All Aboard the Fail Train! (Note to Newbies)

Welcome to Sporks are Useless! A blog of random, useless, spork-like spam spontaneously posted by 2 authors, Hikari and Dancing Toast, twin girls with no lives, cranky and sarcastic attitudes, chaotically insane minds, and occasional violent mood swings. We will be responsible for making your visit to XXYYZ-I as frightening entertaining as possible.
Enjoy your stay at Sporks Are Useless and check out the blogs we follow on our profile!
See you on the dark side of the moon!
~The Sporks Team, Hikari and DancingToast

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

The Spider and the Fly by Mary Howitt

“Will you step into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly;
“’Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many pretty things to show when you are there.”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”

“I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the spider to the fly.
“There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in.”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “for I’ve often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed.”

Said the cunning spider to the fly, “Dear friend, what shall I do,
To prove the warm affection I’ve always felt for you?
I have within my pantry good store of all that’s nice;
I’m sure you’re very welcome; will you please to take a slice?”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “kind sir, that cannot be;
I’ve heard what’s in your pantry, and I do not wish to see.”

“Sweet creature!” said the spider, “You’re witty and you’re wise!
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf,
If you’ll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.”
“I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you’re pleased to say,
And bidding you good-morning now, I’ll call another day.”

The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly fly would soon be back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing
“Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing:
Your robes are green and purple; there’s a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead.”

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little fly,
Hearing his wily flattering words, came slowly flitting by.
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue;
Thinking only of her crested head — poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlor; but she ne’er came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed;
Unto an evil counselor close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011


I never allowed myself to truly write down all that I've wanted to about trust, hope, and growing up. Like, my purpose in life or whatever. I'm not the first or last to ask this. Nor do I really need an answer. I love movies and what they have to say, but they give this misconception that you need to know what it is. But still, what have I done to help someone? Who have I truly helped, who is truly better off because of me? Who can actually say that they'll miss me when I'm gone, or won't forget the person I was even after years? What can I provide the world with? I'm just a girl who delights in the impermanent. Another possible commitment-complex in this culture of people that think they deserve and expect more for themselves than what they already have. I don't have any realistic ambitions. I'm impulsive and don't have the attention span for over anything over an hour, much less keep a goal in mind. It's too late for me to be a director or an actress or a photographer. My friends have already started on the paths to these careers, and their early start just gives them that much of an advantage. Not to mention all the talent I'm surrounded by, constantly filling me with wonder and simultaneously reminding me that there is always someone better than me out there. And let's face it, people sometimes accept bad actors if they're pretty, as if beauty can make up for talent. I can critique art but not compose anything meaningful, so even if I get a super-expensive professional camera, I won't know what to take pictures of. I can't even get myself to look into knitting, much less movie critiques to enlighten me on what makes a good film, or even to teach myself piano. I don't have the courage to ask for ballet classes, and I yell at people for being concerned with their appearance and reputation, yet I hypocritically do the same. At least I don't feel that a relationship is necessary for esteem or existence. I read and watch inspiring things, and yet the feeling of awe doesn't affect me enough to change the person I am. I don't have a sob story, dedication to anything, or talent. I have no self-control, which is why I'm piling my misery onto an anonymous reader rather than just keeping it to myself. I always wish to be a better person, but whenever an opportunity presents itself for me to become that person, I predictably react like I always do. At least I'm aware of it. All I can do is try.
I know I'm probably not going to be successful in the careers I hope for, but I'm not going to stop hoping. You pass by people on the street and wonder what they did to get where they are, if they're happy with their lives, and if they're not, what their hopes and dreams were and if they were fulfilled, and if these people can be part of your life, as friends or enemies or competition or rivals. I won't let myself relinquish my dreams without something equally satisfying in return, even if it's reality kicking in because it only hurts if you've held on to irrationality for too long.
Comparing the material in this blog to another blog that I love, I wanted to delete this entire blog. But then I checked out the archive and realised how many memories are in here that I'm not willing to forget. Too much love that is important to me even though I know nothing lasts, including myself. Maybe that's why I aspired to be an actress, to be remembered. Or why being a director appeals to me, that I can still speak through my creations and be one in trillions for them. But even the most skilled are forgotten and more deserving people have little voice and so it must go in the relentless blanketing of time.
Becoming an authour's out. You didn't cry reading this, I promise. But maybe I can get into casting. It's close enough in film for me to love, and most realistic. But I'm not going to settle for 'close enough' without trying, even later rather than sooner.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Juno (Spoiler Warning)

Honestly, this movie was amazing. And really indie.

At first I didn't wanna watch it because it's about a pregnant teen; sounds idiotic, right?
It's really not.
The dialog was awesome and really funny and the characterisation was great; Cera's character had very little screen time, but all the other characters supplied enough background information for us to fully understand everyone's incredulity. Brenda's dog obsession was shown when she was depicted cutting out pictures of dogs although it was mentioned only once, and later she's seen again at that desk with scissors, but this time it's to give Juno's clothing the waistband they need.
Then Juno herself was hilarious and I absolutely loved her. Her attitude seems nonchalant but what she says kinda makes you think she's cranky and possibly harboring some dark grudge when in reality she isn't; it's just who she is. She seems momentarily pissed off about her parents' divorce in the introduction and when she confronts her dad about love, but that's not a main part of her personality.
You could also see the depth of Juno and Bleeker's relationship in the props: Bleeker also had a hamburger phone in his bedroom, just like Juno. At one point in the movie (I forget where) there was a picture of their band, before they even mentioned Juno played guitar.
The whole movie was actually not realistic, it has the guise of being so, but it's not. Her father and stepmother took the news a bit too quietly (my parents would chew my head off my neck with their own teeth and with the help of some rusty garden tools) and she shouldn't have been able to go to school for the last few months because her doctor would've wanted her in the hospital. No one in the world would fall in love with a teacher like Leah liked; it's just crazy. The Loring couple seemed too perfect, even when they divorced it wasn't strong enough to distract the unbelievability, and the fact that the Penny Saver had child advertisements was just outrageous. Actually, the whole idea of the divorce wasn't strong and wasn't developed all the way through. Mark Loring was a freaking pedophile; sincerely creepy. Ultrasound technicians aren't so uppity, either; they usually share their clients' joy and wonderment at seeing developing life. What make you think it was realistic was that her dad and Brenda had Liberty Bell that showed that they truly were happy together although Liberty Bell herself was entirely useless. She couldn't even help Juno feel better by saying something innocent or even make the movie awkward by asking what happened to her sister.
The camera angles or whatever you call them were perfect and everything was visually stunning and pleasing. Everything was well-lit and pretty much gorgeous, the sets as well.
When Juno confronts her dad about a vaguely-placed question about love, the answer he provides is jaw-dropping: It is definitely possible for someone to to be happy for the rest of their life with someone. It might take some tries, but you'll find someone who loves you for who you are, fat or skinny, ugly or pretty, they'll "think the sun shines out of your a**".
I loved it.

Sunday, March 13, 2011


What's so great about it?

The Borders near the local mall was going out of business. Sad, when no one wants books anymore. Everything was 25-50% off. Being the penny-pinching family we are, my family went to buy some books.
It was really fun. I will never stop loving books EVER.

I finally got Eldest! Eragon was given to me by Sunshine; thanks! For now, all I need is Brisingr, but it's not in paperback yet (At least, I don't think so. They didn't have it/ they were sold out by the time I got there.). I'm so happy~

Roald Dahl is one of my favorite authors. I'm elated out of my mind to finally have my own copies of his children's books. George's Marvellous Medicine was one of my favorites of his, but my library doesn't carry an available copy... ever. BUT NOW I CAN READ IT WHENEVER I WANT! :D

I know it's the second volume, but still. The stories I'd read so far had no mention of Professor Moriarty and Irene Adler was already married by then. I'm excited to start!

My older sister said this was fantastic, as was Ender's Game, which we also purchased. I really want to read them. I looked for Dr. Seuss books. They weren't there. D:
By the way, The Host is Stephenie Meyer's best book. It's really deep and touching and well thought-out, even for cynics. I'd absolutely recommend it. It's not all that sci-fi either. It's just the overall idea that's sci-fi, not what makes up most of the book. Definitely not mainstream sci-fi. It makes me cry every time I read it. Well, it doesn't make me cry, per se. It makes tears well up, but the tears don't fall. I don't think I've ever cried for anything I've watched or read. It's not really that I don't feel what the author or producer wants me to feel, it's just that I guess I don't feel it deeply enough.
GO. BUY. BOOKS. Electronics are the birth of ingenious ways of communication, but they're also the death of so many wonderful things we take for granted, like these tomes of enjoyment and wisdom, in some cases.
(Would a love of books be called bibliophilia?)

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

A Memoir to my sweet, old Grandfather

This blog is like my diary, in a sense. On a happier note, see this link: [link] It's really sweet and cute. Continuing...

So yesterday, 2/21/11, was President's Day, so we got a day off from school. I was hoping to sleep in for a very long time, but at around 7:00 a.m., I woke up from a nightmare.
Well, not so much a nightmare.
You see, as mentioned before, my grandfather died on 2/17/11. The first time I met him was when I was a baby, so I didn't remember that first visit at all. The second time I saw him was last year, 2010, during the summer break of my 6th grade year. I must say, I don't even know why he loved us so much when all I would do in his house was talk to Hikari or play on his computer all day when I could have bonded with him. That was the first and last time I remember seeing him alive, and I thought I could see him again and show him more respect and bond with him more. I couldn't, and this is my biggest regret.
So anyway, the dream was that I was really hungry, so my mother and I went to a restaurant and ate some sort of weird burrito. Anyway, I was full. My dead grandfather came along and asked us if we would eat some of his yellow rice porridge. We were full, so we said politely refused by lying that we would eat it later. He gave me this really sad smile, and I couldn't figure out why; until I remembered that he was dead, and I would never be able to refuse him again. I only realized later that it would be my last time to make amends. I woke up immediately after and cried. I believed that it was his soul, coming to maybe bond with me for one last time before he left to be reincarnated or something, and I refused it again like the not-wanting-to-bond teenager I was when I met him. It just so happened to be the very day my grandfather was cremated and buried in China when I dreamed this dream. I miss him so much, and he loved me so much, and I wish I could've showed him how much I loved him. I wish I could've stayed in that dream, to spend that one last chance with him again. But I didn't. And now I'm crying again by just remembering.

I can't believe how much of a horrible person I was to my grandfather. I made him suffer the cold air conditioning for my own selfish wants, and I ignored his efforts to bond with me, and when he did succeed in getting my attention, I was just impatient and wishing for the contact with him to end soon. Now I wish I could take those moments back. He was so sweet and kind, and his only wish was to spend time with his granddaughters that he battled and survived kidney problems for for seven or more years just to see. And when we hugged before our departure back to America, I couldn't help but have this sickening feeling that this would be the last time I would hug him and see him alive. I told myself not to think that way, but now it came true, and I can't help but think that it was that tiny, fleeting thought that killed him. the last time I talked to him was on the phone, and I hoped to talk to him again, after the operation, but I had the same horrible feeling again. And that became true, too. Hikari told my dad to tell my grandfather to keep holding on as soon as my grandfather was fit to speak. Within a few hours he was, and my father passed the message on. My grandfather began crying, and his condition was much better the next day.

The morning the news came, I was furious at the incessant ringing of the phone that woke me up so early, and how no one felt fit to pick it up. I now regret having felt this way as it was that phone call that delivered sorrow that could be found reverberating on the other side of the world. I couldn't even attend his funeral, just to see his sweet, kind face one more time before it was burned and buried underneath the ground forever, never to be seen by living eyes again. And I thought I could let him go, like my dad told me to do, but I tried, and I can't, because every spare moment I have is spent thinking about him. And every time I do anything, even think or laugh or eat, I just feel like I'm betraying his memory by not thinking about him, or thinking that I can experience these simple pleasures in life when he cannot ever again. Sometimes, when I was really frustrated or stressed, I thought about killing myself to make it all go away, and I would always back out of that thought because it would become to painful to bear, but after his death, I promised myself to never think that way ever again and live the life he gave to my father to give to me no matter how hard life became. I must sound like some stupid book now, but still.

Also, don't start pitying me or treating me like a delicate china doll that will commit suicide any second. Because I promised myself, and because I won't be able to stand your pity. It'll make me feel more like a self-centered, not-friend and china doll. So just channel those pitying thoughts into remembering my wonderful grandfather.

I'm sorry, Yeye, and I just kept pushing you away. I love you. I miss you.