How to Clean a Plastic Doll

Have you ever encountered a grimy doll that makes you immediately wash your hands after looking at it?

 Or your daughter/niece/daughter of a friend hands you her best friend while she goes outside and you want to stick a quarantine sign on it?  

Maybe even send it to a detoxification lab for research.

Fear not, there is an easy solution to cleaning a plastic doll without running to the store or buying expensive cleaning kits.

Supplies:

• Baking Soda
• Cotton Swabs (I prefer these, but a brush, cotton balls or soft rags work too)
• Soft Cotton Cleaning Rags
• A Container to put the Baking Soda in
• A Container to put Water in 
• A Clean Space
• Patience
• A Plastic Doll (preferably dirty)

Steps: 

You should probably get a new cotton swab when it looks like this.

Step 1: Find a dirty spot on the doll and  dampen the area with a wet cotton swab (Sometimes I skip this step, but I found it helps spread out the baking soda especially over a large area).

Step 2: Dip a wet cotton swab into the baking soda and scrub the area. Change the cotton swabs when necessary.

Step 3: When the area looks fairly clean, wipe the area with a dampened rag or cotton swab. It doesn't matter what you use as long as you're wiping off the baking soda.

Step 4: Dry the area with a clean, dry rag. 

 Step 5: Repeat as necessary.

Tips:

• Best used for 18 inch dolls, Barbie dolls, baby dolls, and anything plastic. You get the idea.

•  DO NOT submerge the doll in water unless it is made for that sort of thing.

• Be careful when cleaning around the doll's eyes, especially if the eyes open and close. Too much water can damage the mechanism inside.

•  After drying the doll, you might feel baking soda still clinging to the doll's face or hair. Wipe it away with the clean drying cloth as best as possible.

• Keep the doll out after the washing to let it dry if it's a little damp.

• Marker and other stains MAY come out through perseverance and multiple washings

My doll, Amy, after a complete scrubbing

PS. I am not a doll expert; I take no responsibility for anything that happens if someone follows these steps.

"Roomies" is Awkward

At my college there's this event called "Roomies." Once upon a time, in a galaxy far far away, it was meant to be more of a friend's-hangout event.

Here's how it works: 
Person A wants to go on an outing with Person B, so he/she asks his/her roommate, Person C, to ask Person B for him/her. It's supposed to be really showy and public; whoever does the best presentation gets some sort of prize.

Guys ask girls in the fall, and girls ask guys in the spring.

It's really sweet when you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend, but it gets awkward when you're "just friends" with someone. Especially when the girls' turn happens to land on the week that Valentine's Day occurs.

This year, I summoned all my courage and asked someone. To protect the innocent (namely the guy), we'll call him "K."

I decided to skip the whole middle person deal and just ask him myself.

Of course it didn't really go as planned. 

 Here is what I'd imagined: 

Disclaimer: I traced over this picture: http://i665.photobucket.com/albums/vv19/yume_mori/Detective%20Conan/ran-and-shinichi-at-a-restaurant-shinichi-wants-to-tell-his-feelings-for-ran.jpg

I would have dressed in fairly nice clothes, done my hair, and I was working on a picture of both of us walking together somewhere to give to him. The setting would have been fairly peaceful, and I wouldn't freak out.

But no.

Here's how it really turned out:

I started to have second thoughts, and then I got this email:

 

Oh good. I don't see K much the rest of the day, or tomorrow. And that might be too late. 

So . . .

The tiny chapel never seemed so large before.

K kept walking faster.

I felt like Jason Bourne running after him . . . and where were all these people coming from???

After finally catching up to him by the library . . .

Yes, my entire conversation was one long word.  And there was a lot of mud.

I think he was trying to figure out what I was saying . . .

 

*Disclaimer: This was highly exaggerated for entertainment purposes.

The Justin Bieber Fad

Using Justin Bieber in a short story for an English class was a slight miscalculation on my part. I don't know if I've been immune to the "Bieber-fever" all this time, or if I've become hyper-sensitive to anything that has to do with  him, but every time I turn around, he's there.

 I walk out to the cafeteria and girls talk about Justin Bieber. 

I click onto my Youtube home page, and oh, look - J. Biebs released a new, slightly creepy, CGI Christmas music video.

I go down to the local drug store and there's an ad for his new perfume next to his smiling face in the makeup section.

I can't escape him; he's like Santa Claus; when the Christmas season come around, you have to work really hard to avoid the "Ho-ho-ho's" and large men wearing red suits. Only Bieber is all year long.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not one of those haters who believes that he eats babies and should throw himself off a skyscraper. But I'm not exactly a fan either. Let's face it; he sounds like a 10 year old and sings about making a girl wearing extremely tiny shorts feel good. There's something wrong with this picture. 

You know who reminds me of him? Aaron Carter, that kid who sang "I Want Candy" in the late 90's, early 2000's. I remember when my friends swooned at the thought of Aaron. Now I have to explain Aaron to puzzled people when I make the comparison. 

I'm sure the Justin Bieber fad will eventually fade. He's starting to go through puberty finally, and his voice is dropping, kind of like Aaron Carter at the end of his career.

My only question is, "Who's next?"

Strange Encounters of the Odd Kind

Today I learned a very important lesson: Always  put the cover on your saxophone mouthpiece when you're not using it.

Now, most people say that the cover helps protect the reed. I agree, but I would also add that it keeps people from putting your reed into their mouths.

Here's an explanation: 

My school's jazz band played at a local high school as a promotional stint for the music program, and during one of the breaks, I was outside with my saxophone, trying to stay out of the way while everyone moved chairs and music stands.

A boy in a red shirt ran over to me, and I thought, "Okay, cool, maybe he has questions about the school, my saxophone, or why the sky is blue."

He actually did have an interest in my sax - he grabbed it, put the mouthpiece in his mouth, then handed the sax back to me before doing a weird shuffle dance and fleeing.

This picture summed up my reaction: 

To put it in layman's terms, imagine that you're carrying your toothbrush around. Then a stranger walks up and uses it to brush his or her teeth before handing it back and running away.

Disgusting, right? It makes you want to throw away the toothbrush. Or at least scald it thoroughly with boiling hot water.

I managed to run the reed and mouthpiece through hot soap and water before playing again.

Ironically, he'll probably regret using my mouthpiece. 

I have the stomach flu.

*Edit* After I finished writing this blog, I checked my soaking mouthpiece and realized that I just submerged it in anti-cavity fluoride rinse, not mouthwash. So apparently now my saxophone is in no danger of needing fillings or having bad breath.

Mighty Moth Hunters

Moths are evil. Their frantic flapping and ugly brown wings make me cringe.

In the last four days, Roomie and I encountered two trespassing moths in our dorm room, which I had to dispose of. Since I'm becoming quite the moth expert, I decided to create a list of Mighty Moth Hunter Techniques.

Several options and a necessary item:

Fly swatter - preferably a pretty colored one. Teal is the 1990's favorite at home. Squish the moth with the big wide end. A heavy dictionary also works. 

Paper cup and cardboard/ paper- for the humane hunters who only want to release it into the wild. Some sort of exit, either a door or a window, is helpful to let it go outside. 

Closed window with a screen - Trap the moth between the screen and the window area until you can deal with it or let it die. A plastic spoon or some other slender object may be needed to slide the moth's body out.

Courage Method- All of the methods require this ability not to freak. You know the moths are out to get you; you can feel it in the way they wiggle their little antennae and stare at you with their beady little eyes. However, a scream at the wrong moment can ruin the hunt, scare the crap out of you, and let the moth find a new place to hide. 

In the end, Roomie and I ended up using the "Closed window with Screen" method as well as the "Fly Swatter" method, but substituting the fly swatter with a piece of notebook paper. Hopefully more moths won't come in, but if they do, we'll be ready.

Moth picture from: http://www.ent.iastate.edu/images/lepidoptera/wbcutworm/western_bean_cutworm_moth.jpg

The End of Steve

"Steve" in Over the Hedge

Have you ever seen Dreamworks' Over the Hedge? If you haven't, the storyline is simple: Simple forest animals meet suburbia.Throw in a smooth-talking raccoon, a psychotic animal control keeper, and an uptight development owner, and you've got the basic ingredients.

 In the movie, there's a particularly memorable scene when the animals meet their first sign of human civilization: a tall, green hedge that surrounds the housing that surrounded their home. Of course, the animals have never seen a big green leafy fence before, and thinking that it's alive, decide to call it "Steve" as in "Oh great and powerful Steve! What do you want from us?"

 

I am proud to say that I killed Steve this afternoon. Or actually, my parents did, with some help from me. 

When my family recently moved into our new house, a giant juniper hedge, which we named Steve, greeted us in the front garden. He looked similar to the picture on the left: big, kind of furry looking. We quickly found out that Steve was anything but furry. 

Steve didn't take kindly to our attempts to uproot him and attacked us fiercely with his many branches and ninja-like needles that slipped beneath our gloves and jeans to embed themselves in our skin. His many trunks' diameters were golf-ball sized, if not bigger; we figured that Steve happily sat in our front yard for 25 years.He resisted so strongly that Dad had to wrap rope around Steve and yank him out one bush at a time with the pickup truck, a process which required both street lanes in front of our house. Mom and I cut up branches and tossed them into the pick up truck. We also shook the dirt from the bush's roots and shoveled the dirt back into the garden.

Of course today was the day that everybody decided to drive down our street. Maybe a huge yard sale was going on around the corner. It must have been a good one for people to come by every five minutes. We saw more people  trying to get around us today than we have in the last six weeks we've lived here. One person asked if we were the owners.

Dad replied, "No, we're stealing someone else's bush. They go for real cheap on the black market."

When we finally conquered Steve, it felt really good to toss the last discarded branch on top of the pickup bed. Dad, Mom, and I immediately collapsed on the front lawn, stared at the empty hole where Steve used to be and looked at the treasures we found beneath his branches: a wallet, a street lamp shell, and a crushed water bottle. Then we decided to have root-beer floats.

So what interesting gardening or landscaping stories do you have?

Been a long time . . .

I apologize to my three faithful followers that I haven't written a lot of blogs lately; I've been on a long writer's block and my life has been full of papers, tests, and other school-related things. But I thought that I would share this still that I snipped from Monsters Inc. illustrating how most college students feel when Dead Week comes around: 

 Hope you enjoyed that. I know that I did. 

 Monsters Inc. belongs to Disney and Pixar; not to me.         

Translate This, Please.

Google Translator is my best friend.

If I can't remember how to say, "We're eating chicken tonight"  in Spanish, I can simply type it into a text box, adjust the settings, and click "Translate." It's wonderful - "Estamos comiendo el pollo esta noche."

Of course, I have to be careful and remember that Google Translator takes words literally; if you type in "the bathroom," it will translate "el cuarto de baño," rather than just "el baño."  That's where three years of Spanish and the Merriam-Webster Spanish dictionary comes in handy.

But why the sudden interest in other languages?

Teachers often stress how our world has become connected through the Internet, citing lofty examples such as the global economy, CNN, and other subjects that bore most students.  However, I have found an site that is interesting as well as an excellent example of international connections: Youtube.

Youtube? Yes, especially with clips from shows that aren't American, or are music-oriented and can appeal to many people. 

Last year, I finally broke down and got a Youtube account because I wanted to comment on some of the videos that I watch in my spare time.  It is astonishing how many different languages I see on Youtube: English, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, Spanish, Italian, German, Swedish, and more. It is amazing to see people all over the world feeling comfortable enough to use their own language when interacting with the videos. 

Youtube also has a feature where you can send each other messages; In fact, I have a German "pen-pal" who practices her English when she writes to me. We've had interesting cultural conversations, such as the differences between St. Nicholas and Santa Claus.

Of course, there are also drawbacks; some people are jerks, write stupid comments, and get into dumb arguments that have nothing to do with the video. For instance,  a person said on a Glenn Miller song that she would love to live in the 40's, then another person jumped all over her for being "racist."  Another example is when people start calling each other names that are worthy of a PG-13 rating.

But, on the whole, Youtube is an excellent example of people interacting around the world and connecting with each other because of a common interests. With the help of Google Translator, of course.

¡Adiós!

Cinderella Project: File 1

After working on projects, papers, and book readings all month, I decided that whoever depicted college life as an experience filled only with sorority houses, parties, booze, boyfriends, and cat fights should be sent somewhere nice and hot.  Hollywood fails to mention the large loads of homework that comes along with college in the many movies depicting "university" life .  But then again, that's boring - who wants to watch the main character struggle over writing a thesis?

There. Rant done.

On another note,  one reason that I've been neglecting my blog is because I'm trying to write and draw my own children's story for a class.  I must have been on something when I decided to do this; either that, or I just didn't want to analyze a bunch of picture books. I have ten times more respect for children's authors and illustrators now. I go to Barnes and Noble and marvel at the incredible dedication it takes to write in a limited vocabulary and create pictures from the few words on the page.

James the ASB president, and Cindy Reynolds

My picture book is "Cinderella" meets "High School Musical" in a hybrid-anime style, minus talking mice, people bursting into songs, and strange facial expressions. Thank goodness the teacher is willing to accept rough drawings - otherwise I would never get this done before I graduate. 

This project also made me realize how much I need to grow as an artist. As I sat hunched over my desk, trying to draw the profile views of heads, I was humbled by my limited knowledge and experience.  I had to search for models that showed me how to do basic things (like drawing hands). And even when I spend four hours on one drawing, I still make huge mistakes, like drawing the locker doors on the wrong side (those are locker doors, trust me).

I've often felt like giving up. But getting a good grade and the knowledge that I'll laugh at this later help to keep me going. More updates coming soon! :)

Will the Real Shinichi Please Stand Up?

Last weekend around eleven-thirty pm, screams were heard coming from my dorm room. No, it wasn’t due to anyone in scary costumes tramping through the hallway or creepy spiders crawling up the windows (although both options are possible); my roommate and I just finished watching The Lost Ship in the Sky the fourteenth movie in the Japanese anime Detective Conan series.

The movie’s plot is complicated, so I’ll briefly summarize the relevant part of the storyline: A jewel-stealing magician named Kaito Kid sneaks onto a blimp to steal a ring, but before he can snatch it, he gets caught by Rachel, a passenger. In order to evade the police waiting to ambush him, he tells her that he is actually her long-absent friend, Shinichi, a famous high-school detective.

Kaito Kid’s Shinichi-like features convince her as well as an allusion to a memory that only Shinichi would know (Kaito Kid overheard the real Shinichi

Kaito Kid (left) and Shinichi (right)

telling a friend about it). Confused, Rachel helps Kaito Kid escape the police; at the end of the movie, she finds Kaito Kid alone and when he asks her for a kiss, she consents (since it’s “Shinichi” after all) while the true Shinichi rushes to reach them in time.

So why was I shrieking about this encounter and fantasizing about pushing Kaito Kid out of the window?
 

Since Detective Conan began 13+ years ago, Rachel has been waiting for Shinichi; it’s the show’s main romance.  Kind, sweet, and a little dumb, she never wavers in her love for him even when he seems to drop off the face of the earth for months at a time. But she’s not a patsy; as captain of the high school karate team, she’s entertained a few thoughts about severely injuring Shinichi for making her wait so long (On a side note, I would have dumped Shinichi a long time ago). 

But what she doesn’t know is that he can’t tell her his location because an evil organization would use her to capture him. He wants to tell her; he’s even starts to reveal himself a few times, but then something always gets in the way, whether it’s a dead body or someone shooting at them.

Which is why I want to push Kaito Kid off of the blimp; how dare he try to deceive Rachel that way! Why can’t she see that he’s a fake, that he’s not really Shinichi?  (It also doesn’t help that they sound alike since the same voice actor plays both Shinichi and Kaito Kid). 

However, how many times do we choose flashy counterfeits that steal joy, happiness, and contentment instead of jewels and kisses?  How many times do we become content with something that ends up being worthless because it’s convenient at the time? 

As a child, I remember choosing shiny fool’s gold over real gold because the fake rock was shinier, only to find out that it wasn’t worth anything. How about you? Have you ever chosen a Kaito Kid or fool’s gold in your life? 

I do not own any of these pictures; Detective Conan: The Lost Ship in the Sky belongs to Gosho Aoyama and TMS entertainment.

Time Flies: A Prompt

http://design-milk.com/shattered-clock/

“Isn’t it great?” Marlene grabbed my hand and pulled me toward her latest thrift store bargain hanging on the wall. “I call it Time Flies.” 

I stared at it. “It’s more like Time Broken.”

“Jason, don’t be silly. It’s a work of art.”

“Art? It looks like someone threw up after eating a clock. How much did you pay for that thing?”

“Fifty dollars. It was on sale.”

My wife’s stupidity never ceased to amaze me. “I could smash a clock and dismember the numbers for free.”

I could tell that she was getting upset by the way that her maroon heel tapped against our apartment’s scratched wooden floor. “Jason, it’s not a garage project; it’s a masterpiece. This isn’t something that you can throw together.”

“It’s as bad as that Teletubby doll impaled on a stick you bought two months ago.”

“That sculpture was hilarious. Besides, I put Dipsy under the bed where you can’t see him."

“He’s under our bed?” I started to get nightmares of a green, elf-eared, gut-stabbed mutant crawling out from beneath our bed in the middle of the night, giggling in a demonic voice.

“You said put him where you couldn’t see him. I did."

“But I didn’t mean under the bed!”

“You can’t handle a Teletubby?”

“No! And I can’t handle that crap on the wall! Take it down!” I pointed to Time Flies/ Time Broken.

And that was the beginning of my extensive sleeping on the couch.

He's 10 Times Cooler Than You,Takagi-kun.

Have you ever watched a show and fell in love with a minor character that no one except you cares about?

            I have. His name is Takagi.

            A young policeman in the anime* "Detective Conan," Takagi often accompanies his superior to crime scenes. Once there, he recites facts, checks suspects’ alibis, and hunts for various clues. 

 If I looked up insecure in a thesaurus, Takagi would be a synonym.  Although a capable officer, he often lacks confidence concerning his reasoning abilities and appearance (people tend to remind him of his lack of "coolness" ).

            Perhaps one reason for Takagi’s anxiety is that his appearance never stays the same. You can see how much he’s changed; politically-correct people are probably mystified by his skin tone (I figure that he tans a lot). Originating as a nameless “throw-away” anime character, he stuck around long enough to be added to the manga** that inspired the show.  

You’re probably wondering, “So what?”

Sometimes, I feel like Takagi, playing the game of compare and contrast: “Todd runs better than me” or “Julie looks better than me.”  Society often tells us that if we lose weight or buy a certain item we will become people who can run and look better. We need to be reminded that we don’t need the world’s approval, that we are special in the eyes of the One who created us.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see if Takagi survives the next episode.

 *Anime: Japanese animation.

**Manga: Japanese comic book/graphic novel.  

(I don't own Takagi or "Detective Conan" - Gosho Aoyama does.)

If I Could Change the World . . .

           Ask me that question at this moment, and I would say, “eradicate the common cold.”  Yes, I know it would be so much better for the human race if I said something profound like “cure AIDS,” “clean up the environment,” or “erase poverty,” but I don’t feel especially philosophical right now, especially when there are other people to say it for me.

Of course, I may be slightly obsessed with the idea of curing the cold since I have one. My nose could win first place at a track meet, my sneeze instantly clears a five-foot diameter circle around me, my hot and cold flashes are worthy of the Katy Perry song, and my mouth tastes like hundreds of little gray germs moved in and died.  And don’t forget the aching body, the heavy smell of Menthol, and the let-me-curl-up-and-die feeling.

            Of course, this is the time when you find out whether your amigos are real or just window dressing. A true friend doesn’t mind giving you a hug despite the glazed look in your eyes from too much cold medicine. A true friend doesn’t mind that you can’t stop hacking all over your arm; he or she will probably rush to give you cough drops. A true friend won’t even mind the smell of Menthol hanging around you.

            So I guess a cold is good for something besides keeping the immune system active. But I’d rather go without needing the cough stuff, thanks. Now, where’s my Kleenex box?

Word Count: 249

"Know Thyself"

           A saxophone-playing rubber duck. A sticky chocolate bar. A pencil and a pen cross. A freakishly-small Snow White. All haphazardly Scotch-taped to a Quaker Chewy Bar box. Apparently, this is me.

            I don’t really know what I’m doing; I haven’t since I got this assignment last Thursday: “Describe yourself using children’s blocks or material.” Glancing around my dorm room, I realize that all of my cool stuff is at home. Great.

My Beautiful Creation

But I want a good grade in the class, so I shove aside my regrets. Where do I start? I need a base. I plunk an empty snack box on my desk. Next, Snow White catches my attention. I tape her down as she smirks at me. “What are you doing?” she seems to ask.

            “Shut up.  Just stay there, will you?” I add another strip of tape to her skirt.  A blue paper blob, a Chapstick, a book-wielding Christopher Robin, a Crayola pencil, and a Lionel Hampton Jazz Festival duck are the next victims. In a burst of desperation, I add the Chinese bracelet, the “magnifying glass,” the chocolate, and the hair-clip, praying that my model will stay together. I make up the items’ significance as I go to class.

            So what does this say about me? Perhaps I need to rediscover myself or take up modern art. Either way, I’ve found that I should just enjoy being myself and not take life too seriously. And now if you’ll excuse me, I need to buy more Scotch tape.     

Word Count: 250      

Alignment with Truth

            I hate change. It’s one of the major flaws in my system; friends and family will happily testify to it.  For instance, my bedroom remained the same Barbie-pink for ten years until my family migrated to a different house. And even then, I insisted on keeping my dirty, old, mauve wastebasket just because I’d had it forever. I couldn’t imagine switching to a different one – it was like an old friend.  A very ugly, gross-looking friend.

            During my sophomore year in high school, my parents suggested moving to Illinois for Dad’s potential job. I freaked. “Move??!! I don’t want to move half-way across the country to a private school that only has eight students in my grade! No thanks!” (I had thirty-two classmates in my current high school; that was small enough for me). Moving to Illinois became a moot point when Dad didn’t get the job.

            I’ve always prided myself on being consistent. Steady. And maybe that’s one of my problems. I don’t want to go outside the box; my little cubbyhole is perfectly fine, thanks.   Just writing a blog about this is stepping out of my comfort zone.

God has a funny way of wanting to take His creatures out of their comfort zones. Throughout the Bible, He constantly molded and shaped people willing to listen to Him.  He even shaped people who didn’t listen to Him. He still does today.  But because we’re usually oblivious, He often has to use an electric cattle prod to poke us in the right direction.

One of the questions in my Advanced Expository class asked what my life would look like for one hour if I was totally devoted to Christ. I think I would be more willing to step out of the boat, take chances.  Act crazy more than just once in a while. Eat more ice cream. Talk to the scary-looking hobo on the street corner (Okay, maybe I’d do that if there were several male friends with me).  The point is that I need to be willing to listen to God and let Him shape me into the person that He intends me to be.  John 8: 31-32 states that “to the Jews who had believed him, Jesus said, ‘If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free’” (NIV). Are you willing to follow the Teacher and learn the truth? Or do you want hide in your comfort zone, holding onto a disgusting waste basket?

            (In case you’re wondering, I eventually switched out my pinkish-purple garbage can for a sleeker black model that hides my pencil sharpener shavings).