This is something that Sheri wrote in Elementary School, which she found as a bookmark in a book (no way!) that had been sitting on our shelf. I'm going to include all the parts that she scribbled out, because they are the best.

Hello, my name is Keckley Bucksen, and to set the record straight, I am a rock. I am an important rock, though. I am the prince of Kellar Grassland. That's pretty far away from St. George, Utah, and it was really long and painful to get here. By painful I mean, how would you like to be kicked almost 2,000 miles. Yep, that's how I got here. It took almost 5 years. Every now and then someone would come by and kick me towards here. It hurt and it was often very boring. Then one day, I was picked up and had tests done. When they dropped me on the table, I sounded like, "Plununk." Then a huge bunch of fleshy stuff came and smelt me. I smell almost like rain.
I feel really hard, scratchy, and bumpy. Hey, I've got acne medication, I'm taking care of it.
I am black and lumpy. I have bits of other materials sticking out. (My hair never works.) Then I've also got red dirt all over my clothes. I'm kind of messy.

This post today serves so that I can voice my opinion as a matter of public record. First and foremost, my poor neglected blog, I promise to lead a more exciting life so that I can document my actions on your page.

Second- for all of the millions who are going to rush out in a couple of years and see the film that I wrote, I promise you here and now that I didn't copy any of my freakin ideas from that 'Heroes' show.
Talk about a holy crap. The more the show develops, the more numerous and egregious the similarities become. It's taken a lot of self control to keep myself from just hucking the darned thing into the fire.
On the other hand, and as Sheri pointed out, all 'Heroes' is is just X-Men put through a blender. You have your Dr. Xavier, Rogue, Wolverine (who is way cuter as a cheerleader), Psylocke (now a fat cop), they're all there. So I'm trying to avoid being called not only a plagiarist, but a second- or even third-degree plagiarist; the guy to took his material from a show that took its material from a comic book series that took its material from another comic book.
Though I guess in the philosophical world, there exists the theory that nothing is original, and that every creative idea that you have comes initially from somewhere else. How's that for throwing water on the creative spark?
I'm more of a believer that ideas are just out there at certain times, and several people are bound, nay destined, to arrive at them at roughly the same time.Karl Jung, you were right.
For those interested, I've ennumerated the coincidental material below.
An indestructible girl with social problems
A mysterious algorithm
A mathematician looking for answers
The dawn of a new era of human evolution
The prognostication of future events
A fight for the survival of mankind
A corrupt politician
Other things

Random fact: it just so happens that today is the birthday of Elmore Leonards, the guy who wrote "Get Shorty," made famous by the film of same name. In celebration, I suggest one of the following activities:

1. When put on a waiting list at a restaurant, put your name down as "Elmore Leonards." Punch anyone who giggles.

2. Read a lesser-known E.L. book. If you can find one.

2. Act like Chili Palmer for a day - have an incredible flair with people, try and get into the movie business, punch someone who has mistakenly stolen your coat, date Rene Russo, or use the phrase, "Hey, look at me," before everything you say.

Random note: Should I feel uncomfortable when my dog follows me into the bathroom and stares at me as I do my business?

I just found the most interesting pop-culture reference to Utah ever. There's this song called "Palace of Bryne" by the Pixies, and really, who knew? It sounds like it's about a gig they played at Saltaire, along with other things that they think is weird about Salt Lake, something about the "clone of the beautiful family" and how great the mountains are. Huh.

Superhero Moments

One of my favorite aspect of any superhero is his ability to deftly change outfits. Clark Kent, in the original Superman films, has this great gimick where he successively progresses to smaller and smaller areas: first, an alleyway, next, the classic phone booth, and, my personal favorite, while spinning in a revolving door.
Luck would have it that I had a chance to experience the thrill of the superhero quick-change the other day.
So I usually pack another shirt to school so that I can avoid being all sweaty during class, and I usually have a few minutes to go into a proper bathroom stall and maybe put on some deodorant or something. Last friday, I had just gotten out of class and I had to ride home in a hurry. Both nearby bathrooms were buzzing with loud Asians, which I found disquieting. Time was short. What to do? I reached into my backpack, pulled out my lycra bike shirt (which does not yet sport my personal logo on the front, and headed for the nearest out-of-sight place: the stairwell right next to the bike rack. Down the stairs went mild-mannered Peter, and a few moments later out popped "Napalm-Man, defender of justice, so long as any infractions occur on the bike path between here and my house." I don't think anyone was watching, which would have been great, but on the other hand, my secret identity remains safe.

Apparently my nephew has caught on to the superhero craze. We all have one in particular that we can identify with, right? When my sister asked him who he wanted to be, he responded:



Violet Incredible.

He apparently spent the next few days parading around wearing a brunette wig combed over one eye.