He's a Secret Agent, 99!

Waluigi (from the Super Mario Bros. series) has always intrigued me. Not because he's a cool, interesting character even in the slightest, but because something about his appearance triggers a memory of the past. He seems awfully familiar even though he is a relatively new character to the video game world.

And then it hit me.

One day I was searching the net for a Strawberry Shortcake Atari game (don't ask why) when I came across a photo of the villain of the game: Purple Pie Man. And that was it. Purple Pie Man and Waluigi are the same person, which prompted me to come to the following conclusion: After years of unsuccessful assassination attempts on Strawberry Shortcake's life, Purple Pie Man retired from that scene and moved on to bigger fish-- the world of Super Mario Bros. Once there, he altered his appearance a bit (trading in his pink chef hat for a purple plumber's cap and his cooking apron for a pair of overalls) and took on the new task of becoming archrival to Luigi. His career is now once again safe, fore he has become quite [in]famous.


Notice the similarities: the creepy elongated face, the bowed legs, and the affinity for elf shoes and the color purple. Thanks to whoever made this nice visual display.

Homeward Bound, My Serenity!

I had a dream that my car came back.

*sigh*

I used to have a Saturn, the best car ever. It was small yet roomy, and it ran great. I named it Serenity after the movie. Earlier this year she was stolen from a mall parking lot. Why? I have no idea. She wasn't the newest or fanciest-looking car out there, and there wasn't anything of value inside except my tennis racket and parking pass. Seriously, who steals tennis rackets and/or parking passes? There must've been some other motive for the theft, perhaps gang initiation or a gift for the culprit's mother (this happened on Mother's Day after all). But alas, the police never found my Serenity, and I didn't really expect them to. She was probably gutted, torched, and pushed into a river by the end of the day.

And then last night amongst my dreams Serenity returned. It was only for a second, but how bitter-sweet it was. She came rolling up to me, her headlights flashing to signify that she was okay. "My car!" I gasped, and I reached out to her, only to have the dream shift away to something else.

The Glass of Half-Full of Fish

Oh my, so I had yet antoher fish dream last night. This one's very short, though, and I don't remember much.

I was over the kitchen sink holding a glass of water, in which was swimming a little brown fish. For some reason the water needed to be changed, so the fish ended up in the sink flailing around while I bumbled around with the cup and water. Now the sink was filled with water, too, so the fish wasn't exactly drowning while I was changing the glass-water, so it should've had no reason to die. Eventually I finish changing the water and plop the fish back in and it floats to the top, dead.

I really ought to read up on dream analysis and/or find a psychiatrist to help uncover the meaning(s) of my fishy dreams.

Deep-Fried Fish with a Side of Rice

I've been having frequent fish dreams as of the past year or so, but I'm not sure why. In every fish dream I'm always running around and saving fish who have either jumped out of their tanks/bowls or who have purposely been removed by another person. And usually I am either successful in saving them or the dream ends up somewhere else and I no longer have to worry about the fish. However, in a more recent fish dream, for some reason I put a fish in my mouth to transport it back to its bowl and I accidently chewed it up. Eeeew. e_e

My latest fish dream, though, was even more extreme: There was some huge gathering of students in a gym (I'm assuming it was like a potluck or something because there were dishes and pots and food everywhere). My older brother had just gotten some more goldfish and brought them in, and they were doing the usual jumping out of their bowl trying to kill themselves, so I was busy picking them up and such. And it was weird-- I wasn't scared at all of touching them or handling them (which I'm sure I would be in real life). Somehow I ended up over by the food eating and passing the time. Eventually the place emptied out and I stayed behind to help clean up, and I went over to this little crockpot/fryer thing and my brother's fish were in there, dead, laying nicely on a bed of rice. I started crying and told the adults that somebody had murdered the fish, but they didn't seem interested. Sometime later I ended up at another dish and there were more goldfish fried up, except there was one still flailing around as it was being cooked. It's eye was large and silver, and as it wriggled about, it somehow conveyed to me, "save me." I reached in to try and save it but the lid came down and somewhat melted my hands, so all I could do was watch the goldfish die.

How horrible and sad. My dreams have gone from successful no-fish casualties, to one-fish casualty, to now a mass murder. But as to why I am having these dreams is beyond me. My brother did actually have goldfish a long time ago, and they did jump out of their bowl and commit suicide, but I didn't really care too much about it. Perhaps, though, I was traumatized subconsciously, and these dreams are the manifestations of my repressed fears. Or, from a Jungian perspective, the fish may represent some sort of human archetype, though which one I'm not sure.

Arty's Paradox

So there I am on the sidewalk in Seattle, cold, hungry, and becoming evermore cloudy-minded as I look at the photo of a child pasted onto the cover of a man's portfolio. That child's face had guilt written all over it, so I turned my attention to the man. He was off on an art school tangent, something about being in zombie movies and how it's not all that bad to wash fake blood out of clothes. And this, as we all know, is really code for "your money donation can help save the lives of children overseas just like the one you see here on my portfolio!" I looked down the sidewalk.

My friends had already left me and were now on the other side of the street, entering one of the costume stores we had planned to go to. Great. "Don't leave me!" I yelled to them, but it was too late. They waved to me and smiled as they entered the store, leaving me to my doom.

What was I to do now? Being the incredibly nice person that I am, I couldn't just tell this man to shove it and let me be (although I wish I did). So I offer to donate a wad of cash and be on my way, but apparently this offer wasn't selfless enough. I had to fill out some sort of papers and become contractually obligated to keep donating money in the future, else my soul will be guilt-ridden for eternity. I'd be totally up for it if I weren't, lets say, a starving college student!

I was growing weary of this man's long-winded banter, and was ready to just walk away when the man's "buddy" came slinking up and hi-fived me. Then he began to give me that old guilt story of how I should be grateful for everything I've got and why not share it with less-fortunate people. And all this time I'm thinking, "what about all the problems we've got in our own country, in our own state, in our own cities?" It's nice to be concerned about the whole world, but I think it's just a bit backwards to "fix" the rest of the world while we've got poor, homeless, diseased people right here that are being overlooked. And anyways, the contract was pricey (for a college student): $20/month for ever. And I had to sign it right there on the sidewalk, couldn't go home and talk to my parents about it or anything. That's intense.

But this second man continued his stories, oblivious that I was losing interest. And here's what really got to me: he mentioned that signing up to give money was cool, that I could brag to all my friends about it. In other words, me donating wouldn't really be out of genuine concern for others, but rather out of selfish egoism so I can feel good about myself. So lets see, that means if I don't sign up I'll be a greedy bastard, and if I do sign up I'll be a greedy bastard.

I considered these two options carefully while the second man continued to babble on. It was decided then: I was cold and hungry and didn't want to be left alone in Seattle. "Sorry, I'm really a cold, calloused person," I finally had to tell the two men. Geez, how blunt do people need to get with them? It must've been pretty blunt though, because the second man became huffy and said he'd go find somebody that cared. And then he left. And I was standing there in a daze, wondering what had just happened.