, doubled, tripled. It continued until it was twice the size of my hand.
     Then the fist connected. And it stopped.
     The fist - covered in the epitome of what every gauntlet dreams of growing up to be from the time the iron is first poured until the blacksmith pounds in the final details, that same gauntlet imagined into reality by a Super who could create weapons from merely his psychic thoughts - collided with the red square -  a red tile stolen right out of a checkerboard or from the toy store's colorfully-patterned floor, manifested through some unknown, almost deus ex machina means, while a scalding wave of pain burned over my brain - and it stopped.
     I stared at the two red objects, the gauntlet and the tile, frozen in the air. The gauntlet didn't advance and the tile didn't give an inch. I exhaled a little, but didn't dare drop the hands in front of my face. Red Coat's eyes were wide. Psychic armor was notoriously hard to stop. Strength only played a small factor in its power, the rest coming from its user's mental will and desire.
      His eyes narrowed and he released a roar that made me cringe, a roar that I would hear in my nightmares for the next month. Obviously he was mentally focused on crushing me. He strained his fist forward and I watched tiny fissures crack into the tile.
     I screamed. Not a yell or a shout of surprise. No, I'm not proud of it, but there's definitely no use lying about what it was. And as my voice hit notes I thought I'd lost after puberty, the space in front of me erupted.
    No heat or fire, just pure, concussive force. Tears ripped through the plaster walls like a chainsaw through thread. The glass cabinets exploded, raining shards everywhere. Though the force of the blast should've been enough to fly me through the wall, most of the energy went into a psychic wave that curled me into a ball on the ground, withering in pain as a brush fire engulfed my mind. Imagine the throbbing, constant pain of the worst migraine you've ever had. Introduce him to a ladle-full of wasabi and that scorching sensation she delivers as she moves from your mouth, through your nose, and eventually up behind your eyes. Now supervillain-style meld the two beings into a single creature with all of their abilities and none of the weaknesses and bathe it in a vat of radioactive goo until its power level increases so far that the overdose of Tylenol would not only kill you but you'll be the only person in the afterlife still asking God if he's got an aspirin. So yeah, I screamed again. Don't judge me.
     In a minute, the pain eased up just enough that I could open my eyes to a squint. Red Coat was already on all fours, panting, but starting to rise to his feet. I tried to move and instead felt like I was going to puke. I heard grunting. I coughed, phlegmy. I heard the sound of boots scuffing the floor. I rolled on the floor trying to stand, like an eighteen-year-old at his first college binge trying to right himself, and something stabbed me in the thigh. By the time I finally got to a seated position against the wall again Red Coat already managed to get to his feet and was standing over me.
     "I don't know what the fuck just happened, but I'm gonna beat you til my head stops pounding." With one hand, he grabbed my chin and steadied my head. The other hand reared back. His eyes tightened and the thin line of blood from his nose darkened slightly as he concentrated on what I assumed was the last of his energy into his fist. The red light of his psychic helmet flickered and dulled slightly as he focused more on the gauntlet. A faint red glow enveloped his hand. Unrefined, it looked more like he had pulled his hand out of a big blob of red Jell-O. In my daze, I reached into my pocket to find the source of the stabbings. Inside I felt tiny pieces of glass and some sort of grainy powder, like sand but slightly finer. My vision blurred slightly as I started to lean. I remembered Blaine, still against the wall next to near me, probably waiting and waiting for an opening to use his mind control once his helmet faltered. Red Coat yanked me back upright before I hit the ground. The sudden jerk sent another stabbing pain in my leg and I smiled. His fist flew forward.
     I smiled wider. "Fuck you." I pulled my hand from my pocket and flung the mixture of glass and black pepper into his face. It was enough. His fist stopped and the glowing red light surrounding his hand and head disappeared as he let out a series of sneezes.
     My vision blurred again and I started to slide to the floor but I didn't care. I only wish that I had said something more clever than just Fuck you. I'll work on that later. "Now, get him Blaine!" I shouted. Just before I blacked out, I managed to turn just slightly and saw Blaine sitting on the floor against the wall. He was unconscious.



As promised, part 6 of The Sovereignty within the week. Sorry, its a little longer than I would normally like these parts to be but, as you read, there really wasn't a part that I felt comfortable stopping at and leaving the rest for part 7 (I'm still not sure if they actually count as chapters so I'm not going to call them that). Besides, this finishes all that I have written and actually planned for the story. It has a lot more potential (I think, anyways) but I'm not sure yet how to continue the story. I've got a couple directions to go, but I've also got other stories I'd rather be working on. I will also have another post hopefully within a week as well (as I promised last time, the new format calls for a, non-fiction-story post).