Another weird dream last night.

In this one, I am staying with someone, I think they are supposed to be an aunt. I’m a kid. I’m a bit rude at first, but then she turns out to be an epic aunt from hell, so I run away and hide under the snow on a neighbor’s roof. She gathers a search party, and I can hear them, but I stay put and still. Then the idea of the aunt is replaced by my parents, although they hate me as well.

Nobody being home, I sneak back inside and reformat the step-dad’s computer, to erase any mention of me and any hints as to where I might be found next. The dog follows me around, and as I step toward the entrance of the small house, the door opens and there is a kid there, a bit older than me, into his early teenage years. He’s been going from house to house, making sure every last person is evacuated. Those left behind have been children, the adults are already gone.

He tells me the dog can’t come and raises a pistol to shoot him. I step in the way, and when I refuse to move, he gets flustered. I snatch the gun away and point it at him. There’s a moment of uncomfortable heat as he moves closer until the gun is pressed against his shoulder. I’m worried he’s going to snatch it back, I’ve seen it done like this in movies and TV. I don’t want to shoot him but I warn him I will. Finally he gives in, the dog can come along.

Dreams are funny. They make strange layouts. It’s like passing through open windows as my dog and I are ushered to the docks. There are several children, being escorted to a bus. The vehicle is long with open sides and a tarp-like roof supported by thin wooden poles. There’s mesh along the back. This bus will take the children to a boat. As I look about, I realize the boy, the one who will be the last to leave in the evacuation process, is nowhere to be seen. And my dog is now a boy, about my age or maybe a little younger, and a friend of mine. It wasn’t a transformation, but the dream adjusting itself. I’m hesitant to get on the bus but don’t want to wait too long, or I may not get a ride out. The children don’t know where to head to once they get on the boat, and I exclaim “Tiki!” In the dream it’s a land. They agree that that sounds great, that’s where they’ll head.

Before the last few children can board, the bus begins to move. The remaining children and my friend and I cling to the mesh to hitch a ride, like people behind a trolley. But then I decide that we need to wait for the other boy, and my friend and I jump off.

The boy appears from the open-windows-tunnel with a little girl, who is reunited with her family who was waiting. Where they will be going, it will be cold, and her father remarks that her coat will not keep her warm enough. He asks where the big coat is, and she replies that she doesn’t know. I realize it was the coat I stole when I was hiding under the snow, but I can’t outright say that I stole it, so I say that I think I saw it. Despite it being a bit dangerous, I say I’ll go get it, and tell the girl to tell the “evacuator boy” that I’m heading back in. It’s my hope that maybe he will join me and help me through retrieving the coat, but I act alone as I head through the tunnel and down the snow-covered street. Next to a house is a pile of black, perhaps fabric or garbage bags or something, and nearly hidden among them is a dark blue coat. I snatch it up and head back, through the strange portal-like tunnel.

My friend-once-dog had passed out, and is surrounded by the little girl and the other boy. I give the coat back to the grateful girl and kneel down beside them to see what’s wrong. It seems to have come about by something like asthma, only he can breathe fine, he’s just unconscious. Again, dreams can make no sense. He’s wearing some kind of helmet and the girl places an object that fits perfectly to the top of it, like a plastic box, with glow-in-the-dark spots on the inner little roof, and a light-up glow on the helmet, underneath where the object fit in. It reminds me of a nightlight. The girl says that he’ll like that, it’ll make him feel safe, and I agree.

The other children got an adult to be with them, but we are the last. I don’t know where the girl’s family has gone, but we get into a small rowboat with a motor. I’m the last to hop in, worried at first that there’s water in the boat, but there isn’t. We sail through a small tunnel and out into the night. There are buildings, some with lights on. The light illuminates some of the water, which the streets have been flooded with. I have a feeling we don’t want to be heard or seen as we travel through the network of streets. Eventually it all leads out into the ocean.

We can hardly see the moon to know what direction we’re going in. We meet another rowboat, with two adults. To a child’s eyes, they look huge. They also look like pirates, albeit good-humored. The second has a funny eye that is scary to us. They laugh and bid us adieu. The second goes diving into the water. He is dressed a bit different than a pirate, and for some reason reminds me of the Norse. He is a god, but his steed cannot travel over water, so he has to take a boat. In a way I wish they would stay with us, because the ocean is vast and dark, the waves choppy and threatening to do worse.

Occasionally we see other boats with children. I have no idea if they or we will survive. I don’t see many adults among them, either. I can see dorsal fins in the water. There’s some sort of anchor point someone has made, that has several vacant boats moored to it. I suppose in case people need to swap out their boat, but these don’t look very reliable.

As we sail on, a leak suddenly springs on the bottom of our boat. The older boy seems to know how to fix it, and it works, despite that in real life you typically wouldn’t use a fruit and then caulk the edges of the hole with toothpaste. My friend is still out cold.

We see a house on the water, and sail in through the front door. There’s a bunch of older teenagers sitting around and laughing. As we pass through, I steal their fire extinguisher and tell them they ought to buy another one. I figure that if a shark tries to get at us, maybe the small fire extinguisher can drive it off. However, as we pass through the rooms and into the garage, I see it has an extension cord. There’s no outlets on the boat, of course, so I toss it overboard into their garage. We sail out the door and back into the ocean.

I don’t want to go to Tiki anymore. I know it’s very far north, but that’s where one of the other boats will be heading. I don’t want to go there and find out they possibly didn’t show up, that something happened to them. I relay my concerns with the ‘crew’, only in mentioning that who would want to go to Tiki, where there are angry tribes with poison darts. As I say it I realize how wrong of a choice it is for a destination, and hope the other boat changes its mind.

I have some inner hope that wherever we’re going, we’ll make it okay, because the bottom of the boat is, in essence, the Norse god. He took the shape of a boat, and only his head shows, but underwater, and I think he is keeping the sharks away. I, as the watcher of the dream, know this, but as a character in the dream, I and the others are not actually aware of it.

We sail on. I wake up.

Ryan: Ah-mee-chee’s [Amici's].
Scott: There is no ‘h’.
Ryan: There doesn’t have to be, it’s Italian.
Scott: It’s not ‘ch’.
Ryan: Yeah it is.
Scott: Cici’s isn’t.
Ryan: Amici’s is. It’s Ah-mee-chee’s.
Scott: Ah-mee-see’s [Amisi's].
Ryan laughs.
Ryan: No it’s not, it’s Ah-mee-chee’s [Amici's].
Scott: No it’s not. I’ve been in the food industry business for years, I know how it would be pronounced.
Ryan hangs up the phone.

Ryan calls up Amici’s.
Guy: Ah-mee-chee’s [Amici's], what can I do for you today?
Ryan: Hey, hi–is it Ah-mee-chee’s or Ah-mee-see’s?
Guy: It’s Ah-mee-chee’s.
Ryan: Okay, thanks, I thought so. I had a friend who was like “It’s Ah-mee-see’s” and I said it was “Ah-mee-chee’s” and he was like “I’ve been in the food industry this long and blah blah blah, it’s Ah-mee-see’s”, so I just had to be sure.
Guy laughs.
Guy: Yep, it’s Ah-mee-chee’s.
Ryan: Okay, well thank you.
Guy: No problem! Have a good day.
Ryan: You too, thank you!

Ryan calls up Scott.
Receives answering machine.
Possible he is unavailable or being a snot.

Ryan IMs Scott.
Ryan: Let’s go eat there

Ryan waits a while, then calls up Scott again.
Receives answering machine.
Knows he’s being a snot.

Ryan IMs Scott.
Ryan: Stubborn ox.
Scott: why should i talk to someone that hangs up on someone for disagreeing about a resturants name?
Ryan: I hung up to call Amici’s.
Ryan: But if you dun want free lunch, fine by me, I order in.
Ryan: I share if you want. It’s Ah-mee-chee’s they said.
Ryan: c in Italian is c as in cat, but if it’s before an e or an i, it’s c as in chin.
Scott: “amico” in Italian
Scott: amico is not amicho
Scott: amici is the pulural of amico
Scott: americans are wrong
Ryan: You’re wrong.
Ryan: It’s not Amico, it’s Amici.
Ryan: And a c before an e or an i is pronounced ‘ch’
Ryan: Amiciiiiiiii.
Ryan: You’re just mad that you’re wrong for once.
Ryan: ciao is not “sow”, it’s ciao. Like “chow.”
Ryan: Ciao, Amici’s.
Ryan: Americans are wrong if they’re saying it like Am-ee-sees.
Scott: your stilll talking?
Ryan: Fine, screw you.

Ryan vents to another friend.

Ryan: I refuse to give in and call a restaurant Ah-mi-see’s for his own self-satisfaction. I mean, c’mon, SAY it out loud. It sounds like feces’ best amoebic friend.
Patrick: lmao
Patrick: I know it’s not funny
Patrick: but wow

On an after note, probably what Feces and Amoeba would name their love child. Amises.

Anyway, amico means “friend” in Italian. It is pronounced “Ah-MEE-koh”. The plural is amici. It is pronounced “Ah-MEE-chee”. The ‘c’ changes into a ‘ch’ sound because there is an ‘i’ after the ‘c’.

Well, I think this has officially been one of the worst train trips I’ve ever taken. I spent the weekend with the boyfriend and had a lot of fun, but the train trip home is another story.

First, like always, I thought we might be late. I always seem to get there 5 minutes before the train leaves. I felt really carsick on the way to the station, and the feeling didn’t really pass once my feet were on the ground. Fighting the urge to be sick, we went into the station, got my ticket, said our goodbyes, and then I rushed off to get on the train.

I found a seat next to a nice gentleman, and listened to the “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen” announcement, complete with “Please see the safety instructions manual located on the back pocket of the seat in front of you.” So in case of accident, what, we put our heads between our knees and kiss our asses goodbye?

Time for everyone to get their tickets and IDs out, and as the woman came by to check, she’d hastily demand that luggage be under the seat or in the overhead bin. This is incredibly ironic, since there is so much space between the seat you’re in and the seat in front of you, that you can’t even reach the foot rest. It’s a joke. I was told I’d have to hold my big purse in my lap. Yes, let’s keep those incredibly big open spaces open. A single bag or two just will not do.

You get one complimentary snack and beverage on this trip, so as soon as my ticket is checked, my neighbor and I head for the snack car. I get a head start so I can smuggle a water AND a Sprite (oh noes!). Yes, I said smuggle, because if they catch you with more than one snack or beverage, they will tell you you can only have of each. I need the water for hydration and the soda to keep me from being nauseous, but I doubt they would care.

I’ve been on the train so many times now, that it’s a bit surprising how shaky the train is. The other train on the way here had been shaky but this is just ridiculous. I’m literally getting thrown about as I try to change cars.

I wish the train had its own wireless. Then I wouldn’t be stuck with nothing to do but writing this.

I realized I’d be better set up in the lounge car than in my seat, so I can be on my computer. I tell this to my neighbor, just so he doesn’t think I’m trying to ditch him, and he agrees–as the seats are so far apart, I’d have to practically squat on the floor to be anywhere near my computer on the food tray of the seat in front of me.

There are tags where people set that let the staff know where the passengers are going. I noticed the one man in the lounge car had brought his. Seems like a good idea. I get back to my seat and they haven’t written anything on either tags, so there’s no point in taking one. I take my things and I try to survive the train’s movements to make it the snack car. I get there, sit down, get ready to plug my computer in–and find there are no outlets. The tables take up one half of the long car, and the outlet is at the farthest end, in the corner, where nobody can sit or be. Great.

I remembered that there’s usually seats with tables near the front of every car. I move back to the front of the car I’d originally been in, and find one side occupied by two girls, and the other by an elderly couple. I don’t like sitting next to young girls, it makes me and my own appearance miserable by comparison. I jabber away in explanation about the lounge car and ask if I can sit there, and get stared at, until they must have translated my gibberish and agreed. I go back and get my stuff, come back, and they’ve moved to sit on the same side, which was very considerate of them. I gratefully sit down and get out my computer and set it up, while getting the occasional stare from one of them, and sometimes from one of the girls. I think it’s the sudden typing. I know I type fast, and I wouldn’t be surprised if someone thought I was just bashing random keys in order to sound intelligent. Funny, really, because typing doesn’t make you intelligent, it’s only gives you something to do.

Being hot, even my ability to not sweat couldn’t stop a thin layer of moisture from forming on my forehead and causing my hands to itch irritably from being unable to do the same. I reach into my big purse and root around until I find my deoderant. I turn the knob, and surprise surprise, it’s empty. I squeeze it and get a bit of results, but the only way I can apply it is up under my shirt, so I lean a bit and try, but fail since there wasn’t enough deoderant left, and resign to just tossing it back in my hand. I think one of the girls sitting across the way saw and began to giggle. I caught her looking at me and pinned the stare right back. It stops her from telling her friend and she averts her eyes. And when she looks at me again, I look right back. At this point I’m extremely embarrassed and just wish I was already home.

As I begin to write, I almost feel the pressing need to look to one of the eldery people across from me and ask “How do you spell nauseous?” And then I think about it and then I smile.

I’m wondering if the girls are from another country, because they are speaking a language I don’t recognize. I don’t know if they speak English, so it’s probably a good thing I didn’t ask to sit by them.

I know at some point I’m going to be stopped by a train staff member, and I do. She asks me for my ticket and then pauses and asks, “Or did you just move?” I said I’d moved. She asked where and commented that there’s probably already someone else in my seat. I had to turn around and squint so that I could say that I was sitting next to the guy in the blue bandana with white details. “Yep, there’s already someone sitting there.” Not that I really care, but I sounded intrigued. “Oh really?” “Yep, some guy in a blue hat.” Well good for him, except if he’s trying to dodge being asked about having a ticket. So she goes off and I haven’t heard tale yet, but I put out my ticket stub in case she comes around again.

Even though my body has calmed down from the anxiety, it’s still a little hot on the train. I want to get up and wash my hands before I eat the fries I brought on board, but washing your hands on a train seems pointless. There’s probably germs everywhere. Touching the sink, the soap dispenser, the door, bah.

I wish I had headphones, so I could listen to my music, but I was thick and forgot them. I do have to admit, it can be a little amusing to see the younger folk clinging for dear life as they move from car to car and down the aisle.

I don’t usually write journal entries this long, but I have plenty of time. Even still, I don’t want to spend the entire time writing this, so I think I’ll just add bits here and there if I have to. There must be something more interesting to do.

In other news, I can’t wait for Halloween. It’s my favorite holiday. Actually, it’s probably the only holiday I really like. I can take the time to don a scary costume and I won’t be taken to the psych ward. Like last year, this year I am going as the Grim Reaper. It’s been my best and most vivid costume yet.

The station we just stopped at has thick and dark clouds overhead, like a huge wool blanket covering the entire town. The storm hasn’t seemed to start yet, surprisingly, but it no doubt will soon. A strange little brown bug landed on the sill outside my window, a kind I’ve never seen before. He shifted about to try and hold on as the train started, and then flew off.

The same staff woman came by to tell the girls to put up their stuff in case someone sits down. Now I’m holding a satchel and a purse in my lap; there’s no way either is going in an overhead bin, and there’s no room to put them under the table because this eldery couple likes to have their leg room. I can’t stretch out my own legs as a result and my knees are feeling weary, but I’ll live. I just wish home wasn’t much farther away.

I feel a little fuzzy in the head. I think the jerking about of the train is hurting my eyes. I wouldn’t mind a nap, but it’s easier on a plane than a train. I’ve never been able to get comfortable and sleep on one of these. That’s apparently not the case for the elderly couple. Meanwhile the two girls are conversing away in another tongue. I think their accent might be German or Russian.

I’m so tired.

Now I’m thinking it may be Dutch. And my fries have gone cold. I feel nasty eating fries with unwashed hands, perhaps a bit nastier eating cold fries. At least I scored a complimentary snack.

The elderly woman doesn’t want to sleep. She keeps trying to keep herself away, and occasionally glances at me. I used to think I looked pretty trustworthy, but I’m wondering if the eyebrow piercing is making her think I’m a ‘hoodlum’ or something.

It’s starting to rain now, but it doesn’t last long. The man in the meantime has resumed snoring. We left the dark blanket of clouds behind, but there’s still a few stragglers, not as pregnant as the ones before. I’m wondering if the sky will clear up as we travel. It’s currently a dirty white, with some slightly darker clouds. Looking out the window on the other side shows a sky that makes you wonder if the sky is dark with low white clouds or if it’s white with high dark clouds. It’s really hard to tell, the darkness seems to take up most everything except the very horizon.

We’re passing another town, but it looks small; I don’t think we stop here. There’s a small grocery store, a church, some small family-owned business, a gas station, and a lot of little houses, all mixed in. The buildings grow bigger as we go on. A factory, some old corporate buildings, another factory even bigger than the first. Lots of old decrepit buildings with broken window panes. Now small houses, on the edge of the wilderness. The rain has started up again. The buildings then changed briefly to the other side of the tracks, and now there is only trees again.

Sometimes I check up to see what wireless networks are available. They come and go as we pass the towns. It’s not possible to actually connect to the Internet with them, but I try anyway. I always wonder about whatever network seems to stay with the train as we travel. No matter the level of bars, even if you connect, there’s an access to the Internet. I don’t know much about networks, but I wonder how someone can perhaps bring their own on the train. It’s beyond me.

I managed to get some sleep, but now my arm’s hurting too much to continue.

Early evening has become a late one. There’s only one more station after this one we’ve stopped at, and it’s mine. The elderly couple got off, so now I have leg room; my bad knee is thankful. I’ve been working on formatting some Javascript scripts in the meantime.

The train’s running a little late. First to stop for something, then to stop again because of trouble with a sign ahead working.

There’s a strange sound coming from ahead. It almost sounds like a welder’s torch. It passed after a moment. The train is jerking about more wildly than before. I think they’re trying to make up for lost time. The sound started up again and stopped, but I don’t know what it was. I don’t mind train rides so much during the day, but during night, with nothing better to do and only darkness outside your window, with the occasional pinpoint lights of passing towns, it’s easy to let your imagination wander. “What’s that sound? Are we going to derail? Is the car going to disconnect?” These aren’t exactly thought with outright anxiety, but idly wondered. Something to pass the time, I suppose.

So tired. I pulled two all-nighters in a row on a site for Rob’s boss, woke up at 6pm, clipped the bearded dragon’s claws so now I’m covered in painful irritating scratches, and burned myself while cooking. Then I discovered one of the sponges Rob uses trying to create its own ecosystem with an ungodly amount of mold. I called Rob up and asked him to bring home some sleeping pills, so I can get my schedule straight again.

Scott’s sister is having her wedding today, so I’ve convinced myself that having a bad day is cosmic balance for them having a (hopefully) great day. I’ll take anything life throws at me today. Well, almost anything.

Besides, one has to look at these things like the glass is half-full. I’ve made a great site, won’t get scratched by the beardie for a while, and have made myself some yummy spaghetti. There’s nothing positive about that sponge though. The best I can think of is that it becomes home to a new micro-civilization, but then you have to remember that I’ve just gone and thrown it out, possibly making me a criminal of mundicide, ecocide, populicide, you name it. …But at least I have spaghetti.

Unfortunately in early July my cat got out. I put up fliers all over the place, visited some of the shelters, called around… There’s only been two sightings and that was within two days of when she got out. I have a bad feeling someone has taken her in and is ignoring my flier.

I need to get a second job, because the web design business has suddenly gone really inactive. I asked around, and it seems that most of my clients have been effected by the economic crash. I’m thinking of a side job somewhere nearby, maybe a cashier job somewhere, just to bring in some money. I went out for applications yesterday and each place was out, so I have to go back later.

Rob got a really cute corgi named Dante. We’ve had him for a few months now, I think. Dante has the power to make any woman (and sometimes men) fall to their knees and adore him. If I were a male, I’d so be using him to pick up chicks.

Dante and Uno tend to get along for the most part. He chases her, she turns around and chases him. Sometimes they sleep on the opposite ends of the couch.

Rob’s brother passed on the other day, so he left for a few days to travel home and see his family. I know he and his brother didn’t have the best of relationships, but I’m glad he’s at least going back for a few days. Meanwhile, I’m keeping an eye on the cat and dog–so far so good. Been having some trouble house-training Dante, but just gotta keep trying and continue to take him for frequent walks.

It is SO hot out today. It was yesterday, too. When I was going out to look for applications, I invited Rob along, and he brought Dante. The little outlet is really close by and an easy walking distance, but poor Dante was panting so hard when I was done application-searching, that I bought him some water and a cup and let him drink. Bought a sandwich, then we went home.

Been really into playing Pokemon FireRed as of late. My starter is a Charmander, and I plan to import the other two starters soon, if I can borrow Scott’s Game Boy Advance and cord.

The apartment looks nice at the moment. If it starts getting messy, I’ll tidy it up. The boyfriend will probably be moving in around June, so I plan to find a storage place to store a lot of the stuff I don’t really need to have around. It may be nice to actually see the floor of my own room again.

What kind of sick twisted person gets satisfaction from freaking out family members by getting an eyebrow piercing? Oh wait, I do.

This would be piercing no# 6. Don’t freak, the rest are in my ears.

Anyway, I like this piercing, I think it looks nice. I don’t plan on getting any more piercings in the future.

If I wasn’t so damn unphotogenic I’d take some photos. I tried taking some the other day but not only did the pictures come out blurry, but the flash kept making me squint. Every time.

I feel like I’m talking to a wall here. With blogs like Facebook hogging the attention, I’m being overlooked by friends and family here. But that’s okay, I don’t want my family to see me cursing. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuckers. Yay! I have so many family members befriended on Facebook that I have to behave there.

In a related yet unrelated note: Repression from society is what started the Salem Witch trials.

Funny conversations with friends on the subject of children:

Jesse:

I am never having children. Which is a shame because I would name my boy Tyrannosaurus, and that’s pretty much the coolest fucking name ever. Nobody would fuck with him.

“I’m going to go beat that kid up.”
“Wait! Don’t!”
“Why not?”
“You don’t know who that is, do you? That’s Tyrannosaurus.”
“Christ, his name alone kicked my ass.”

Imagine role call.

“Tim.” “Here.” “Tyler.” “Here.” “Tyrannosaurus” “Rarr!”

Jun:

I will have one child. And that child will rull the world. Er, rule. Be kinda anti-climatic if the kid just rulled.

My thoughts: After babysitting my 2-year-old and 2-month-old nephews for one night, I can safely say I will never have children. Not ever.

Maybe when I’m 50 I can adopt a 25-year-old. Then I can just skip past the birthing, baby, toddler, and teenhood stuff, and skip straight past to the part where your kid is all grown up and living far away, but visits for the holidays.

Originally I had posted this to an immature video on YouTube claiming Dr. Horrible was a rip-off of Dr. Steel. They even had the nerve to make it a video response to the trailer of Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along blog. I’ve tweaked a few things here and there to make it understandable, as well as a bonus extra paragraph. And now:

It’s important to first point out that there is no patent on singing mad scientists. Nor has Dr. Steel made the concept original; there are others, such as the 1974 Young Frankenstein movie (Puttin’ on the Ritz!) and its Off-Broadway musical version.

Now, to the differences. Dr. Steel is a musician; his ‘life’ isn’t a musical. In Dr. Steel’s world, he is a musician with a robot band, a ‘cover’ for his world domination scheme. He also creates diabolical toys to help achieve his goal while still have fun and play to his inner child.

In Dr. Horrible’s world, however, nobody is an actual musician. The entire thing is a musical, and as such, nearly everyone sings their feelings. Secondly, Dr. Horrible does not have toy robots or make evil toys. He is your typical generic (well, almost typical and generic; things tend to go wrong) mad scientist with a chemistry set.

While Dr. Steel resembles a crazy mad scientist musician in real life, Dr. Horrible resembles a comic book character in a show–Neil Patrick Harris is not making out to be Dr. Horrible in real life. His goal is similar to Dr. Steel’s, to take over the world, but how many mad scientists’ goals aren’t?

I’ve heard several complaints that Dr. Horrible copied Dr. Steel’s ‘look’. Goggles, a lab coat, and gloves. If this look in itself is a patent, then any real life scientist in a lab with unstable or dangerous chemicals is in danger of being sued.

I heard one person even complain, “Why does Dr. Horrible wear what Dr. Steel does if he doesn’t even have a lab?” but if you look at the background of Dr. Horrible’s dwelling, there is a chemistry lab there.

You may ask, “Alright, but then why does he wear these clothes when he’s not in his lab?” Would you honestly be scared of a so-called mad scientist villain if he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans?

Some claim they’re wearing the exact type of mad scientist clothes, but the lab coats are different designs (and later Dr. Horrible dons a red lab coat when he is inducted into the Evil League of Evil), the gloves are a different type and a different color, and the goggles aren’t the same brand, let alone the same type (The front of Dr. Steel’s look like old-fashioned goggles while the rest that go over the ears resemble the temples of glasses; Dr. Horrible’s are standard welding goggles).

What Joss Whedon, the creator of the Dr. Horrible Sing-Along Blog, did was create a third-person view of a cast of characters in a world that upholds its heroes. Dr. Steel has no opposing hero, nor a love of his life, unless the Yellow Jacket Kato counts.

Next, we have the terms Read-Along versus Sing-Along. Dr. Steel’s first CD was called the Read-Along Album, while Whedon’s show was called Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along blog. People immediately point out the similarity and claim it an immediate rip-off, but fail to account two things. One, neither of these people made up the terms Sing-Along or Read-Along in our history, and two, Joss Whedon took the phrase from Buffy Sing-Along (in case any weren’t aware, Joss Whedon is the creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer) that aired two years before Dr. Steel’s Read-Along album!

I know several people, including myself, have ever wondered, “Why are shows and books always about the heroes? What’s it like from the villain’s side of view?” While not an original concept, it isn’t a commonly used one. Joss Whedon took the story of a hero, a villain, and a woman, and turned it upside down. I, personally, applaud the effort.

Now before you accuse me of being a fangirl of Whedon, let me tell you something. I have been a Toy Soldier of Dr. Steel’s for more than a year, and before Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, I had never heard of Joss Whedon. I never saw Firefly, and I wasn’t a big fan of Buffy or Angel unlike my roommate, but I saw the Sing-Along Blog and enjoyed it.

Never while I watched the musical did I think of Dr. Horrible as a rip-off of Dr. Steel. That’s like saying Dr. House from House is a rip-off of Dr. Cox from Scrubs.

Anyhow, I somehow knew Dr. Steel would take offense anyway, and sure enough, I go to the Toy Soldiers Unite web site and see a new mission up called “Destroy Dr. Horrible.” I chalked it up to the immaturity of some Toy Soldiers, at first. Dr. Steel has always encouraged creativity, fun, and listening to your inner child. And through his chaotic struggle for money and world domination, he has always advertised a Utopian Playland.

And then the bad news came–Dr. Steel had sent down the order to Kato herself to destroy any reputation of Dr. Horrible. Toy Soldiers were ordered to spam the Internet on related and non-related sites that Dr. Horrible was a rip-off of Dr. Steel. Some members, as appalled as I was, quit the ranks of Dr. Steel’s Toy Soldiers.

Over the next few days people began to calm, and missions were restructured, to use the fame that Dr. Horrible had gathered and direct it instead toward Dr. Steel. While I have always enjoyed Dr. Steel’s music and his wonderful flash site, the fact that he was no longer going to rely on his own work and large fanbase but steal fame from another was awful. While I am still a fan of Dr. Steel’s music, I no longer consider myself an official Toy Soldier for such reasons.

Now Dr. Steel has Episode 1 of his Dr. Steel Show, and if I wanted to be immature, I could say that he ripped off the idea from Joss Whedon, but that’s ridiculous. And why? Well first, as you can tell, I’ve done my research. As a fan, I know that he came out with the Dr. Steel Show song before the Sing-Along Blog, so the idea for a show was already in Dr. Steel’s mind, and he is finally doing it.

So to each their own! It is possible to like both Dr. Steel and Dr. Horrible without resorting to petty and unfounded arguments over them.