It is no exaggeration to say that I personally am addicted to smartphones. Much of my free time is spent researching new models or customizing the ones that I own. I tend to buy a new one every six to twelve months, which allows me to try out all sorts of hardware and software combinations. When a phone is no longer my “daily driver,” I will either repurpose it, give it to a family member, or have it destroyed for security reasons. Needless to say, I now know quite a bit about how they work.
I’ve always wanted to do a “What’s on Your Phone?” post, though I wasn’t sure how well it would mesh with the fundamental nature of this blog (most of you would rather have more fap material, I’m sure). The reason I’m deciding to do one now is because I feel I can make it educational, and that would put it in line with some of the other posts I’ve done (such as the “How to Hypnotize” post I made last year).
I was released from the infirmary late Saturday night, and I spent all of Sunday struggling to catch up on some unfinished coursework. With the new week at hand and people returning their attention to the more typical rigors permeating higher education, it was clear that the fallout from our incident had been rather minimal, and thankfully so. Those stragglers who were accosted by the armed men during the rushed evacuation appeared to have put the incident behind them; even Megan was unusually chipper as she waved to me on her way to class. Nevertheless, Rebekah’s insistence on barring the ASB secretary from administrative activities would remain in effect – a sign that the administration was still very much on edge and would be for some time.
Of course, a large part of that unease could easily be attributed to the sudden disappearance of our mystery scientist. He slipped through the police barricade, took off into the city proper, and vanished without so much as a trace. In spite of a sweeping search spanning the entire weekend, not one person claimed to know a man by the name Durham Anthony, nor could they identify his face. The armed men who were detained after the incident would offer no information which might incriminate their boss, as was to be expected. They would likely be held on misdemeanor charges anyway, forced into community service or something similar. Thus, with no further leads and no history to draw from, it was decided that the the case be put on hold for the time being. Considering how nothing too serious had transpired, many among the general masses considered it a best-case scenario.
Psh… Best-case, my lily white ass… I may have been a tad biased, but I knew in my heart that this story was far from over. Durham Anthony would return sooner or later; it was only a matter of when the most opportune moment would present itself to him. Not to mention that there was still a possibility of further ESPer attacks, so I couldn’t understand how a correlation this blatant could so easily be overlooked. To my credit, I wasn’t the only one.
Leaning against the inside of Cass’s mirror, I let out another sigh as I watched her finish putting on makeup. “Remind me one more time why we agreed to this stupid game of hers?”
“What was that? My hand wasn’t on the mirror.”
“What do you think I asked!?”
“Give it a rest already, will you?” she snapped. “This was the only way I could think to bargain with her. Plus who knows? Maybe if I rock her world tonight, she’ll ask to become my apprentice! How cool would that be?”
“Pardon my brashness, Cass, but are you getting some kind of a sick thrill out of this?”
“What in the hell is going on here?!” As I stepped forward to confront Astertis, I had to deny myself the urge to gag. All I could think about was how I had screwed up royally, and that if I didn’t do something quickly, my friend would be forced to give up the vessel she called her body.
Astertis appeared completely relaxed as she turned her gaze toward me. She even had a cheerful grin on her face as she clapped her hands together. “It would appear that your intuition is developing at a faster rate than I give you credit for! Before long, you’ll have the makings of a true master of the arts, my beloved Audrey!”
“What are you doing to her!? I thought I could trust you, though I see now that I was mistaken for ever doing so!” Need to act quickly…! Have to… save Cass…!
“I can assure you that your little girlfriend is in no real danger; now be a good girl and allow me to get what I came here for.”
What about… that might work, but… can I do it…? There’s no time…! Closing my eyes, I began to chant in an ancient language. The moment Astertis heard the words, her smile promptly faded.
“Madame President, can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead, Lana,” answered the woman’s voice through my wireless headset.
“I know that I said I was fine with sacrificing my night for the cause, but was this dress code really necessary? I mean, we aren’t the Men in Black!” Rebekah had insisted that members of the administration dress in what she deemed to be the proper security attire, and while I lacked any official standing, my role as Navigator meant I hadn’t much choice in the matter.
Standing along the far wall of the student union event hall, I concluded to myself that the inside temperature must have been approaching ninety degrees. I was dressed in black slacks and a matching suit jacket, and I found myself continuously having to shift against the thick fabric just to cool off. Our guests had all been smart enough to wear as little as possible, but even so, I could vaguely make out the beads of sweat dripping across their bodies as they rubbed up against each other.
Back in high school, school dances had always been something of a formality to me. I only ever participated in order to save face with my peers, and I thought that once I entered university, I’d be done with them forever. All I wanted was for the evening to go as smoothly as possible so I could return to my room and spend the rest of my weekend doing sweet F-A.
The meeting was to take place in the Deschutes conference room at six-thirty that evening. I slid my student ID into the card slot and was greeted by an audible click indicating approval. Rhiannon followed me inside, and we sat down at a set of three tables arranged in a U-shape.
Our student body president, Rebekah Farley, occupied the right corner. Next to her was the vice-president, Chase Ramsey. At the leftmost table were our secretary, Megan Mata; our historian, Eileen Kimball; and our public relations officer, Cassandra Saturn. Of these, Cassandra was perhaps the most peculiar individual, having landed her position despite only being a freshman undergrad. That wasn’t all; only two months into the year, and those around the residence halls had already begun to refer to her by a much loftier title: the ‘Matron-Saint of Faulkner University.’
She was a short girl – barely a hair’s breadth over five feet. Speaking of which, her hair was a natural platinum silver, silky smooth as it draped down the sides of her face, and stopping just shy of her neck. A white dress flowed across her gentle skin, and in the center of her chest was a shimmering silver pendant with an equally white stone at its center. This amplifier, which she carried at all times, allowed her to exhibit some rather incredible talents and made her one of the most powerful ESPers on our campus.
There is a common misconception that the most memorable stories are the ones which leave behind something profound. I deem this a misconception because it neglects the other half of the equation. While the writer can leave a million messages, it is ultimately up to the reader not only find those messages, but to accept them. So when we talk about theme, or the central ideas of a work, we run into a bit of a communication problem.
Standardized tests, for example, rely on panels of English professors and randomly-selected authors to interpret the thematic elements of testable passages. Authors have been tested on their own works and failed simply because the possible answer choices don’t match up with what they originally intended to convey. In the real world, this can actually be quite damning because it alludes to the idea that a reader could – in theory – write a story which is better than the original (or at the very least, more in line with the personal interpretations of the theme).
Now, many stories exist wherein the overarching message is rather blatantly put on display. A character might narrate or otherwise lampshade it to ensure that the reader understands where the writer is coming from. While this can be presented rather well in works of all ages, things tend to fall apart if the reader chooses to reject that message in favor of something the series had not explored. That’s why today, I would like to discuss a 2015 anime tiled “Ultimate Otaku Teacher” where – you guessed it – every episode is a lesson plan.