Ookie Cookie: Chapter 1 - Section D

Last time, we were introduced to Linda's friend, Judy Tatamumakil. We continue our story with Linda's day.

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It was another mind-numbingly dull day at the Idunnowat Museum of History, a tourist attraction renowned for its hideous exterior, inspired, as the architect liked to proclaim frequently to admirers, by a drooping snowman he had seen on a warm March day. Pretentious folk thought it – or claimed to, anyway – marvellously artistic and avant-garde, but the plain truth of it was that it was just as depressing and forlorn as a melting snowman tends to be. People often shook their heads as they walked by the off-white monstrosity; some even shook their fists, as though their gestures could somehow be transmitted to the critically acclaimed architect, who was at the moment rummaging through a recycling bin in search of more “inspiration”.

Inside, the Museum of History is infinitely easier on one’s eyes. The 20 foot-high ceiling above the entrance is painted in the softest shades of white, brilliant but subdued as a cumulus cloud floating in the summer sky. Spotlights were carefully aimed at precise angles to light up the thin gold lines that criss-crossed the ceiling. The result was a warm glow that mimicked natural daylight, diffusing like dust particles down to the main atrium below where the patrons milled around, pleasantly surprised at the contrast between the bulky exterior and the elegant interior. The walls were finely mosaicked to depict the various landmarks of Idunnowat: the North Forest of Richmondil, the Orange Mountain and the Southern Caves. Linda, quirky as she is, always liked to imagine that she was still outside, walking all over Idunnowat at superhuman speed.

On this day, however, Linda could not be so cheerful and whisked her tour group through the museum with a sullen face with death shooting out her eyes. Figuratively, that is. Needless to say, the comment cards she received that day were the worst in her whole career. Some samples:
"If a grasshopper curls its butt end while you're holding it, it means it's going to poop on you."
"If you give away your stuff, you'll give away your ass!"
"If you grew an extra pair of lungs on your shoulders, would you be able to breathe and sing at the same time?"
The board of directors of the Idunnowat Museum of History are now in their second year of debating on whether or not to clarify to the patrons that the comment cards should be about their experience at the museum.

After her morning tour was over, Linda wandered off to the west wing of the museum to visit her favourite exhibit: The Heroes of Idunnowat. The funny portraits usually cheered her up. For instance, there was a really famous painting of the legendary hero, Muskels, who had once subdued a marauding dragon using nothing but a super sized bottle of baby oil. (It was later discovered that the dragon had been suffering from scale rot, which tends to affect many a reptile in the dry winter months. Having been treated for its skin condition with the soothing effects of aloe vera baby oil, the dragon was tamed and became a pet in South Idunnowat. Even now, there is a giant house in the South Idunnowat town square with the name “Droopy the Dragon” painted over the door.) The painting depicted sunlight shining down on Muskels – triumphantly holding up an empty bottle – with a meek dragon at his feet with unusually shiny scales.

Linda passed by the portrait of Muskels without a glance. Instead, she headed straight for the golden statue of Snippy the Lobster, Saviour of Lotsawata Harbour, which was bathed in golden light from a lone lightbulb. A golden claw held up triumphantly (it is a well-known fact that all images of heroic deeds must portray said hero holding up an object triumphantly, be it a sword, a wand or a giant stapler, as in the case of Jules the Lucky Bastard), Snippy smiled beneficently down at Linda. After looking about to make sure that no one was around, Linda planted her feet firmly and held up her hand just like the heroes around her.

“Linda the Magnificent, who found the long lost Ookie Cookie of the legends!”, she whispered. Then she noticed the reflection of herself on the gold lobster tail of Snippy and felt…well, silly, and not in the best way. It is the sort of embarrassment one feels when caught doing something goofy that is by no means morally reprehensible (an example may be one’s mother opening the bedroom door unexpectedly when one is dancing and singing in one’s underwear). In this case, Linda had caught herself, and although it was less embarrassing than being locked outside in one’s pyjamas, she still blushed. What if someone had seen?

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Some notes:

The description of the Museum of History was written around the time I found out about the crystal renovation at the ROM. I wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea, as you can probably tell. I wrote the second paragrah this week, because I felt that the museum needed more description and wanted to protest the white drywall that Josh reported in his blog post about the new ROM. White drywall? You mean the kind that's in my room? How can a museum be so bland?

The sample comments are taken from old Crazy E-mails. The first comment is me describing something that happened in my biology lab at U of T. The second comment is a Silly Saying (an ongoing segment in the latter years at Westmount) from Mrs. Crawford. The third is a Silly Saying from Matt after jazz choir.

Muskels is "muscles" as pronounced by Jenn when she is being goofy. She doesn't do that anymore, I've noticed.

I was using aloe vera baby oil at the time to moisturize my skin during a shower. I was very obsessed with lotions and moisturizers. I still am, but don't show it as often as before.

I've never been caught dancing and singing in my underwear by my mother. It doesn't mean I don't do it, though.

Ookie Cookie: Chapter 1 - Section C

Last time, we learned about the supposed origins of the mythical Ookie Cookie.

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“I’m telling you, it’s taunting me!” complained Linda to her best friend over chocolate pancakes one morning.

“It’s a cookie, Linda,” said Judy Tatamumakil. Judy was as sensible as one could get in the Land of Idunnowat without being tossed onto a catapult by the Silliness Enforcers. This was probably due to the fact that she was an Enforcer herself, who regularly warned people showing signs of seriousness by shoving bananas up their noses. “What’s in this biscotti? It’s hard as a rock!” To emphasize her point, Judy banged the edge of the breakfast table with the unnaturally solid treat.

“Don’t change the subject,” said Linda, grabbing the mistreated munchie away from her friend. “I’m going to find it, Judes. I’m going to find the Ookie Cookie.” Linda’s eyes shone. Her lips trembled. Her hands formed into determined fists. Her toes wiggled inside her favourite fuzzy purple slippers.

Judy smiled invisibly. It is the sort of smile one gives when one is amused by the sincerity of another person’s nutty antics. This isn’t to say that Judy did not have some peculiar quirks of her own. After all, the Silliness Enforcement Agency demanded that all its employees have at least 23 unique obsessions, compulsions, tics and phobias. She waited silently, sipping her morning tea, for Linda to continue her train of thought uninterrupted.

Coming out of her reverie, Linda poked at her stack of pancakes with her fork and muttered, “It’s not just a cookie. It is…my destiny.” She gazed off into the distance with another brave look and trembling lips when Judy interrupted with, “We should get going, Linda. There’s an early meeting at the Agency and you don’t want to be late for the museum.” Judy stood up from the table, tying on her Enforcer sash – a lovely sky blue with tiny golden bananas embroidered along the edges – and finished her tea. Linda started, looked sadly into her cup of hot chocolate and sighed.

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Some notes:

Judy Tatamumakil is a name from a Tambou Koala sketch that I did with Brenda and Robert after a period of all-absorbing obsession with Monty Python's Flying Circus and lots and lots of juice. In it, I was Judy Tatamumakil, who had small boobs despite a last name that suggested otherwise (tatas the size of a mumakil) and Brenda was Brenda Wafflebottom, whose butt wasn't as hot as it was suggested. Robert was a pompous voiceover man who was deflating us of our ego.

I wanted Judy to be a sensible character in comparison to Linda's lunacy, which is a reversal of our actual personalities. Not that Linda is completely sane, of course. The real Linda, I mean. Jesus, this is getting complicated.

In Westmount, maybe 10th or 11th grade, I baked biscottis and brought them to school. When they were freshly baked, they were soft and delicious, but by the next day, they were completely inedible due to their hardness. I think it was Jennifer who actually banged them on the edge of the cafeteria table to show how hard they were.

I'll probably be mentioning feet and toes very often in this book. It's not that I have a foot fetish, but I think feet and hands should be a main component when considering one's beauty. Yeah, I'm weird like that.

I was once told by someone (was it Jennifer?) that I have an invisible smile. For years, I didn't know what that meant until I saw America's Next Top Model, in which Tyra Banks is forever screaming, "Smile with your eyes! YOUR EYES!" Thanks, Tyra!

I rather like the idea of the Enforcers, these secret police agent types, walking around with elaborate beauty pageant style sashes. I could be changing the details of the sash itself, but for now the sky blue with golden bananas is lovely.

Ookie Cookie: Chapter 1 - Section B

We left off last time with the introduction of Linda Purplefork, our heroine in the quirky land of Idunnowat.

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This is hardly important. What really matters is the collection being housed in Linda’s hollowed-out oak. Instead of magical tomes of incalculable power, expensive and sparkly jewels or even an assortment of the best movies in the world, the library was the home of the most insensible collection known to man.

“My cookies!” Linda climbed up the spiral staircase coming out of the centre of the library floor. She wore a bright blue apron and big red rubber gloves. In her hands, she held a bottle of window washing fluid, a soft rag and a special cookie duster that she fashioned out of soft daisy feathers. She began her daily routine of wiping down the hundreds of glass covers in the cylindrical room. Linda enjoyed this rather mundane task, because it gave her a chance to admire her “crumbly darlings”, as she called them. As contented as she was, admiring the first mint chocolate chip cookie ever made or the chocolate chip chocolate cookie with chocolate icing and a dollop of chocolate sauce, she glanced at the one empty compartment in her shelf and sighed.

The Ookie Cookie is the rarest cookie in the world. So rare, in fact, that the only surviving record of its existence is in a book titled The Collection of Silly Superstitions, Mad Myths and Ridiculous Rumours in the Land of Idunnowat by Marianne Shaw-Buckitt, a best-selling historian with beautiful feet who had an unfortunate tendency to make up things, most of which are contained in her book. Just after the entry “The Dastardly Nocturnal Deeds of Fairies” is the entry about the Ookie Cookie:

“The Ookie Cookie is the rarest cookie in the world. So rare, in fact, that the only surviving record of its existence is in this book, written by yours truly. From years of research – mostly conducted in the mango-peach juice bars – this humble author has discovered that the legendary baked good may be traced back to the Temple of Dungivadamme, the centre of the Enlightened Indifference movement.

“It is said that the High Priestess of the ancient cult ordered the High Baker to create a dessert for the Day of Shrugging celebration, which consists of all believers putzing around in their sleeping clothes, unshaven and dirty-haired, contemplating their superior powers of utter apathy. The High Baker, Gaston was his name, sought inspiration in grapefruit juice, the sourness of which makes it a favoured drink of those wishing to reach the state of religious ecstasy. High Baker Gaston drank so much of this fruity liquid that his ecstatic fit caused his limbs to flail about and make a mess of giant proportions, which took High Caretaker John three hours to clean up the next morning. Coming out of his daze, the High Baker clenched his right hand and found that it held some dough. He took it as a sign and popped it into the oven at 350 degrees Fahrenheit or 175 degrees Celsius for twenty minutes. The cookie was beautiful to behold and nary a crumb fell when High Baker Gaston lifted it from the pan. Suddenly, he could not bear the thought of anyone eating his perfect creation, and after carefully wrapping it in a piece of wax paper, the deranged cook fled from the temple. When it was discovered that the High Baker was missing along with his divine dessert, the High Priestess ordered her soldiers to search for the traitor. Unfortunately, the Enlightened and Indifferent soldiers soon gave up, realizing that they just did not care about the cookie or in fact, anything at all. (See page 304 for the entry on the downfall of the Enlightened Indifference movement and the Temple of Dungivadamme.)

“Of the High Baker’s tragic fate (for one can only assume in these types of stories that the end was suitably disastrous), nothing can be said for certain. However, the legend of the Ookie Cookie has only grown over the years. Some attribute powers of immortality, telepathy, invisibility, omnipotence, omniscience and ambidextrousness to it, while others suggest that the possession of a saccharine object – especially that born out of religious ecstasy – can have only negative consequences, such as mortality, impotence, obesity, hyperglycemia and other diabetes-related symptoms.”

Every night, Linda pored over this passage before going to sleep, trying to find some meaning in the tangled phrases. And every night, she came to the conclusion that Miss Marianne Shaw-Buckitt was a harebrained loony – a perfect Idunnowat citizen. Then she threw the book at her light switch across the room, and kicked up the blankets in frustration. Her sleep was always plagued by befuddling dreams of a giant winged cookie beckoning to her from beyond a lake of milk shrouded in mist.

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Some notes:

What are "daisy feathers"? Darned if I know. Debbie suggested them to me and I liked the beautiful soft sound of them.

It should perhaps be mentioned that Linda's surname "Purplefork" is a play on Greenspoon, the Westmount math teacher. I think it was Leah, Linda and I who used the name "Purplefork" in a composition we had to do in French class.

I'm big fan of Dickensian names. Long ridiculous names. Shaw-Buckitt is my favourite to use when I can't think of a name right away. I think this one will stick for once. I love its faux-English sound.

The Enlightened Indifference movement was born when I finally realized after years of self-torment that it is best simply to let some things go. There are instances when apathy truly is a great comfort. I had thought of naming it Jindaludyism, which is a cult that Linda and I thought of starting one day to take over the world, but that was a bit on the nose, so I settled for the more understated name. As understated as one can get with a structure called "Temple of Dungivadamme", that is.

If I can one day get this printed, I would probably include all these as footnotes probably for my own amusement more than anything else. ^_^

The Resurrection of..."THE OOKIE COOKIE"!!!

Dear friends,
I haven't been writing for a long long time. As much as I like cooking and boasting about new recipes I've tried in my solitude here in Montreal, it doesn't give me the same boost as writing Crazy E-mails and Foodietales and wacky stories.

Ookie Cookie is a story I've been trying to write for the longest time. The problem is that even though I have all these ideas floating around in my head, it takes me forever to put them down because I'm so focused on writing the most perfect sentences. So, as a way of getting back to writing and also forcing myself to keep doing it, I've decided to write one new paragraph of Ookie Cookie every week. I would love any feedback you have about my writing.

Ookie Cookie was born from a random song Linda was singing to herself one day in my car:
Ookie Cookie
Ookie Cookie
I want a cookie!
(repeat)

The Lord of the Rings movies had just come out and we thought of an idea of a character going on an epic quest for a mythical cookie. We had no real idea of where the story would go from there, but I planned to soak the story with WSS in-jokes and references. At one point, we were actually thinking of "Ookie Cookie: The Musical", so if this works out and I'm not completely rhyme-dead, I will also be writing lyrics to various songs that would feature in such a musical.

Some song ideas right now are:
The Ookie Cookie Song
What Rhymes with Potato?
That Cookie Better Be Vegan!

For now, I'm posting Chapter 1: In which the adventure begins, Section A that I wrote a few years ago.

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Deep in the Land of Idunnowat, fairies in wispy dresses made of mist (dyed with fruit juice, in the case of the vainer of our winged friends) chatter and giggle late into the night, sitting cross-legged in their mulberry tree nests. When bored with the latest gossip about the Fairy of Sunflowers courting the Fairy of Mischief, they creep out from behind the leaves and take to the air, after peeping to make sure no one is around. One of their favourite activities is to fly through the open windows of sleeping humans and tickle the big pink ears or toes with dandelion puffs.

Such is the fluffy nonsense that the inhabitants of Land of Idunnowat believed, for they were very silly. Each and every one of them was an oddball, a nutjob or a weirdo, but it won’t do to call them such names, as they preferred the term “whimsically eccentric”. Good sense was frowned upon; it was a good thing too. When was the last time anyone had a smashing good time after someone had uttered the words, “You know, my good sense tells me…”? Anyone so practical as to say such things was immediately banished from the Land of Idunnowat to a grey and desolate country filled with math teachers, philosophers, astrobiologists and other miscellaneous people who belonged to the category of “No Fun Crankypants”. The population of Idunnowat dwindled somewhat, but the remaining citizens lived quite happily and peacefully, basking – and sometimes even suntanning – in the silliness of each other and the world around them.

One such silly person was Linda Purplefork, who lived in the hollowed-out centre of a giant oak in the north corner of Idunnowat. The idea of living in a tree, as well as being terribly romantic, was also terribly convenient, for the hollowed-out centre of the giant oak formed the ideal cylindrical shape for her library. She ordered special shelves that curved inward to fit the shape of the walls perfectly, as well as a ladder that rolled along the library walls for easy access. That was the main reason for her to build this custom library. In her previous house, the library formed a heptagon, which was most inconvenient for ladders and Linda was forced to huff and puff as she dragged hers from shelf to shelf. The contractor and the real estate agent who suggested that she simply buy custom shelves that fit the heptagonal walls and form a circle with the inner edge – instead of moving to a new house with a cylindrical shape – were both sacked and booted out of Idunnowat. Linda had no patience for sensible types.

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Up until this point, I was on a roll. I knew exactly what words I wanted to use and the tone I wanted to convey. More to come!