The new website for Chaotic Mortal is chaoticmortal.com.

Yep, that’s my new website! Please move your old favorites and bookmarks and links to the new site.

(Don’t think I gave up WordPress! I’m using WordPress.org now)

The new site is: chaoticmortal.com

Does this sound familiar? Well, it should… if you’ve got a motion-detecting light switch. My family just got one, but we want to do some research before we install it. You see, following is a hilarious true story of motion detectors. It just seems the motion detectors don’t get the “motion picture”! Check it out!

My dad’s company recently installed a few motion detector light switches. One of them was installed into a restroom… incorrectly.

Someone went to the restroom. They went into a stall for two minutes. Suddenly, the lights went out.

The man who was inside the stall was aware that this restroom was outfitted with motion detection switches.

He waved his hands, hoping the motion detector would pick up the signal.

But it did nothing of the sort. Instead, he banged his hand on the side of the stall. He had forgotten he was inside a stall!

This restroom did not have any windows. It was the kind that was in the dead center of a building. It was the kind that had two doors so that no light came through.

He stomped his foot on the ground because he used to work in a facility that used sound-detecting light switches. But of course, it didn’t work.

So he was stuck in there until the next person came in. When the next person did come in, he ran out of the restroom, leaving that person puzzled… until the lights went out.

Another story about motion detectors (this happened in the same company)…

There is a short stubby guy that works at the company. He likes a bit of privacy, so he takes his desk and puts it so that the front is facing the light switch. Now, his desk has a computer on it. He has two screens (lucky).

A few day’s later, the company get’s him a motion detector light switch. He finds it convenient… and inconvenient at the same time!

The convenience: he doesn’t have to hit the light switch.

The inconvenience: every two minutes he has to wave his hands above his screens to get the light to stay on. If he forgets, his room gets very dark.

Imagine what it would look like if the boss was walking by. Suddenly, he sees you waving at him, even though you’re facing the screen. He would think you’re looking at the screen just to get him happy even though you know he’s there (because you waved).

You’d probably get a real shouting.

That’s why you should never install these things at your workplace… unless you have one of those automatic Chinese cats that wave their paw back and forth, back and forth…

Here is my story.

My party started at three-thirty in the afternoon and ended at eight-thirty in the night. The sleepover segment of the party was optional and it extended the party until the next morning at nine-thirty.

It seemed nobody paid any attention to all that timing.

The phone rang. “Hello?”

“Is this Brad?”

“Is this ‘ Mr. Sunshine?’” (that’s his nickname)

“Yep. Hey, I just wanted to tell you that I want to come early… say, two-twenty? Okay? Thanks… bye.”

And then he hung up on me, leaving me wonder what was going on.

I was in the middle of goodie-bag packing when a knock came from the door. When I opened the door, Mr. Sunshine (my friend) was at the door with his sleeping bag. He dumped everything onto the sofa.

I offered to let him help me finish packing the goodie bags. We finished up the bags in a jiffy. Everything done, we went upstairs and put the goodie bags on my desk.

Then we started to play on the computer. At three-fifty, “Waimbow” (his nickname) arrived. He gave me a bag. I rifled out the gift because I already knew what it was: a Tamagotchi.

I cut it open and told Waimbow thanks. He smiled broadly and we continued playing. Then he told me he could not stay for the sleepover. I sighed, but we continued playing anyway.

A while later, Luke came. I was sorry to hear he too could not come to the sleepover because of a serious earache. But he could still come to the party, so we continued playing.

About this time, I decided to go down and get a drink of water. While drinking, I began to watch one minute of TV, until Rocky came.

I had been waiting for a very long time for him. When he came, I ran up to him. He dropped his bag when I practically jumped on him, letting out a mini laptop mouse. Sweet.

My mom’s friend’s daughter and his brother arrived. I never met them before. His daughter’s name was Michelle. She was a cheek-red girl who was a bit shy. His brother had a fun look on his face as if he were ready to play.

Finally, everyone was here— except for Kev and his brother.

But we got along all right without him. We played and we had lots of fun. We stayed upstairs the whole time almost, playing games. Whenever we felt like we needed a rest (every twenty minutes), we would hobble over to my room and dig into the Legos for twenty minutes, and then when we felt like playing games again, that’s what we did.

It was about 11:45 in the night. My dad came up all squinty and told us we should intend to go to sleep now. He said that if we just went crazy and stayed up until eight and woke up at six (we laughed at that joke), then our parents would never let us sleepover again.

That’s why after about thirty minutes, I told everyone, “We should be cleaning up now, you know.”

Everyone grunted, “Just a moment.”

So I went back to building my super-duplex LEGO crafter. After another thirty minutes, I noticed the time.

“Um, guys? Don’t you—”

“Just a moment.”

They left me holding a finger up and my mouth open as they began to play with the LEGOs again.

By this time, it was one-thirty. At 1:45, I decided that this was my birthday party, and it was time I took control for a while.

I cleared my throat. “I decided that we should clean up now.” I bet if I could mesmerize, everyone would be snoring by now. But everyone listened instead of falling dead, and we gradually and reluctantly put up the LEGOs.

I pulled out my sleeping bag and laid down.

A moment later, I heard a noise.

“Beep.“

“Who just did that?”

“I did.”

“LUKE!”

“Sorry!” Then he began to sniffle as if he were crying. I played along with him.

“Oh, it’s okay, Luke.”

All of a sudden, a strong rustling came from my left. I saw a very angry Luke. “Don’t call me that.”

This time, it was my turn to say it.

“Sorry!“

We both fell over and laughed ridiculously. Rocky, apparently having heard our conversation, pushed it and said, “I’m going to stand sentry.”

I did not like that. But I just left him there, knowing that he would eventually get down and get to sleep.

He did just that.

But I felt a bit uncomfortable in the sleeping bag. My bed was next to me— empty. So I got up and went onto the bed. The padding was much more comfortable. I fell asleep.

The next morning at about seven, I woke up. Rocky was a notch more early. He was pacing around, carefully stepping over everyone and looking at all the family pictures, and all my crafts: those wooden assemble things along with my derby car and all the other stuff that I made.

When I got up, he said to me, “You’ve got a lot of awards and stuff.”

“Thanks.”

“You have so many family memories.”

“Really? This is practically a mere minimum.”

“My room might have cool stuff, but it doesn’t have any memories; no pictures, no artwork, no awards, no certificates…”

“You mean you could swap your room out with someone else’s and nobody would notice the difference.”

He nodded like I understood what he felt. Then he showed me his card. It said, “Friends have all things alike. From Rocky.” I smiled. He smiled back.

Just then, Mr. Sunshine came barging in. He didn’t ask for my permission. He just jumped on the computer and turned it on. Luke followed behind him. He smiled and said, “Wanna play?”

We spent the next half hour playing until we went downstairs to eat breakfast. Then he hobbled back up and played with LEGOs until everyone left… but Rocky.

Rocky and I played with our games for an extra half hour until his mom came. Then we all said bye and he left.

After he left, I began to clean up. It was work, and after noon, I was finished. But I wanted to do it again.

It had been so exhilarating.

So fun. So crazy.

So I asked my mom when we could do it again.

She smiled and said, “Next year.”

It’s not fast. It’s not vivid. Nobody knew that a harmless little printer which was only intended for printing a few pages of articles a week ended up printing over five-thousand pages. 5000 pages. That is a lot.

And a even more lot for a printer like this. A printer that only cost forty dollars.

Let me begin.

I bought this printer at Circuit City for forty dollars. My dad said it was only for a few pages a week. For my articles, he told me. So I agreed. It was a small present.

We took it home.

A few weeks later, my mom (who is a famous Chinese writer… at least in the Houston and Greater Houston area, anyway) told me her printer broke. Her printer was actually more expensive than the printer I bought.

Before I bought this printer, though, it was the only printer in the household. We had been depending on it for a long time: we took all of the things we needed to print from upstairs downstairs via a floppy (hey, this was a pretty long time ago).

But that was before we bought this printer. This printer had a purpose: to print articles that I wrote. It was going to stay where it had been put: upstairs.

So I rejected my mom’s request. I told her to do what we had been doing for the whole time: taking a floppy disk and bringing it up to print. So she had to agree.

That same year, I decided to make my own newsletter for the class. We did not want to buy a new printer, so we decided to use this printer.

It seemed to fit for the purpose at the time. After two years, it was still the same.The printer had not gone bad: nothing had happened to the printer. It had not blown up, and it had not been destroyed.

I think that part of the reason this printer stayed alive for such a long time was because it was the kind of printer that was cheap, but it’s cartridges of ink were not. This was probably the reason it stayed alive.

Why would I say so this way? The reason would be this: the printer only contained wires. It did not contain a irremovable head (the thing that organizes the ink and sprays it onto the paper). Had it been a irremovable head (probably with a higher-quality), the printer would be almost useless in a year.

But this printer was not like that. It had removable heads that came with the cartridge. In fact, all the printer really contained was a movable plastic case that swished the cartridges back and forth and a bunch of wires that fed data to the heads so they would spray the ink.

And something like that usually lasts longer.

So this printer is powerful. As the “all” clothing detergent calls it’s product “Little Ol’ Mighty”, that was exactly what this printer was. It probably suited the printer better than laundry detergent anyway…

But soon, my “Little Ol’ Mighty” is going to retire to hopefully the attic. If it’s not the attic, it’s the Dump.

And hopefully, it’s the furniture selling “Dump” store, instead of the garbage one. Why? My printer deserves more. It’s helped me do my newsletter, my articles, my science project, my room (makeover), my pictures… almost everything I can think of that I printed was done using this tiny little beast.

So it may be tiny, but it sure can last a while.

Then she put her hands on her knees and looked at me really close.

She said, “Now what you’re going to do is you are going to take your project home, even though its due today. The judges are coming tomorrow.”

She looked at me intently. I nodded to tell her I understood.

She continued, “I, as the science project project teacher— or the math project teacher— give you special permission to go and take this home. A few other students are also doing this.”

She looked at me again. I nodded.

“Now, you will take the board home and you’re going to stick on your hypothesis. Then you are going to bring it back to this very room that you’re standing in.” (She meant the room behind the stage.)

Inside my eyes, the tears were up to the brim. Careful to not show it (a few classmates accidentally showed some tears since they got the same problem that I did and it didn’t look too good), I grabbed the board and took it away into my classroom.

When I got there, practically all of my classmates tackled me.

“You’re supposed to take it to the room behind the stage!”

“Don’t you know anything about the science fair?”

I was about to be knocked over when a girl who also did the science project came up and told them, “He doesn’t have a hypothesis.”

Everyone got quiet. I nodded. They looked at me watchfully.

I joked and said, “Blink. Blink.” I accompanied the eye movements and everyone burst into laughter. Then they went back to their own things like I never had a science project.

I grinned at the girl. She smiled sheepishly. I told her “thanks”.

That afternoon, I got onto my mom’s van to go home with my backpack.

With my backpack. Only my backpack.

When I got home, I slapped myself on the face. My mom worriedly said, “What’s wrong?”

“WRONG? WHAT’S WRONG? I’LL TELL YOU WHAT’S WRONG: I FORGOT MY SCIENCE PROJECT, THAT’S WHAT’S WRONG!”

Then I picked myself up and went over to the sofa and began to think. What could I do? Well, I could forget about it, which was a terrible choice because I had already finished so much.

I could also make the stuff at home and when I got to school I would just stick it onto the board with the tape that I would bring on waxy paper.

I chose the second option as the one I would use. The first one was just too drastic.

So that night I worked. And I worked. And I worked. And I slept.

Did I catch you? But it was true.

Another one of my ancient quotes.

I finally went to sleep, sound that my science project would not crash.

Or so I thought.

“Hi!”

“Oh, hello! I’m the science project teacher! Or the math project teacher… it depends on what you’re doing.”

“I know.”

“Oh, Brad! It’s you! Did you fix your hypothesis problem?”

“Yes, maim. You can take a look at it and then register me in.”

“Okay!” She smiled real big.

Then she began to take her finger and pointing out every word. Almost through with the first page, she looked at me.

She stared at me intently.

Then she brightly said, “Well done! Well done! Well, I’ll just go and stick yours in and register it!”

Then she smiled at me so grandly I got a bit nervous.

She took my science board and put it up with the others.

There it was. Somehow, my brain kept on making a spotlight around it.

I left. The day after the next, I got my science project back.

There was a ribbon on it.

The ribbon had “2rd Place” written on it.

I stood looking at that ribbon. Why was I looking so intently?

The ribbon was mine.

I looked at that ribbon. It was hanging on a thin rope. The rope was hanging on a tiny nail that had been hammered into my board.

I smiled. This was one great science fair.

The next day, we drove into the drop-off area. I took my board and unloaded off from the van.

The drop-off area that we happened to unload at (I call it the “East Gate”) opened straight into the cafeteria. From the cafeteria, two inner doors opened into the rest of the building.

I took my board in. It was pretty typical. Some students were eating breakfast (you could pay to eat here or you could eat at home) and some were on their way to class.

And a small number of these people who were in the cafeteria were like me: they were unloading their stuff.

Their science project stuff. And they were walking into the small door that lead backstage. So I followed them.

I emerged out— behind the stage. There was a small stand set up. On the stand were four boards.

I set up my board with all the others. I was just about to leave when a teacher popped out. She was teaching in our grade.

This teacher always seemed to wear a smile… even if she was telling a student not to misbehave.

“Hullo there!” She put on a huge smile. Her cheeks shined light pink. It seemed like she was expecting a photographer to pop out any moment and take a picture of her.

She leaned downward at me. “You know, I’m the science project teacher. Or the math project teacher,” Her cheeks shined even brighter. “It just depends on which thing you’re doing.”

Then she opened her eyes big and her mouth became small, and she said, “Ah! You’ve got your science project, don’t you? Well, I’ve got to check your beauuuutiful project in, don’t I?”

“Yes, maim.”

Her face broke into a huge smile. “You know your manners, don’t you? Well, anyway, let me just read your report, okay, honey?”

“Yes, maim.”

I just stood there quite awkwardly while she took her finger and pointed out which line she was reading.

After about one page, all of a sudden she put her hands on her face and gasped. She turned and looked at me, and said, “Oh, dear.”

(still working on the part 3, so I guess it’s “to be continued”)

Whew! But as I always say: Yep, it’s true!

Yesterday was the day I quickly made my final adjustments for my science project that I turned into the teacher before the judges came.

It’s not wrong to do that. Everyone did it. So I went along and did it too.

Actually, I went along because I had to do that.

And the reason? I left out my hypothesis.

Allow me to begin. A few months ago, the teacher asked us if we wanted to do a science project for the science fair. The teacher said we didn’t have to do it even if we wanted the notice.

It sounded good, so I said yes. I took it home. I showed it to my dad. I decided to make a science project.

A few days later, I got my board. So I began to work on it.

My other friend (whom on my blog he is corresponded as Rocky) and his friend (who I will feature in my Others Folder) kept on telling me about their “motor”.

But I thought their topic was much too hard. So did my dad.

My science project was on whether you could believe your eyes or not. There was plenty of stuff on my board that made your eyes have to blink hard… or move your head back and forth, for that matter.

A day passed. I worked on my project.

Another day passed. I still worked on my project.

Another day passed. I again worked on my project.

Another day passed. I scrambled on my project.

Another day passed. The next day the project was due.

AHA! Caught you on surprise, didn’t I? But it was true. It was Monday, and the project was due on Tuesday.

That night, I stuck on my report. I added some borders. I taped my bibliography. I stood and admired it. And then I put it in the van.

(to part 2)

But you can read my argument. Well, actually it isn’t an argument. It’s actually just a joke… a true joke. I’m writing it in a different style…

It all started on an innocent sunny day. This was the first day my friend had his watch.

He was showing it to me.

The time was 10:59:05. (Okay, I made up the 05…)

We both had our hourly chimes on.

On his watch, the time was 10:59:46.

We were talking about his birthday presents.

He got a watch for his birthday.

I mentioned the watch.

He told me it was a good present.

His watched beeped.

Bieep, bieep.

I asked him why his watch beeped.

He said he had hourly chime on.

I told him I had hourly chime on too.

My watched beeped.

Beep, beeip, beep.

I told him mine was louder.

He said, “Yeah, right.”

I told him mine had a more clean sound.

He asked me if I was harassing his watch.

I told him that was a possible outcome.

He said that I was harassing his watch.

He told me my watch wasn’t loud.

I told him it was 48 decibels.

He said I was probably making it up.

I admitted I made it up.

Someone came up behind us.

That person asked if we even knew how loud 48 decibels was.

I told him 48 decibels was 48 decibels.

That person sighed.

That person walked away.

I turned back to my friend.

He was adjusting the time.

I said mine was louder.

He sa— wait, he didn’t say anything.

I said “his was louder”.

He didn’t say anything.

I said “his was louder” louder.

He looked at me.

I smiled.

He smiled.

I said mine was louder.

He frowned.

He didn’t say anything.

That someone came up behind us again.

That person said it was probably 34 decibels or so.

I asked that person if he even knew how loud 34 decibels was.

He said 34 decibels is 34 decibels.

I sighed.

But now I must painfully tell you that I did not win.

I lost on a hard word, specifically not telling you which word it was.

I will, though, tell you how I lost.

It was morning. I had just walked into school. I put my backpack down just as the morning announcements came from the speakers.

“Good morning! How is school today?” Yada, yada, yada. Blaa, blaa, blaa. I hate it when they ask that. School hadn’t even started and they ask whether the day was good or not.

So I didn’t pay much attention to the announcements, but it was one sentence that caught my attention immediately.

“If you are a Spelling BEE contestant, please report to the stage for practice rounds immediately. The actual BEE will follow the practice rounds.”

Yea! The BEE was here! I went down to the stage and found 15 chairs. There were five chairs for each grade that was participating: 3rd, 4th, and 5th.

I sat down and the teacher went over the rules of the Spelling BEE: no mumbling, no shouting, no chatting; all the rules I already knew.

Then all the classes from third to fifth filed in. I began to get a little nervous.

We began our practice round. I listened to all the other kids.

“Sushi.”

“Sushi. S-U-S-H-I. Sushi.“

“That is correct.”

“Plate.”

“Plate. P-L-A-T-E. Plate.”

“That is correct.”

“Jumbo.”

“Jumbo—could you give me the definition?“

“Wait— Jumbo. Very large.”

“Jumbo. J-U-M-B-E-O. Jumbo.“

“That is not correct, but this is a practice round, so don’t go yet.”

Our practice round went on like this. Finally, the actual one began. You could tell everyone got a whole lot nervous.

It seemed to me that I got all the hardest words. The person before me got “young” and the person after me got “fresh” but I had to get “preferences”.

I finally got out when they gave me the hard word. I spelled it wrong. I was just congratulating myself when they said it.

“That is not correct.“

Oops. I sat down.

I watched the rest of the show. It was mostly just the three really smart fifth graders in school that were doing it. Finally, one got out.

Now it was between two fifth-graders: one which I had never met, and the other which had won the Spelling BEE every year since he was allowed to participate.

“That is not correct.”

Huh? My eyes must have been playing tricks on me because the winner-of-all-other-rounds was now the winner-of-all-rounds-except-for-this-one!

Now was the championship round. Only one person: the other fifth grader. Should he get it right, he is the champion. Should he get it wrong, the winner-of-all-rounds-except-for-this-one returns to the title of Mr. All.

He got it right.

We all cheered like crazy. A few people (me included) took it further and shook hands. The Spelling BEE was over. After one whole hour and a half, he had won!

If I was a news reporter, I would have him on the Chronicle (the Houston newspaper)!

So that’s what happened. It wasn’t really my doing; it was just that the winner got his name in the Chronicle.

But then again, if I was a reporter, that would mean I couldn’t be in the Spelling BEE.

But that would mean I wouldn’t be here, which would mean— oh, forget it.