I’ll play ball. Here’s the polished side up.

A photo from one of the summer EA parties.

Oh, the title isn’t what I did, for those who can’t tell. It’s referencing the diner in the background and the car dashing past.

I just got back from movie night with the Alien Force cast. We watched Tremors. It was fun.

When the sound wasn’t working, someone suggested we could just ADR the movie and have Andrea cast.

I said Ashley could play Reba. I’d be Mr. Chang.

I wonder if it’s weird to hear our voices together out of character.

Oh, yeah. I guess one of the composers mentioned that it was at a party.

I had to put my feet on top of my loafers because they were hurting. One of the actor’s pugs took a liking to them and rested his head there while the movie played.

That is all.

I made it over a million points in the Disneyland ride.

Twice.

“Huh. That’s not a bad shot of WMA. . . wait. . . that’s my shot of WMA!”

Some people like my photography and they link or hotlink, and so it links back to my site if someone wants to see where it’s from. Or sometimes fans want to point out something they like on the journal. They’re not pretending it’s theirs.

I told a friend, if my name is clearly on it, or it’s just linked in from my site, I’m not going to freak out; you don’t have to formally mention my name and all that if it’s a personal, non-commercial blog.

This case is very different. This case is a perfect example of why I oppose the Orphan Works bill.

It’s not some little kid’s blog. It’s L.A. Weekly. They get a ton of advertising.

This blog not only used a photo without permission (on a very commercial site), uploading it onto their servers, someone cut my initials off the bottom of it. Continue reading »

Taking a break from all the serious stuff. A follow-up to the Julie issue, here’s an unofficial official voice actress “Elseworlds” version of what could happen if the Julie detesters got what they wanted: Julie, dead.

Do not repost, please.

A little something for the Benlie fans and the Benlie not-fans.

To my English Lit teachers, I apologize for what you are about to read.

I suggest you watch the “Ben 10 Returns” or “Pier Pressure” episode if you have no idea who I’m talking about. It airs this Saturday, I think, at 10:00AM and 12:30PM on Cartoon Network.

(How da ya like that plug? Subtle, huh?)

“Goodbye, Julie.”

Or

“Over the Edge, Redux.”

After Julie’s death,

Ben will always think about her.

Always.

Out of nowhere, he’ll ask “Why, Julie? Why?”

Why did such a normal, yet unusually understanding girl get mixed up in that crazy part-alien life of his?

He would turn into aliens, take a big breath to announce the name, then sigh, “What’s the point?”

Enemies would be so disgusted, they would walk away.

Other times, Ben would go at them in such a rage, pummeling them, blinded by grief. Fighting until there is no one left to face but himself. (Take your time with this line.) And his memories.

Whenever he would turn into Humongosaur, he would be inconsolable. “I first. . . I first hugged Julie as Humongosaur,” he will tell you.

And then. Ben would just sit there and cry.

Cry sad, sad tears.

(Yuri, will win an Emmy for this performance. In fact, the series will sweep awards in all categories.)

Even the hardest heart will be moved by this, yet all will inwardly hope any other firsts were as Ben.

Kevin or Gwen could try to comfort him, which would make certain people happy, but even then, he would sob at inappropriate times, totally killing the mood. After all, he’s no longer the bratty kid he was. He’s a caring, sensitive young man who has lost the love of his life (according to the new canon).

(Oh crap, I was going to add something, but that episode hasn’t aired.)

He would sleep next to her tennis racquet and wake up with those little square marks all over his face. That’s okay. He’ll wear them with pride. Because it was Julie’s racquet that did it to him.

He would cling to her pink hoodie, tenderly caressing the soft polyester fleece lining.

He might even wear it.

But it won’t fit, so that won’t get too far.

Maybe he’ll just walk around with the hoodie part on top of his head. Even though Julie technically never wore it that way, because really, who does? The hood is always too short to properly fit on a real girl’s head.

It might clash with his own green jacket, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

He will be a sad teenage boy with a green jacket, a really big watch that doesn’t tell time, and what looks like a pink cotton/poly blend wig on his head. A shell of his former alien crime-fighting self.

Or. . . maybe. . . a living flower of love.

And then, there would be the flashbacks. Oh, the wonders of retcon.

Glorious flashbacks of syrupy sweet JuliexBen dates. (Like in Casablanca!)

Yes. Many dates.

Dates on sunny afternoons and moonlit nights.

Every week, every episode.

Nauseatingly romantic Benlie—or Juen, Julen, Benju, or how about Jubenlie—whatever you call it, images. (Seriously, only Benlie makes sense, right?) It will be so sweet, the voice actors will get cavities from reading the script.

Thank goodness SAG insurance has dental. (It does, right?) Unfortunately, Julie’s VO actress didn’t qualify because she wasn’t in enough episodes previous seasons and shows up at subsequent conventions missing a few.

Fans will be confused, as this relationship unfolds before them. It will make about as much sense as the last episodes of Eva. Or the last episode of Titans (inside. . . joke).

Worse yet, the crew might do such a good job, or the network will run it so often, wearing down any sense of resistance (the way guys get girls in real life, by the way). . .

That. . . the haters might feel something new. Perhaps love.

Yes. Love.

“We see, Ben. We see why you loved her,” they’ll say. “No. . . we see why you love her.”

Because it will be the greatest love story ever told in the history of American basic cable animation.

Alas, she is gone. Julie. . . is gone.

Oh, what have we done?

What. . . have we done.

And in homage to this tragic, tender love, the series will then be renamed. . . Benlie.

Benlie: Love Force.

.

Oh, do you hear that?

That’s the sound of Alien Force fans—the Benlies and the anti-Benlienites alike—frantically writing to the studio, pleading that voice actors have no say in a character’s fate because despite the fans’ young ages, something tells them this could very well be. . . the worst idea in the history of American basic cable animation.

-Vyvan

Also known as Julie or Ship. Depending on who you like.

I couldn’t sleep last night.

Too many things on my mind.

I wanted something to lull me to sleep. I like leaving the TV on a timer, but there’s no TV in there right now. I left the radio on NPR.

I find the flashing light of the TV or a soft background of human voices comforting.

Feels like someone is watching over me, taking care of things. That someone else is carrying the worries for the night.

Now. . . onto the SAG meeting.

“Andrew said I could tape this here,” I announced. It was a general notice about the SAG meeting. I looked for a space on the counter.

“It doesn’t say anything negative,” I added. “And it’s only for two days.”

I leaned over and lifted the tape dispenser from the desk.

ZZZzzzzz. CRCH. ZZZZZzzzzzzzzz. CRCH. (That’s supposed to be the sound of tape.)

“What does that highlight on the name mean?” I asked, motioning toward the clipboard of names.

“Oh, like your name.”

She moved the clipboard when I craned my neck in to check.

“That means, trouble.”

It’s pretty easy to tease me. Like clubbing a baby seal.

I don’t think my name was highlighted, but I retorted, just in case, “I was late because I was called in for a job at the last minute. Through this office. And it was in Burbank. And I called as soon as I could.”

“Oh, didn’t you know? Making actual money doesn’t count. It’s being on time for auditions here. That’s number one.”

“You’re quite a whippersnapper aren’t you,” I said to the new assistant. She has a very dry wit which fits with her black glasses and pulled back curly, curly hair.

“Whippersnapper? How old are you?!” scoffed the floater, who was also at the desk. “What are you, a 75 year-old man?”

I looked at him blankly, “What’s wrong with whippersnapper?” And what’s wrong with talking like a 75 year-old man for that matter.

“Nothing,” he said, with a smug smile.

“You’re mean,” I said, kidding.

“We’re not allowed to be mean to clients,” he answered, continuing to file the next day’s sides.

“Really? Is that a rule? Well, you’re quite a whippersnapper, too.”

“Yeah,” he said, “my dad used to call me that. In Korean, though.”

Then he told us a story of what the Korean term means and then she told me about how her grandfather used to call her a whippersnapper, too.

I laughed. Called it on both counts.