runawaykite

number three

Today's spam literature was just a little bit too large to cope with. It goes for an entire page of uninterrupted idiocy.

An extract:

for creating often is sacrificed parents and three mornings relate to others and
Social pressures "true toys"

videos or older children her kids a lack of playtime huge variety of help them excel. instead allowing Numerous studies
successful children. Above all, academy committees for weekly, plus T-ball he not be on par weekly, plus T-ball

Yeah. Me too. The rest can be found here.

I don't know what it's trying to sell me, but it has an attachment that I refuse to click on.

So, I think you'd agree that this is an enormous chunk of text. So today's challenge is to write something with two characters and a lot of dialogue. The first character can say whatever they want, while the second can only speak in the exact words of the spam, in the exact order these words appear in the spam. It must seem (at least mostly) logical, and I needn't use up all of the words if I complete the story. And I reserve the right to add punctuation where I see fit.

Result

I waited for Lisa to come back with our coffees, then I announced it.

 “My dad’s making me have lunch with his new wife tomorrow,” she gave me a sympathetic look.  "I hope he appreciates what a good daughter I am.”

Lisa nodded, “for creating often is sacrificed.”

“For family it is.”

“parents.”

“He doesn’t know how much work I have to do.”

“…and three mornings...”

“I know-I know,” I said. “My folio’s due in a few days.”

She bit into her cake, and mumbled through a mouthful.

“relate.”

I gave her a look, “Oh, I doubt you can. You seem pretty free.”

She sneered, “to others.”

“To me,” I shrugged. ‘What are you doing? Re-reading Harry Potter?”

 “…and…”

She waited for me to say something. I just looked at her and then my brain clicked into place.

“Shit. You’re engaged….the wedding’s soon, isn’t it?” I tried not to look guilty. “Sorry. I just can’t believe you of all people. It’s strange.”

“Social pressures.”

“Yeah, but you love him right?”

I watched her drink her coffee slowly. She didn’t reply.

“So,” I said. “What do you want for a wedding present?”

She paused and looked around nervously.

"true toys"

“What?”

She waved her hand in the air, dismissing me.

“No, I really want to know. That isn’t what I think it is?”

She shook her head, “videos.”

“Videos? Like, porn?”

She snorted, “or…”

 “Ok,” I grinned. “Not porn. Not kids toys?”

“older children.”

I gave her a look, “Ok, why do you want kids toys for a wedding present?”

She rolled her eyes, “her kids…a lack of playtime…”

I leant back in my chair, “Jesus, Lisa. You can’t let him use the wedding to buy those kids presents.”

She stared at her plate.

“I mean shouldn’t his ex…?”

She glared at me.

“Are you guys having problems?” I asked.

She sighed, “huge variety of.”

I just looked at her, “I can’t believe you’re still marrying him.”

She shrugged, “help them excel….” She paused. “Instead…”

“So they get everything, what do you get for allowing this?”

She narrowed her eyes, “allowing.”

“Like it’s not a choice.”

She waved her hands in the air, “Numerous studies.”

“I don’t care about the studies, Lisa.”

“Successful children…”

“You’re not listening to me.”

She crossed her arms, and I knew she’d won.

“Ok, fine. So you’re getting married,” I gave her a look, just to be safe. “And you’re sure you love him?”

She didn’t flinch, “Above all.”

number two

I love how my spam is trying to tell me a story. Spammers are misunderstood artists, really.

Let's look at the latest delivery. The email begins with this:

wants the boy child to grow up, sees him as young and dependent

Then it says something about cheap viagra, and gives me a link. Yeah, no thanks. It finishes with this:

his finger was tight on the trigger! But with each step I felt the air

Who knows where the spam artists stole this text from? The grammar isn't even woeful. My challenge? It is to transform this into a schlocky five-minute mystery. The first bolded text is to appear towards the beginning, and the latter toward the end.

Result:

She wants the boy child to grow up, sees him as young and dependent. You can tell from the way she walks ahead of him, never looking back. Never stopping.

I don’t notice him on purpose, but he’s at the station every morning. Taking his coffee with three sugars. Checking his phone. Waiting for that girl. She’s probably his sister, but I can’t see much of a resemblance. She’s not the type that would be a mother.

He orders the coffee from me, but never catches a train. He’s too young to drink coffee like that. He can’t be more than eleven? Twelve? I can’t tell. Boys look too much like girls these days, especially with the way he dresses. When she arrives they go back down the platform, headed to god knows where.

Sometimes she’s early. She strolls up in that suit of hers, when I’m handing him the paper cup.

‘Two-seventy.’

‘Only have two-fifty,’ he says.

She just starts walking and he hands me what he has in a rush, mumbling an apology.

I was at the station late one night, too late for buses. Must have been just past eleven-thirty. My taxi was slow to come and there was nowhere warm to sit. So I kind of paced around, keeping an eye on the time. And then I noticed him, standing round the corner. I squinted to make sure and then I stopped moving. The girl was there, her back to the wall.

His finger was tight on the trigger! But with each step I felt the air; I felt my legs shake. 

‘You don’t even care if they’re clean!’ He yelled. 'You don't even care.'

She said she cared. She cared.

‘I can’t do this!’

She said she wouldn't let him get hurt, it was her job, wasn't it? He was yelling, crying a little. She took the gun off him and kissed him like a mother; his body became slack in her arms.

I backtracked slowly to my taxi, and never looked out the window.

LJ is back. Hopefully for good.

Sorry Vox, I just don't like you. You're that kid in school who buys a skateboard so he can look cool, but can't actually ride it.

I'm not going anywhere far away, but I just want you to know I've got my eye on you. Not in a good way. You're on my list. When and if I become more devoted to posting vids and pictures, we'll probably be friends. But while easy commenting and lj-cuts are on my wishlist, you'll just be tripping off your skateboard to me. Splat.

There always seems to be some fake narrative pasted around spam these days. I've decided to do a writing exercise with today's delivery.

First, let's take a look at it:

Street, where he spent the first ten years of his life, was a lovelybanking-houses, he had come to be familiar with and favorably known inrains; and the sidewalks were of red brick, and always damp and cool. In

From then on it goes to describe a job I absolutely need to apply to. FlowerLand International is looking for energetic
candidate. The company: FlowerLand International is an American trading corporation.

Blah blah blah. Boring, so let's ignore that. At the end of the pseudo job ad is this finishing sentence fragment: brokers knew him as representing a very sound organization, and while he

My challenge, if I chose to accept it, is to transform this into something that isn't entirely incoherent. The first bolded content must start the piece, while the above must appear somewhere towards the end.

Result:

Street, where he spent the first ten years of his life, was a lovelybanking-houses, he had come to be familiar with and favorably known inrains; and the sidewalks were of red brick, and always damp and cool. Inrains are small creatures with red fur. The red bricks were their natural habitat, due to the fact that it easily camouflaged them. Street had often stepped on them without meaning to.

Not many people live in lovelybanking-houses. This is mainly because it’s illegal to do so, but also because they aren’t lovely to outsiders. Banks are only lovely if you sleep in them. Few people consider this an option. Street was never bothered by the fact that security cameras recorded his every move. He spent his nights in the office chair of someone with two kids and crooked teeth. When the lovelybankers unlocked the lovelybanking-house in the morning, Street hid under the desk.

The desk had belonged to many lovelybankers over time, but it had always belonged to Street. He was left under it as a baby, when his mother’s application for a loan was rejected. She started crying uncontrollably and the lovelybanker, being lovely, ejected her onto the redbrick pavement and called security. Street had been there ever since. At night, the inrains crawled about the carpet, and kept him warm.

His daytime hours were spent outside, in the food court next door, where he’d steal carcinogenic fast food from wailing children. Street never cried.

The lovelybank tolerated his presence. It was an enormous embarrassment for them that they’d inadvertently adopted a child. To cover themselves from legal troubles, the lovelybankers gave him the official title of ‘Youth demographic research subject’, and registered him as a clothing brand. Most brokers knew him as representing a very sound organization, and while he never really did anything except eat and sleep, it always looked good on paper.

I suppose I'll update this thing in place of my LJ. Bitterly? Maybe, but I feel like writing, and I can't do the research for the article I planned to work on tonight, because of LJ being a big, dead HTTP- 500 INTERNAL SERVER ERROR.

I'm writing an article about online rating communities. There's quite a few of these on LJ, and I've secured a few interviews already. If you've had any experiences with them (good or bad) I'd love to hear from you. But I'm not going to write about that. Unless someone actually replies and wants to know more.

I'm half-watching Law and Order: SVU. Some episode I've already seen. I have other things to work on. I'm applying for the zine column in Voiceworks magazine,  (the same column that introduced me to zines). It excites me so much to be able write about zines in this way. There's so much I'd like to see discussed in that column.

I always get carried away - writing about writing. I don't know how anyone else would be interested. But writing's what I care about.

Onto other things.

+ I'm going somewhere unplanned with my best friend tomorrow, because I just got my drivers license.

+ I like catching buses around the mazes of suburbia. I like trains. I like trams. I'll miss public transport, even though it isn't as direct or me-centric.

+ If I could, I'd live somewhere where I'd only catch public transport, ride my bike and walk. I still hate cars. People who drive 4WDs (SUVs), especially while living in the inner-city, deserve to have hot coffee spilt on their crotches.

+ One of my best friends is leaving for Sydney in a matter of weeks, and shortly after that she will travel around Asia for around a year. I don't know what to do or say or think about that.

+ It's going to be summer soon.

+ When it warms up, I'm going to drive to the river on my own and swim, and no one will know I've gone, and no one will have to pick me up.

I don't know why LJ isn't working, but I know it's something to do with the fact that this is a time a lot of americans aren't online. such is life.

I really don't want this to be a post where I bitch and bitch. I know I shouldn't be surprised - that comp on vox being only for US citizens? Not a surprise. It gets a bit tiring though. Especially considering the fact that countries the winner gets to travel to are excluded. We're all travel destinations. news topics, but we're not users.

Forgive me, I'm just tired. And livejournal is off at a time that a lot of us aussies use it. It will probably be back up in time for american users

I knew it would take insomnia to update this thing.

My real-life friends aren't bloggers. Check that - the friends I made pre-blogging aren't bloggers. I've met an enourmous amount of people through livejournal first, then myspace (though it be evil) and here. I've met people in person, had crushes on them and had drawn-out conversations about scary-meaningful stuff.

I'm not sure how to explain this kind of communication to someone who has never done it. It doesn't feel real when I try to describe it.

And I think this would be a lot more meaningful and complex if I wasn't so tired.

If misch ever joins vox (and you should, misch) then visit this link: http://serendipity.vox.com/library/post/but-what-would-i-write-about.html. It is a wonderful post on the art of blogging, so do not fear and sign up. I think vox is pretty user-friendly. And pretty. I know it's annoying that I re-sent the invitation. Twice. But I have good taste, don't I?

It's too late at night to keep thinking. I need sleep, or all the caffeine in the house.

Soda? Cola? Pop? What do you say? Any other regional words that set you apart?
Question submitted by Gladys.

I love discussing regional slang. It really excites me. (yes, I happen to be an English major. so what?) As an aussie with a dependence on the net, I find I americanize myself a lot (and aussies/brits will get that I just did so by adding a z there).

I don't say cola, pop or soda. We say soft drink or fizzy drink. Although I'm sure it varies in different parts of Australia.

Someone enlighten me as to where specifically in America these slang words crop up. I have a feeling soda is Canadian, but I'm probably wrong. And in Britain, what there? I'm often deceived into believing that the differences in Australian and British slang are small, and I know from experiance that can't be the case.

Other fun bits of slang.

Store? -- shop.

Cell? -- mobile

Downtown? - CBD (central business district)

Also, apparently australians swear more than americans, but it's possible that this applies mostly to the younger generation, although even my grandmother swears. (yes, here's the part where I swear). We're allowed to say 'shit' on free-to-air tv. It cracks me up watching Aussie tv versus US (non-cable) TV. So straight-laced. Not even jaded cops are allowed to swear.

Oh, still on swearing-- I also say 'bloody' a lot. It often replaces the words 'really' or 'very' in its function within my sentence structure and meaning. (eg It's bloody hot today

I'm going to have to do a voice post and share my accent with everyone (except miss Solitarybelle, of course).

I'm meeting someone from one of my old writing classes for coffee this morning to discuss our mutual interest in YA fiction. I'm menstrual, I'm tired, and feeling anything but writerly. But she's probably having a worse morning than me, so I'll stop complaining.

Do you want to know what's worse than the constant stream of magazine rejection letters? Ok, the worst is when they dangle the carrot of yeah, we might be interested in front of you, then never get back to you. That sucks. After rushing me for a quick response to So, has it been published anywhere? I've been waiting over a week. Better just to be rejected. Now I have this pathetic hope.

The unpaid radio thing went well. Very informal, which is good because I have no experiance. I get to chatter about women's issues on air - well, women's issues lite - because it's aimed at teens. It should be fun, and my CV won't look so sad. It starts next thursday.

Time to have more tea.

Who is your favorite Muppet? Why?
QotD submitted by knitwitology.vox.com.

Grover. Because, of course, he has a superhero alias. And because he's terrible at flying.