Review Time! #2: Frozen

I honestly believe that, although I can not guarantee it, both kids and adults will enjoy this. If you're a kid and you've not seen the movie yet (which I highly doubt is possible- most people I know have seen Frozen), you'll probably enjoy it because the animation is AWESOME! It's so intricately detailed. For the adults, the thing that you'll probably like if you haven't seen it with your kids or even by yourself, is that it's not the love between the princess and the prince; it's the love between the two sisters that saves the day. And Idina Menzel plays Elsa! Also, fun fact! Frozen is loosely based on Hans Christian Anderson's "The Snow Queen."

Summary Anna and Elsa are two royal sisters - princesses - and they love spending time with each other. Anna is a bubbly little girl who thoroughly enjoys being with her sister, a rare thing for two siblings. The girls have a secret between them- older sister Elsa has special powers that enable her to create winter indoors. But having fun with these powers can lead to consequences… Elsa accidentally strikes her sister in the head with a bolt of snow, causing a white streak in Anna's red hair. Although it did not hurt her, when Elsa and her parents seek help from some rock people (just watch the movie), they tell Elsa to keep her powers concealed under gloves while the memory is erased from Anna's memory.  Later on, the parents are killed in a storm on the sea (don't worry, not that big a spoiler- this happens early in the movie). However, her powers grow stronger every day, and by the time of Elsa's  coronation, something goes wrong and she causes an eternal winter. Watch the movie to see how the two sisters vanquish the winter that will go on forever.

You would like it if you've read The Snow Queen, The Invention of Hugo Cabret, Matilda

Good for ages 7+ … for people of all ages, but it might be a bit too distracting for younger kids.


What should I review next?

Things That I Do- entry one

Hello, and welcome to Things That I Do (that I know you do too but you won't admit)!
Today's entry is about: Reading At Night and On the Phone.

I know you do these things. You just won't admit to them. That's okay. It's okay because I know everybody does them. For instance, trying to run around the whole house while the microwave's on and  seeing if you can make a full lap before it beeeeeps.

Everybody knows you can't. Just face the truth.

Or maybe, walking into the kitchen to make a sandwich, forgetting that you wanted to make a sandwich, going someplace else, and then remembering you wanted to make a sandwich. You should've just remembered in the god-darn first place.

Number One: Reading At Night
I am one of those people who read in bed until I fall asleep. It's basically one of the only times I read for longer than an hour, and it's the majority of my reading time in general. Anyway, I read to myself. Out loud. It's just fun, and I don't really notice I'm doing it. I don't resent it. I don't regret it. Actually, no, I take that back; the only thing I resent is that it takes so much time to finish a chapter. Or a paragraph. Or even a sentence.
In conclusion, do you do this:

1) Read in different voices every time there's any dialogue?
2) Read in different accents?
3) Make the facial expressions each character is making? (i.e. Stephanie furrowed her brow, and Jake glared back at her in silent response. And then I furrow my brow and glare as I'm reading).

Another thing that happens to me while I'm reading at night is:
1) My mother walks down to the kitchen to get some water, and she hears me reading to myself. "El, are you talking to anyone?"
   "No."
   "Then what are you doing?"
   "Reading to myself."
   "Okay…"
2) My brother, who's room is right next to my mind, shouts,
   "ELLA SHUT UP!"
   "What??? What am I doing?"
   "I don't know? Who are you talking to?"
   "Um… myself?"
   "You're so weird."

So you're not a night reader? What about this next topic:

Number Two: Talking on The Phone
I have three conjoined rooms in my house: The kitchen, with a marble island in the middle, the dining room, and the living room with a couch and a piano. Conjoined meaning no walls. Anyway, the piano, the island, and the dining room table are all things that I walk around. "What do you mean?" you ask. I'll tell you what I mean. And you do this too:

1) Pacing around any large object- dragging your feet while you walk in continuos laps of circles until you get dizzy
2) Lying on the couch in any awkward position (i.e. upside-down, backwards, knees on the ground and cheek to the cushion)
3) Running away to my room any time somebody walks into the room I'm currently in. Even if I'm talking about food.

Well, do you do this too? Comment!

Review Time! #1: Flowers for Algernon

REVIEW TIME!

For some unknown reason, I've always enjoyed writing book reports. Every other kid I've known up until about two years ago has never really enjoyed reading, so book reports were out of the picture. Me? I wrote them even outside of school.

   Anyway, I promised I would do a review of a book or movie or play, so, here it is!

Summary 30-something year old Charlie has never been… smart. When a chance to undergo a surgery that may actually be able to improve his I.Q. comes up, he can't resist. Charlie's teachers, surgeons, and psychologists are making him write "progress reports," which are basically just logs of his daily life.  The interesting thing about this book is you are able to see his writing, grammar, and thoughts improve throughout the progress reports. Read to see how he deals with the results of his surgery, and you will feel as anxious, excited, and confused as Charlie.

You would like it if you've read A Wrinkle in Time, The Fault in Our Stars, Wonder, Out of My Mind, This is What Happy Looks Like

Good for Ages 12+ (I honestly think even adults would love it)

   So, comment! Should I do more reviews? Please write requests on books, plays, or movies, I should review next!

Sandals and Sneakers

I was always a smart kid. But, I had my own way of thinking of things. It’s like I would take the original thing someone had given me and twist it into this weird, deformed thing with an extra dimension.

To me, life wasn’t something that was open for changing. It was something that was open for improving.

It never really improved things, though. I don’t think I ever reached my “desired results”. I tried to multitask, or make this giant goal that I wasn’t really thinking about how achievable it actually was.

To me, boring was my enemy.

In second grade, we had a math quiz. I think it was around the beginning of the year. I have always loved math, and numbers seemed vast and magical to me even though they had seemed dull and full of infinite boringness to other kids. 

Anyway, I was never the most logical kid (In fact, I'm still not). I was great at the number kind of math, but no. This was my mortal enemy- this was a logic quiz. I remember trying to find my own way around each of the questions. We were “warned” about this quiz a couple days before. I wasn’t freaking out; math was my strong suit.

Of course when the test did come... well, that was where I freaked out.

It wasn't until the 5th question that I thought I could handle it. It seemed so perfectly easy! The teacher said we could really let loose with logic questions; think a little more about the words, not the math. I stared down at the problem with a gleam in my eye. I would defeat this thang.

Janie is new to her school. 80% of the students in her grade wear sneakers to school and 20% wear sandals. What do you think is the kind of footwear Janie is most likely to wear?

Easy, I thought. I took my stub of a pencil in my excuse for a hand covered in apple juice stains and dirt, and started writing in that awful second-grader handwriting of mine: Janie will most likely wear sandals, because she is new and probably doesn't know what the other students like to wear on their feet.

My second grade teacher still keeps in touch with my mom, and to this day, they still laugh about it.

*sigh*.

Random Entry #1: Untitled Story :(

This is a short story I wrote in third grade. It’s a bit creepy, actually; too weird for a third grader. But that’s me- I’m weird.

“AAAAAAAAAGGGH!!!” This is the word I said before I was about to come to a slow, painful death. I ran down the streets like an alley cat, nearly starving. She took out the knife and threw it at me- I think you should stop reading. But if you chose not to, you’re lucky, because it doesn’t start out that way. So, here it goes.

---

I said, “Thanks for the ride, Nancy!” I ran into the museum and took out my notebook. Nancy had told me there was a time machine exhibit. I don’t exactly believe in time travel, but I just wanted to see if she was right. I took a deep breath, and muttered to myself, “This is all for you, Nancy.”

I walked past the coat check (because I didn’t have a coat) and asked the security guard, “Excuse me Sir, but do you happen to know where the time machine is?”

There was a pause, and then he laughed as I felt myself blush. “Kid, I don’t know who you think you are, but you have a VERY creative mind. Listen, we’re closing in fifteen minutes, so you might as well leave soon. Have a nice weekend, and enjoy the rest of your stay at the County Museum.” 

I reached out of my bag and got out my cell phone. I dialed, “beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep,” and called Nancy.

“Hello, Nancy Jeanling speaking? Oh, hi, Joanne!” I rolled my eyes.

“Nance, enough of this nonsense. Where’s the time machine?”

“Follow my instructions exactly.”

“Okay.”

“Hide, then wait till the exhibits are closed.”

“Hide? Why hide?”
“Just trust me. Gotta go. Took extra classes.”

“Wait. Nancy. What-?” she hung up on me. Great. Now I didn’t know what to do. Suddenly, I heard a click, and everything went pitch black. I was confused. Wait till the exhibits are over, Nancy had said. Then a strange object appeared in the darkness. 

“What are you? Show your face! Don’t hurt me!” I stammered, defending my self weakly with my arms. The strange object turned on a flashlight to show his face. He was about two feet shorter than me, but seemed almost twenty-five years older. He had a short brown beard, with the same color hair on his head. He took my hand and pulled me into an odd device. I let out a terrified shriek. 

“There’s no reason to scream,” he said. “The museum is closed.”

He pulled a lever and we went swirling around and around. I was screaming, but he was laughing. We swirled around, and I felt sick. We were going about 90 miles per hour! I fainted, and the dizzy, spinning world turned pitch black.

---

When I woke up, the machine must have stopped spinning, because we landed. The world was still spinning, but now it was mild. “Hey, person!” I said, referring to the man who was now gone. Wait- gone! I pulled the lever, willing to go back to the museum, but it didn’t budge. I walked out. The sky was black. People were coughing and desperately working for money. Pollution was everywhere, and a woman walked up to me and hugged me. I pulled back and turned around to hear her voice: 

“I’m Joanne from the future.”

---

I roamed back and forth around her apartment. I had lots and lots of questions for her- well, me.

“Why do you stand on that thing?” I asked. “What do you do for a living? Who is your husband? Why do have long hair? Why do you have different shaped glasses? Do you have kids? Why-” she cut me off. 

“Honey!” Joanne From the Future said. “Calm down! But if you insist, I’ll answer your questions. Of course I stand on that thing, it’s the future! I am a model. I have long hair because in your early twenties you decided to grow out your hair. You were bored of your glasses tyle. I am married to Jake Pillington. I don’t have kids. What else were you going to ask?”

I sighed. “How do you know me? I mean, not you-me, but me-me? Like, ME? Oh, and why is it so disgusting here?”

She paused. After the long silence, she replied, “Everyone knows you. They depend on you to save the future. See, after your father died, well-” tears swelled up in her eyes. “The world became a terrible place. That’s why it’s up to you to save it. In your world, he will die in about a week- and you will have six days to save the future. Then, you must go back to the time machine. If you do not make it, the world will be stuck like this forever.” I stared at her, and almost started bawling when I learned that Dad would die?!?! But what interrupted me was when a man floated in and kissed (the other) Joanne on the cheek. 

“Jake?” I said. And then it hit me. I knew him! “Jake Pillington! Yesterday we had a spitball fight! I won, but since I went home covered in spitballs, my mom called your mom.” It was true, but it was not pretty.

“I don’t know who this girl is,” said Jake. “But I want revenge! Joanne, hand me a straw.” She rolled her eyes, and said, “Honey, that’s Joanne from the past!”

He stopped. “Oh,” he said. “By the way, next week, we’re going to go on a date.” Then he walked away. I shuddered.

“A date?” I said. “With my worst enemy? Ew.”

---

“But you are my worst enemy. How would you know that I was going to come?” I aksed, forgetting that we were in the future.

“Sweetie,” said Joanne From the Future. “You are in the future. Think about it. I am you, and I remember all of the adventures that I- or you- have been through. Including this adventure. So of course I told Jake everything, and he knew you were going to come. Sweetie? Earth to Joanne?” she said, waving her hand in front of my face. I turned my head to her, and I said, “I’m confused.”

---

“Okay, Joanne, do you get what you have to do? Go to the first tree you see, press the button, slide down, and Klaude will tell you what to do. When you are done for today, go back to Klaude, sign out, and come back to my place. By the way, Klaude will give you the floaty thing to stand on that I do, and- good luck,” said Joanne From the Future. She hugged me and kissed my forehead and Jake waved to me, but I just stuck my tongue out to him. 

“Bye, Joanne!” I said, and left for my adventure.

---

I looked around the area. “First tree you see, first tree you see...” I muttered, trying to brainwash myself. But I was so busy brainwashing myself, that I bumped into a tree... the first tree I saw! I searched for the button, but I didn’t see anything but a tiny bump on the tree. I tried pressing it and it made a “DING!” sound an elevator makes right before it opens. 

“I wonder what Joanne meant by sliding down the tree... AAAAAHHHHH!” I said to myself, coming to a rather frightening scream. I realized what she meant by slide down the tree. I was simultaniously sliding down a sleep slide while screaming!

And that’s it. That’s the end of the story. Rather than going for a kind of suspenseful ending and leaving the reader with a question, I honestly think that I was just too lazy to finish. And if I know myself well enough, I’m right. I’m just a lazy person.

There were some spelling errors in the story, but I feel that defeats the purpose. (In case you’re interested, I said “enimie” three times.)

But you don’t care.

picky

As a little kid, I hated pizza. I despised it with every particle of my being. As a matter of fact, I still do. Every birthday party I went to, my mangled little brain thought, To heck with pizza! Let’s bring lambchops! So, to every birthday party I brought lambchops. On the occasion that my mother didn’t have time to make me lambchops, I would be forced to bring popcorn chicken.

My food problems often tended to be a topic of my writing. For example, here is a third grade poem about my minor lactose intolerance and cheesticks:

Cheesestick

Lactose Intolerant

Take the pill

Get the wrapper,

Pull it down.

Pull it down, 

Take it off.

Lick my lips

Ready to attack.

Ready to attack

The mighty cheesestick.

Pull,

       Pull,

              Pull, stringy, bingy-

POP!

It’s gone 

To the land of my stomach.

Well,

Time for another cheesestick!

As well as pizza, cake was another thing I didn’t like (which now I do). When I told my friends that at birthday parties, I watched their jaw drop to the ground and their eyes widen to be size of baseballs, as if saying, YOU DON’T LIKE CAKE OR PIZZA? It was the reaction I was used to. I sighed every time, wishing somebody would understand. My best friend (I will change names for privacy purposes), Ana, did once. She was not a fan of pizza. Or cake. She now likes both.

Ana was my picky pal until about fourth grade when she started liking things I still didn’t, and I started liking things she never did. She started eating pizza and peanut butter. I felt sad looking back on the days that Ana wouldn’t collect Reeses Peanut Butter Cups every time we went trick-or-treating. She ate ketchup with her eggs (I HATE ketchup). I still don’t like pizza or peanut butter or ketchup.

But I started eating salad and other vegetables. It’s funny how the diets we are so accustomed to as small children change with every year. Fortunately, changing food we like does not change friendship. Ana and I are still best friends to this day. We actually wrote a ton of short stories together.

Food is a PICKY topic (pun intended). But it’s delicious.

Milliana

When I was in Kindergarten, we had this awful class pet millipede. I was still in that crappy bossy stage- which carried on all the way through third grade until someone actually managed up the nerve to tell me that I was “really nice, but bossy”- and of COURSE, I just HAD to name this millipede. So I named her Millie (OH SO CLEVER!!!). Now that I think of it, we weren’t exactly sure whether or not Millie was a boy or a girl. Oh well.

I learned to read at age three-and-a-half, and learned to write- no, MANAGED to write- at the ripe age of four. Even before I could complete the alphabet in the correct order (which took almost a year to master), I had loved creating stories. I remember when I was four I created this gorgeous masterpiece: (note from the author/editor: I'm still figuring out how to post pictures on this blog, so I'll just describe it to you. It was a badly drawn stick figures with these badly draw letters written at the top: AVLI... the rest is illegible.)

I think it was supposed to be about me. Or some random girl. I think.

By the time I had managed actual words and could form coherent sentences, I had begun writing stories of my own. 

When Millie the millipede arrived in our little classroom at the end of the hallway on the left, that name inspired me to write a story about a girl, just like I had before in my earlier years (or at least I THINK it was about a girl). It took quite some time to brainstorm, but halfway through snack, a lightbulb lit up in my brain. 

Milliana! To a six-and-a-half year old, it was ingenious. Milliana became the key character in every free-write, and she continued on with me throughout first grade (and made her surprising return in third!). I think in one of the Milliana stories I actually dedicated it to “My brother Samuel”- who only went by Sam- “my mom and dad, and”- wait for it...- “my Kindergarten class pet Millipede Millie.” There were many more spelling errors, but you get the point.

In “Milliana Goes to France Eiffel Tower”, an enlightening yet thrilling seven paged story in which Milliana climbs the Eiffel Tower in less than five minutes, Milliana gets a French boyfriend named Biscotti. I was playing around with names, and I thought, Oh, that sounds French enough. I wasn’t actually aware that it was a yummy Italian cookie, but thought it was just a made up name.

That all changed in first grade.

I went with my mom to a nearby cafe on Main Street. There were selling these cookie bread things in a jar for just 50 ₵ a piece. I stood tiptoe on my childrens’ size 12 slip-on Chuck Taylors as high as I could and peeked over the little jar sitting on the counter. And there I saw it, right on the label: 

Biscotti: 50 cents each.

It was like some sort of wizardry that blew my little mind.

They had gotten into my Milliana books! I thought. AND they named a cookie after them? I was astounded- it was just too much to process. 

“Mommy?” I asked in awe.

“Yeah?”

“Did they read Milliana?”

“What do you mean?”

“Biscotti’s her boyfriend!!!”

She laughed when I said that. “No, Ella. That’s an actual cookie! Looks like you came up with the same word they did!”

I could feel my face burn red. I had basically built the entire past two years of my writing life off of Milliana. I felt as if all my work had been for nothing- actually, not for nothing. All of my “work” was to have a main character in my story named after a cookie. A COOKIE!

Actually, Mom bought me one a year later and I hated it. But I like it now (Sort of). Anyway, I moved on. On from Milliana, and all her mediocre and completely unrealistic journeys. But, if you are skeptical, I have actual, living proof of Milliana-  spelling errors added. And as a sidenote, I switched on and off from “Bisotti” to “Biscotti”.

Remember me? Milliana! Remember our last adventure, going to Egapt. Well, that was only fun, but this is going to be even funner! Well, were going to the Eiffel tower! I’m a teenager now, so i can drive. finaley I’m old enough to go alone! Um, so w-hi, captain speaking. Were landing now! Oh, my, gosh! Let’s go!

I walked over to the, “car renting-station”. I rented a car. I drove to the hotel, and a very nice man showed up. he showed me around my house, showed me a couple of good restraunts, and I had a WONDERFUL night. Oh, by the way, his name is Bisotti. hee, and he even called me madam!

But before I went to sleep, I studied the pictures on my wall, and guees what? When I saw the Eiffel tower, I said, “I want to go to the top!”

The day came. “Ohhh! helllloooooo, Morning,” I said. “I’m Ready for a new day.” Time to get dressed. Bisotti came. “Oh hi Biscotti!” “Hi, Milliana.” “Would you like to meet some of my friends to lunch?” “Why, yes” said MIlliana.

They got into the car. Bisotti said, “Bonjor, Milli, we our going to a famous french restrant.” “very nice, very nice,” I said. “for pizza?” “Yes,” said Biscotti. “Here we are!” he said.

“Douse, Loise, Dale, Anna, meet Milli.” “hello” I said. “PIZZA!” we all said. “Let’s go!” And mmmm........ that pizza was SOOO good! and then I rememberd- Eiffel tower. “Hey! Guys! ya’ wanna’ go to the top of the EIFFEL TOWER?” and this is what they said- YEAH!

Good thing I have my rope! Let’s climb! To the Eiffel Tower!

Climb, climb, climb, wooh! This is hard work! One more step....

Suprise! There was a big party at the top. Biscotti and Milliana were happy together.

Why You Are Here (Why ARE you here?) & the Story of This Blog

I have a rather... unique... sense of originality. You see, I'm one of those "easily inspired" people; you know, I go to an Alexander McQueen or King Tut exhibit, and the second I get home I want to dig a tomb or start a fashion line. So what I do -- most of the time, anyway -- is I create my own original ideas based off of other people's original idea. This is why this blog started. Well it started for three reasons, mainly:

   1) I am an avid reader, so therefore, I love to write. Anything I can do to expose my writing to others would be super cool.
   2) I've always wanted to start a blog. Has this happened to you, or is it just me: I get these weird feelings sometimes when I'm bored that I HAVE to do something creative. I just feel sort of average when I don't. I don't know. I'm weird.
   3) This would be where the inspiration kicks in: My good friend (and reading buddy!) Phoebe (whom I call Pa-ha-o-b-e) has started this AMAZING BLOG that kicked off in mid/late 2013. It's called Nerd Alert- you should read it!- and she writes reviews of different books. She is probably the main reason I have started this blog.

Anyway, I have a serious case called "UFSOCDS"- Un-finished Story on Computer Desktop Syndrome. It's this thing where I start stories on my computer on Pages or Microsoft Word or whatever, and then a new idea comes along and I just start working on another story. I practically promise myself to stay committed to a piece I'm working on, but then I just get engulfed in the anxiety that I will forget this FANTABULOUS IDEA NESTING IN MY BRAIN.

I never do forget it.

I recently started this memoir-ish book about embarrassing and silly things that happened in my early years (Joke's on you- I'm only in 6th grade!). I thought I could post that. But just so you don't get bored with me (which you will), I'm going to post a review on something each week: books, movies, plays... stuff like that.

Now I will go and say the most clichéd thing said at the end of an essay/entry/story EVER:
I hope you enjoy my blog!

           Sincerely,
            Ella Jane
            Troubles of a Bookworm