High School Musical - ENOUGH

Seriously, Disney, haven't you finished exploiting "High School Musical" (hereafter referred to as HSM) by now? I mean, sure the original movie is expected, duh, there wouldn't be a movie if you didn't show one. The sing-along version was a cute touch, especially for those who like singing along despite being incapable of carrying a tune. The dance along was pushing it. I mean, unless I intend to stage my own version of HSM, why the hell would I want to learn the dance steps? As if that wasn't bad enough, they're now releasing a "Pop-Up" version where little boxes will appear onscreen with trivia and other unimportant bits of information about HSM.

Speaking as someone who never finished Disney's HSM (my boredom and frustration with the story keeps me from watching it too long) I can't say I'm in any position to lambast and bad-mouth this movie. However, I just can't believe how Disney is bleeding the film to DEATH. Surely they know about saturation? You can only watch something so many times without becoming sick of it, or worse end up memorizing the dialogue and scenes frame by frame. So what makes HSM any different? What makes Disney think showing the Pop-Up version will gather more audiences? Unless they have some OMFG awesome prize being given away, people who weren't interested in the first place will remain uninterested, or worse will become so disgusted by how commercial the movie is becoming they'll stay as FAR AWAY from it as possible (like yours truly).

At this point I shall now rant about why I dislike HSM so much. So to all HSM fans, feel free to go away now and find some online forums to gush and squee about the "awesomeness" of HSM. Now, where was I? Oh yes, the main reason I dislike HSM is that it failed to accomplish the basic requirement in any fictional work: The suspension of disbelief.

What is the suspension of disbelief? Well, we all have this built-in function within our brain that tells us that Cows don't fly, or rather they can't fly. This function also tells us that my brother can't be a descendant of some super-powered alien race who was sent here to be raised so he can choose between saving us or condemning us. If the work of fiction (be it film, prose, poetry or whathaveyou) manages to override this built-in function, then the suspension of disbelief occurs.

It's what allows us to believe actors who look nothing alike are related by blood and are not step/half-siblings in any way. It's what allows us to believe animals are capable of showing human characteristics (not physical ones but emotional like betrayal, love, sacrifice and etc). So, where does this come in with HSM?

Yes, HSM is set in the present day, and the characters don't have OMFG SUPER 1337 skillz!! They're ordinary students in an ordinary high school. You have your usual cliques, the jocks, the populars, the nerds, the emos, the skater-punks, and etc. So far, so good.

Now we are introduced to the main characters the All-Star Golden Boy, a hunk, a jock, and intelligent, he's got it all. Sure, there are people like that IRL and it sucks if you're in love with one because you'll never stand a chance with them. Not unless you're like, one of them. You freak.

...

Bitter much?

Anyway, we are then introduced to the female lead. She's pretty, she's smart, she's got a great voice and she's new. Ooooh, so long story short jock meets newbie and they try out for the school play. Now unless your school is an artsy-farsty type of school, drama =/= cool. So they get the part and the whole school basically says WTF?

Up to that point it's believable. And then suddenly my built-in function kicks back into gear. Just because a POPULAR person does something UNPOPULAR everyone decides that "Hey, I can do shit too!" Hmmm, I wonder, if it were the otherway around would it still merit the same level of inspiration? Or would everyone in school just point, laugh, and proceed to make unpopular person's life a living hell for trying? Now, I don't know how exaggerated HSM is when compared to real schools, since I'm not from the US, but I do know that that's not how it works in my school.

The populars pretty much get away with whatever they do because they're popular. Granted that not all populars are evil, manipulative, heartless bitches (I come from an all girl's school, so just replace bitches with either bastards or assholes if it applies), I know some populars who are wonderfully nice and non-bitchy. But the moment an unpopular person tries something the populars are monopolizing unless said unpopular is KICK-ASS at it, get ready to be ridiculed and be punished for even thinking such a thing.

But wait, once an Unpopular is considered good at something, said unpopular suddenly loses the pre-fix and becomes... TADA! POPULAR~

Now, I know HSM is trying to advocate the whole "Be unafraid to be who you are" and stuff, but seriously this is HIGH SCHOOL we're talking about. As long as you're in High School, peer pressure is way too powerful to overcome by yourself. The only reason why Jock and Newbie end up together is that the rest of Jock's pals decide that "Hey, Jock's really awesome at this and Newbie's hella hot." So with the rest of the school's approval they end up together and enjoy their new 'unique lives.'

Any speech involving "I don't care what my friends say, you're all that matters" is unbelievable coming from High School kids. They're not mature enough to handle the pressure, the sudden change in the hierarchy, and losing their 'friends.' Alright, so maybe not all High School kids are immature and weak-willed, but are they always going to be from the Popular-material gene pool?

Christening

In suddenly remembering the existence of this account, I have opted to make a little post. This will be no commentary, although I might be prone to making rantings and whinings for future posts. Some may be in straight English, some may be in Taglish, but they will all have one thing in common: Nonsense.

There.

As of late, I have been attempting to write fiction. Poor attempts, but they are still attempts. Because of said attempts, I've found myself in a bit of a dilemma. I wish to continue the story but I have two ways of going through with it. The first one allows for a quicker pace, and will allow a more evident tension (albeit perceived only by the protagonist) between two characters. The second one allows for an excuse to have this chapter reaching a near smut-like state.

Now, I have an idea how both scenarios will play out, which means the actual struggle to write either piece will not play that big a role in my decision. I suppose the two sides warring at the moment is what I try to pass off as my integrity and my primal desire to do fan-service. Except, replace fan with self 8D

It's the old "Do we write for ourselves or for others" only in my case it's for approval. Whichever will get more people to read and comment on my works. I've talked about this with a friend, and I just ended up deciding to go with the first option. I still wrote the second scenario though, because, well, I felt like it. And here is where I shall post it :3 In case you were wondering what this little work of fiction is, I suggest you look here.

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The "missing" part Three of Chapter Four

The next day, Pandre decided the best way to keep herself occupied until Lady Almathea's ball was to drown herself in activities. She would take inventory of the things in the pantry and larder, then reorganize the contents of her armoirs, tend to her garden, and possibly finish that needlework project she had begun months ago.

Yes, that sounded like enough work to keep her busy, it quite possibly could last her until Josiah's return. She smiled, pleased with herself as she studied her list of tasks. She made her journey towards the dining hall with no sound, save for the rustling of her skirt long skirt. Her mind was too preoccupied with the list, she hadn't even noticed the small parcel lying atop the dining table. It was when she sat down and and had reached for her fork that she caught sight of the small package wrapped in butcher paper and tied with multicolored ribbons. With no note attached, Pandre could only guess whom it came from. The first name that crossed her mind was Seduise, if only by the faint scent of roses that lingered on the ribbons.

She supposed it could have come from Josiah, or her parents, or even from Lady Almathea. She bit her lip, wondering how this would affect her schedule. Then again, was the schedule so important? So long as she was at Vanguard Manor she would be fine, wouldn't she? Yes, that was reasonable.

Delicately she began to undo the ribbons and carefully opened the package. Inside was a small envelope, resting atop a pair of beautifully embroidered sandals. They seemed oddly familiar to the brunette, perhaps she had seen them in a bazaar some days ago? The note would hopefully shed some light.

Dear Paddy,

I am ever so sorry that it took so long for me to return your shoes to you. I'd have brought them over yesterday but they were ruined in the rain. Not to mention Mama-Hawke insisted that I stay home and wait until the storm lets up. The silly old woman, I know she means well but doesn't she realize I come from Morroc? Rain is nothing to us! We are an invincible people! At least when it comes to water. Sandstorms, dear Paddy, are another story. They sting something fierce.

Oh oh oh, I got off track, these shoes are a replacement for the ones I ruined. I tried to clean yours up and fix the little bows and such but I'm afraid I'm no good at needlework. By the way, Mama-Hawke tells me that you are rather talented in that area. Perhaps you could teach me some time?

That is if you've forgiven me. Which is why I had this dropped off instead of delivering it personally like I first wrote I would. I hope to hear from you soon.

Love,
Seddy

Pandre stared at the note for a few a few moments and then at her list of tasks. She requested the closest available servant to fetch her a quill, an inkwell and a small roll of parchment. Once the aforementioned writing instruments had arrived, she hastilly added at the bottom of her list: Teach Seduise simple needlework.

Once finished, she composed a short but simple response to Seduise's letter.

Dear Seddy,

To show you that I bear no ill-will I would like to invite you for a brief introduction to needlework and embroidery. Would later this afternoon be convenient for you? I wouldn't want to intrude on any of your plans after all.

Pandre hesitated on how she was to sign the note. Should she write "Sincerely" or "Yours"? Or should she mimic Seduise's own letter and sign it

Love,
Paddy

It had been a full five hours since Pandre sent her invitation to Hawke Manor. She'd already eaten lunch and was nearly done with taking inventory of the larder. The brunette could help but feel worried, had something happened to Seddy that she was unable to respond? Or had the servant given the letter to the wrong person? So many things could go wrong, so many circumstances beyond her control. Pandre supposed worrying was better than the alternative, which was to feel slighted. For that meant Seddy had received her invitation but hadn't the decency to answer. And after Seduise wrote about how much she wouldn't want to lose their friendship, Pandre would feel justified in her ire.

She was quite ready to work herself into a conniption when the butler half-ran into the larder to announce between wheezes

"Lady Hawke has arrived."

Pandre's eyes widened, "What?!" By Odin, she hadn't prepared the materials! She hadn't had the sitting room readied. Helplessly she looked at the butler, then at the larder and its contents, then back to the servant.

"Shall I have the cook prepare tea and a dish of fruit preserves?"

"Y-yes, and bring them to the sitting room along with my needlework and a spare set."

The butler quirked a brow but said nothing, he merely bowed and shuffled off to follow her instructions. Pandre hastilly left the inventory notes in the larder, atop some of the jars of pickled meats. She'd retrieve them later, after Seduise had left. For now she had to see to her guest. The rustle of Pandre's skirt echoed through the halls, enjoying its duet with the heels of her shoes. When she neared the doorway she stopped to catch her breath, her chest heaving from the mad dash she just did. She glanced at her reflection in a nearby mirror and adjusted her hair and clothing, she'd have to look presentable.

Even if Seduise did catch her by surprise.

"Seddy, what a pleasure you could make it." Pandre greeted warmly as she entered the foyer.

"Oh Paddy Paddy Paddy Paddy Paddy!" squealed the blonde as she embraced Pandre, practically scooping the smaller woman into her arms. "I was so happy when I got your invitation. I was sorely tempted to just rush on over but I held myself back. I was just so glad you still wish to be my friend."

Pandre felt Seduise's grip around her ribs tighten, and she gave a soft squeak of pain. The blonde crimsoned and released her before getting into a frenzy of apologies. The brunette laughed and calmed her friend down, assuring her she was alright.

"Milady, everything is ready." The butler declared with a low bow.

"This way, Seddy." Pandre smiled, linking her arm with Seduise's as she led the Morrocan to the sitting room. The sitting room was a fairly small room, capable of housing just half a dozen people at a time. There were two plush arm chairs accented with leib olmai fur, two deep mahogany rocking chairs lacquered to perfection, four ottomans with eclipse-slips and a settee stuffed with griffon down framed by matching tables.

In the seat of each arm chair was a basket filled with needles, pin cushions, spools of thread, thimbles, several squares of cloth and an embroidery hoop. One basket had these materials in pristine condition, as if it hadn't been touched before. The other had a work-in-progress in its hoop and it lacked thimbles.

Pandre bade Seduise sit and explained what each item was and what it was for. The brunette patiently showed the blonde each stitch and what they were called, "Maybe you should use a thimble for the moment, Seddy?" Pandre suggested as she watched Seduise struggle to pierce the tightly stretched cloth with the needle.

"No, no I- eeek!" Seduise yelped, dropping her hoop to the floor. She sucked on her index finger, whimpering. "M-maybe you're right..."

Pandre chuckled and once again resumed her instruction. She couldn't supress her laugh at how silly Seduise looked with the thimbles on her fingers.

"Paddy, how come you don't use one?" the blonde pouted playfully. The brunette looked thoughtful before she answered.

"Well, I've been doing this for a while now, and- ow!" Pandre winced, pulling her finger away. A pin-prick of crimson blossomed on the tip of her finger.

"Paddy!" the needlework was discarded, and her body left the arm chair. Wordlessly Seduise took Pandre's hand to inspect her wound. Pandre knew it was nothing life threatening, it would sting a bit but it would close just as quickly as it had opened. "Oh my poor Paddy..." Seduise murmured.

"I-I'm fine, Seddy." Pandre blushed as she tried to draw her hand back.

Seduise held fast, "There, there, I'm certain it hurts more than you say. A kiss should make it feel better." Seddy whispered and raised the brunette's finger to her lips. Pandre winced slightly at the stinging sensation, but it was quickly forgotten as her body grew warm from Seduise's touch.

"I knew it hurt," Seduise sighed, "Another kiss might be in order..." and she bent down, until she could stare deeply into Pandre's eyes. The Pronteran sat frozen, transfixed by Seduise's hypnotic gaze and by how those cherry lips drew closer and closer to hers.

"Paddy..."

A tightening in her chest.

"Paddy..."

A quickening of her pulse.

"Paddy...?"

A fluttering of her eyes and Pandre realized Seddy was still seated in the arm chair, staring quizzically at her. "So, why don't you use thimbles anymore?"

"I'm... I'm just used to handling needles, I suppose." Pandre stammered, her cheeks flushing. What is wrong with me? She frantically wondered, I can't control my dreams, but I'm awake now aren't I? Why... Why was I thinking of such things?

Pandre suppressed a cry of frustration (which was no easy feat) and continued as if nothing had happened.