Start a Fire

time for a change

2007-11-05T09:21:00.000-08:00

It's time I moved. Everyone else is doing it and I wanted to feel included.

My new blog can be found here:

http://smokeandrain.wordpress.com/
(no Joy, I didn't copy you.......much....)

wordpress has some amazing custom tools and editing features that I've been looking for. It's generally an all-around feel-good experience. Like christmas morning, or a car that idles a little too much. Head on over and check it out.

Leadership

2007-10-21T19:27:00.000-07:00

I've been wondering lately what it takes to be a good leader. I wonder because for the past month, I've been in a leadership role and I have been feeling like I've been a doing just a really bad job. I have continually trying to teach myself how to be a better role model and how to handle the challenging situations, but I keep finding myself wanting...I feel like I know where my problem is, I just wish I could figure out how to fix it.
It is easy for me to come up with creative ideas--it's easy for me to be passionate about something. My problem is (and always has been) in the follow through. It isn't from a lack of trying or a lack of understanding--in fact I believe it comes from the very opposite. I have learned how to be a good communicator, I have been taught how manage time and priorities; but I think I've grown complacent...it's as if, just because I studied, it means I don't have to keep practicing. I look back on it now and I can see a pretty consistent trend--I really don't like to practice. I can look back at so much of what I have learned and consequently stopped learning and can trace it back to how much I just don't want to practice. I only hope it's not too late to change that.

Incidentally, my dad is moving across the country tomorrow morning. My mom and sister will be following him over the next couple of months. My thoughts are constantly with them--this huge transition has taken it's toll on all of us. Good luck Dad, see you soon.

The Trouble With Youth Is

2007-09-25T10:22:00.000-07:00

I think there is a common theme running through the mindset of people in my generation; I feel that the twenty-somethings-and-younger have a general sense of entitlement that filters the way the light reflects off the world into their eyes. I have noticed that one of the defining features of this contemporary age is choices.

The idea of progress has shaped our collective psyches to expect and require choices in every facet of living. What do I want to be when I grow up? Where do I want to live? Who do I want as friends? What do I want to wear tomorrow? Every choice we make is coupled options. There is a rub, however. The ability to choose creates uncertainty. Sounds a little strange to me too, uncertainty is part of life and healthy...in normal doses. But you live your life seeing nothing but ways-out and paths-around, then when you're told something is absolute it makes it a little difficult to believe. I think my generation has so many choices that they're afraid to actually pick one--they want to be assured that what they're picking is the right choice and that everything is going to be okay.

I never realized individualism could be such a scary concept. Life is off-road-luxury-package, create-your-own-pasta, save-on-airfare-when-you-book-a-hotel, zero-down-pay-when-someone-else-cares; fully automated and customized to fit your needs and every single want. I wonder if anyone realizes that we're all just getting the same thing in different colors?

So what does it mean?

2007-09-21T20:59:00.000-07:00

If there's one thing I admire about my parents, it is that once they decide to do something they follow through until it's done. Both have been discussing the idea of moving back east to be closer to family, and to be in a place that doesn't feel so foreign to such right-coast-minded individuals. Recently my dad has been shopping around looking for a new challenge as a choir director--a full time job that he could focus all of his attention on. A few weeks ago he got an interview and an audition at a small church in Greenwood, South Carolina and found out yesterday that he got the job.
So what does it mean? It means my family is moving! Potentially within the next few weeks. No one is sure exactly what's happening, but my family is all picking up and moving back east. I'll obviously be finishing out my last year at CSUN, "I can't believe I'm saying this....but I'm staying in Korea!" (kudos if you get that). It's a weird thought, I have to admit. My family is going to be 3000 miles away, I mean I'm used to most of my family being so far away but I've been comfortable in the idea that my parents and sister were still just half a days drive away. I'll be fine, of course, I've been doing this whole college thing now for a couple of years and I'd like to think I've got a little bit of a handle on it....but there is an odd sinking feeling now, as if my safety net has been taken away.
But enough angst, this is an exiting time! My parents are moving back east and I couldn't happier for them--they've needed to get back to a place where they feel like they belong. Holiday's with the family, seeing their best friends more than once every four years, and snow. I know one thing, they finding their place has given me hope to find mine.

Marla

2007-09-18T14:14:00.000-07:00

'"Case of the Mondays"

2007-09-17T14:34:00.001-07:00

I find I am dragging my feet this morning. Slept so heavily last night that I think I forgot where I was when I woke up. For a minute I thought I was back home. No real responsibilities or to do list longer than the phone book; no cares or worries--just a pleasant bed and a pleasant day. Why is it so difficult to find balance and serenity? I haven't been happy recently, and I don't know if I don't know why.

I'm goig to wash some clothes today, that'll cheer me up some.

(p.s. thanks cindy ;-) )

Do you know what today is?

2007-09-10T11:03:00.000-07:00

It's Free Hug Day.

I am a vocal opponent to those assinine fowards, the ones that try to define a friendship by how often someone checks their e-mail. This is not that. First of all, if you are reading this there's a good chance I already consider you my friend, I'm not worried about that. Secondly, I'm passing on a message of unconditional love. I do not need anyone to respond back to me to validate our relationship; I think today is about selfless love.

So in that vain, if you are reading this, considering yourself hugged. If I see you today I'll be sure to pass one on in person. If we are too far apart for full on body-contact, then know that I am thinking of you today. I hope your Free Hug Day is well.

I love you.

lunch: from scratch

2007-09-07T13:57:00.000-07:00

Home made pizza. Be jealous, I know Ben is.

I want this

2007-09-03T22:07:00.000-07:00

it's a vintage absinthe poster. $29.99 at allposters.com. I'm just throwing that out there.

p.s. can anyone tell me why rich text-format editing isn't showing up on any text boxes on my mac? It doesn't work here or my e-mail....lame, Mac. Very Lame.

Better Late than Never

2007-08-29T10:53:00.000-07:00

I'M BACK. Wow, so I'm only two or three months behind. My apologies, I will attempt to catch up over the next couple weeks--highlighting, of course, my fantabulous trip to Alaska. Quick preview: it rocked. In other news, I'm back in Los Angeles and doing fairly well. I'm excited this year, things are different. My classes feel like they fit...like they're already broken in. In fact they're so comfortable that I'm writing this blog in the middle of one. Technology is so neat.

I hate when I have so much to say that I don't have any place to start. So with that I will leave you with this post and hope to see you soon.

Adventure

2007-07-24T13:30:00.001-07:00

So I'm going to Alaska.

Harry Potter 7

2007-07-21T15:37:00.000-07:00

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows: Get.

On a related note, I realize that I am arbitrarily annoyed by everyone under the age of fifteen. This is a blanket annoyance and is both automatic and fairly absolute. If you're under fifteen you annoy me. Exceptions will be considered on an individual level.

I've got a fever! and the only prescription is...Harry Potter?

2007-07-18T22:42:00.000-07:00

I just finished re-reading Book 5! On to Book 6! Can I finish before the seventh comes out? Let's find out.

A Confession

2007-07-17T23:07:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I want to write something on here, but I stop myself afraid of what those who read it may think of it. Then I remember how few people read this and wonder if any of it really matters at al.

On Yosemite and friendship

2007-07-14T16:28:00.000-07:00

It's official, I can now say I have been camping in Yosemite. I have been promoted from the casual tourist or day-tripper; I have called Yosemite home...if only for two nights. I think you learn a lot about yourself when you're camping, when you've stripped yourself down to the essentials (well...close, anyway) you understand how your react in a challenge, taking yourself out of the comfort zone of an easy chair and a high definition television reveals a lot about how you handle certain things that you simply cannot change. For instance, I have learned that whle I'm away in the mountains and trying to be one with nature, I don't like people around me. It's true, evidently nothing is more annoying the faint ambient noise of Fergie soaring through the fresh mountain breeze. It actually pisses me off. I've also realized (perhaps not for the first time) that if something doesn't go the way I want it to, I can be a little hard to get a long with. Some of you may be letting out a discerning chuckle....shut up. Why is it so easy to get wrapped up in gap between our expectation and reality? It wasn't until we stopped and ate lunch in a meadow--that must have spanded half a mile--that I realized the unabashed joy of being in pure nature. Of course, it wasn't until then that I finally felt the solitude I was searching for.

I was talking with Melanie the other day about the problems with aggressive frienship. I don't mean making friends and gun point, I mean taking control of the friendship in a social headlock and keeping control for ourselves. It is easy for extroverted, the hyperactive and the mythical "type-a" personality. (can anyone please describe a type B personality?) But really how is it fair to the other person in this relationships. So often the aggressor feels that the other person just isn't trying to put energy into a friendship when in fact they've just become to acquaintd to being taken along for the ride. Perhaps they even want to take more control--plan more stuff to do, make suggestions, start conversations--but just don't know how to get a word in edge-wise....we can be a little intimidating. I talk about balance a lot, it is what I always strive for. But how is constantly maintaining control of a frienships or relationship being balanced at all?

I think the hardest thing I've ever had to face is the idea of letting go.

Sums it up

2007-06-20T18:33:00.001-07:00

I found a picture my sister took a long time ago, think it sums it up pretty well.

one at a time, please

2007-06-19T18:01:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine and I were just discussing our various pet peeves. The conversation started very shortly after I got off the phone with someone who was attempting to talk to me and cary on multiple other conversations at the same time on another medium. It bothers me when I am trying to hold a conversation and it begins to feel as if I'm speaking into a void. A conversation is based solely on interaction; when the second person is scarcely interacting it isn't a conversation, it's a monologue. If someone is telling you a story in a group do you also carry on five other conversations or do you listen to the story? I don't see how it's different.

time for something new, time for something different.

2007-06-13T09:17:00.000-07:00

I am pleased as hell to tell you that I am writing this on my brand new Macbook. Macs have always existed on the periphery of my computer needs, sort of a leper or a rebellious cousin that no one takes the time to understand. But the more I use this thing the more I enjoy it, and aside from the very slight paranoia that I look "trendy" I think I'm rather hooked.

School is over and again I'm staring down the barrel of another listless summer. Last year around this time I was just beginning to realize how much time I had until I could get back to LA. So I guess the trick is to how repeat last year without last year's mistakes. I think the best start is not worrying about last year. I have less time this summer and more I'd like to do, so I guess the trick is...doing it. For me, summer's have always been about change, sort of a pit stop along the speedway of my life. I've got a job that's pulling in some money. Nothing elaborate but enough to keep me going, and I have a couple projects I'd like to work on but as always, my biggest project this summer, I think is me.

After a lot of introspection over the past couple months I realized I am more at peace and feel more balanced when I write everything down, so I imagine I will be using this facility a great deal more than I have been. As always I hope to offer some thought provoking ideas that people will respond to, if you enjoy reading this experiment of mine please feel free to let me know. I'm not about shallow flattery, really I'm not.

So I can't decide where I want to search for my next inspiration. If I head left I go to The City. The frenzied steel-and-mortar-jungle where the fabric of life is woven so intricitly and tight that the casual observer can't help but get swept up in the noise? If I head right I go to the woods. Single, Solitary, removed from the burdens of modern conviences, safe from even time itself? Both are available, I only have to choose.

On Mondays and Migranes:

2007-05-12T21:37:00.000-07:00

Why Getting Drunk on Sunday Night is a Bad Idea.

Every Monday he comes,
seven am like some tyrannical alarm clock,
the garbage man clamors down my alley

He toils away, an over-zealous drummer
smashing at his metallic tympani
with desperate determination. I can just see him—
his eyebrows damp with sweat, cocked at a disturbing angle
his tongue pinched dogmatically between his lips
never looking up at the conductor to see if
They’re on the same page

Every Monday he comes,
as democratic as a jack-hammer
pounding mercilessly against my ear drums
he probably enjoys it sometimes,
doesn’t care what you did the night before
he’s got a job to do and no cries of mercy
from a sleepless poet will stop him.

Grip it by the husk.

2007-05-11T08:56:00.000-07:00

I am at peace the most when I am working with my hands. It really doesn't matter what I'm doing so long as I get to holding something between my fingers, able to manipulate it--there's something about the idea having control over what I'm working with. Carpentry, playing piano, painting, drawing, cooking. I think this is what's fueled my desire to be in the kitchen so much this semester, it's my only outlet for this need I have to dig my fingers into something, feel out a problem and solve from the inside.

It's so simple to take something for granted; to rely on the idea that once you have it, you've got it for good. If my experience has taught me anything it is that happiness can be a fickle and fleeting thing and when one has it, one has to hold on with every ounce of energy to keep it. Mainting happiness is a daily endevour and takes devotion to a cause. I hve been to passive, thinking that the happiness I've found will simply be there and that I dont have to work to keep it. I want to do what it takes to keep that happiness.

I miss Amy.

The Brink

2007-05-08T17:16:00.000-07:00

I hate it when so much starts going on that it hinders your ability to write about it. My program is teetering on the edge, my classes are a mess, and my computer is--for all intents and purposes--broke. I want peace again.

I'm dating this one....

2007-04-29T12:55:00.000-07:00

Oh yeah. You know you're jealous

Want.

2007-04-19T14:58:00.000-07:00

I think I really like this one.

2007-04-11T18:22:00.000-07:00

Fireflies

I was born on the Roanoke
which feeds the Potomac
that twists and bends it's way
to the Atlantic. It started in the
Appalachians, my mighty river,
as young and clean as I did.
I was born in Shenandoah innocence.

My cradle was arms of oaks—knotted
tentacles of mingling trees wrapped
haphazardly in a lover's embrace.
Momma hung bluegrass chandeliers
above my head. It twinkled folk songs
and spirituals in the waning sunlight.

My earliest memories are made
of log fences and ukuleles,

The smell of wood-smoke and rain
And the fugitive sight of a firefly's burning embers.

They said it was my destiny
to want to follow the sun;
they said that there was more to take in
the further west you go.
Now the rivers run cement, scrapping
the sandy ground. It's easy to run
the path of least resistance when
you don't meat any at all. But
all you grow are stucco boxes
they hardly give your room to put down roots.

It occurs to me that I am the Potomac,
with my feet buried deep
in the tobacco-fertile ground
of the cool green mountains.
I have stretched west to the path
of least resistance, and in
the suspension of twilight it occurs to me:
The one thing I still miss are the fireflies.

re-kindling

2007-04-09T10:11:00.000-07:00

Going home is good for the soul. A little bit of spotenaity and a lot of missing home found me driving up to Modesto Tuesday morning, much to the suprise of my family (and a little of myself). After scaring my mother half-to-death, and listening to my sister laughing that I tricked her again, I spent a quiet week at home catching up with old friends, and getting to know some a bit better. On the way back I stopped in Fresno and met Joy and Lamar at teazer for some, well, tea. It was the coolest place I've seen in a while. Good music, the best tea I've ever had, and they didn't seem to mind that I wasn't wearing shoes; I wish I had something like that closer to Northridge.

I found some things I've been missing, some things I realized I no longer need, some one I'd like to get to know better, and a few things I want closer to me.

It was a good week.

Chrysalis and Coming off the mountain.

2007-03-27T16:36:00.000-07:00

I've said it before: experience is gained in the follow through.

Friday morning I left with my class for our three-day backpacking excursion into the woods above lake Isabella. It was three days of uninterupted blissful escapism. We hiked in about 3 1/2 miles to a sandy beach along the river. We ate good food (I made greek pizzas on an open fire), hung out and let our hair down. Saturday we went on a day hike up to an abandoned mine shaft and learned how to orienteer with a map and compass and the terrain. Saturday afternoon we climbed a giant hill, then climbed a giant rock where we could see the whole valley. After we played a bunch of games including finger fencing that turned into "gladiator wrestling" (I accidentally flipped Kelly, a guy who's a bit bigger than me). That night we sat around the fire getting to know each other and being silly til 2 in the morning. We gave each other pirate names, John was "pokes fire with stick" Erin was "floating Gazelle" I was "pirate camper." After everyone went to bed Aeisha, John and I stalked Erin commando-style to her tent in the dark and did the hokey surpised her with the hokey pokey. She fell apart laughing.

Sunday morning I was the first one up (again), and I made fire from scratch! I felt like Tom Hanks in Castaway "I! HAVE MADE FIRE!" We left that morning, hiked out quickly (everyone was so pumped up from the weekend that a few of us practically ran...actually Erin did). We left the trailhead and met up in Kernville for pizza and beer and proceeded to toast anything and everything we could.

The whole weekend was amazing--the only bathing I did was sunbathing and that was completely expected. But it was the drive home that made me realize the significance of espcaping to my mountain top. For three days I was able to leave my problems behind, I didn't have to think about work, school, or really anyone except for the awesome people in front of me; but eventually I had to come back. I had to drive back down from the mountains into the valley where my problems laid waiting for me.

A chrysalis is the process a catipillar goes through to transform into a butterfly. It is a time of seclusion and deep personal growth. I think from time to time, it is important for everyone to undergo their own chrysalis--a time of maintenence, and a time of personal growth. Remembering to take care of the self must be one of the hardest lessons there is to learn, it continues to be one of the most difficult lessons I face. But this camping trip has reminded me of something--beating my head against the wall is useless. Occasionally life requires a retreat in order to regroup before facing our problems again. Occasionally, it is necessary to head up to a mountain so that we can come back down to the valley, revitalized and with new-found momentum.

greater than or equal to zero

2007-03-21T17:16:00.000-07:00

I have never walked into a class and been COMPLETELY suprised to discover a test waiting for me....until this evening.

so evidently there was a midterm in class tonight. So when I said earlier to a few people that I didn't do my reading for today, that also included the syllabus. My first clue should have been when I walked in and thought "man, why are there so many people here??" But the real epiphany came when she handed me a little stacks of white papers. The thought process went something like this:

"hey waddaya suppose this is?"
...
"it almost looks like a test.."
...
"oh no fucking way..."

so yeah. I failed, I failed like Woody Allen at ameteur night at the Apollo. In fact, instead of an essay I simply wrote an explination and apology as to why I did so poorly on this exam. I think this marks the turning point in my school career. It's taken too long to realize that I just don't take school seriously. Assignments have been important, due dates have been important--but the idea of school has never been one I took seriously. I think I finally realized this when I realized that my friends and I were talking about assignments and school work that they were speaking a different language than me. They spoke of due dates and page-length requirements as commandments chizeled in stone; all they heard from me were excuses why I didn't need to go to class that time....

The problem isn't the desire to learn, I hope I never stop learning. Learning is a full-contact sport and my one goal in life is come out on top. My problem is confidence--the confidence to get from zero to one. Being a good student, staying on top of my responsibilities, being an adult in general takes discipline--I have discipline, because I can get stuff done (to put it loosely), but it is that next step, making the discipline a habbit, where I lack confidence. I've spent so much time trying to recapture my youth and remember how to be a kid that I've forgotten the importance of being an adult.

Monty Python makes everything better.

2007-03-15T11:41:00.000-07:00

We all know where you've been yuo military faiiirry!

Leap of...faith?

2007-03-14T08:17:00.000-07:00

Someone asked me to design a tattoo for them based on my interpretation of the word "believe." That was two days ago and I still don't have anything for them. It's a little dis-heartening to draw such a perpetual blank, I believe in many things. I believe in truth and I believe in love. I believe in God. Sometimes I have a hard time not beleiving in magic. It's not what I believe, it's that I believe that I'm having problems with--or at least communicating it in an effective way.

The teachers of CSUN may strike. Their contracts are up for renewal and the union isn't happy with the terms of the salary increase won't keep up with inflation, and the treatment of the university's finances in general. They are voting whether or not to strike this week. The teachers believe and they know how to express it. They believe in education and they're willing to fight for it. I spoke with a few of the teachers manning the "we don't want to strike, but we will if we have to" booth, they're not only looking for teachers to join the picket line but student that will pledge to support their cause. I'd like to support them...I just don't know if I would. Here's where I get into trouble.

Up until now I have believed because everyone else around me was believing. It's not a bad thing--in fact I'd say it's human nature to want to believe. But when faced with real challenges on my own terms, given the option I simply chose to not choose at all. Remaining blissfully skeptic simply takes less work. I don't think a lot of people realize the amount of work it takes to really believe in something; it's suprising the sheer commitmnet one has to make--to a cause and to themselves. I'm sure if you talk to a few ex-girlfriends they'd be happy to tell you my inadequecies with that word. I think it comes on slowly--like growing up; it isn't as if one day you suddenly decide that for the rest of your life you are ready and willing to believe. It's little by litte, and comes mostly through trial and error.

It is easy to sit on the fence. Making a commitment is the hard part, most peple don't want to do it--including me.

The (Not so) Science of Silence

2007-02-18T15:54:00.000-08:00

I went for a hike today; up to stony point which is basically my mountain now (just don't tell the others). I spent about two hours exploring the backside of the mountain jumping over new rocks and finding new caves and getting dirty. Maybe it was when I was crawling on my belly through a cave or laying out on top of a giant boulder baking in the sun that I realized how powerful silence can be.

It's 4:30 now and I've maybe spoken 12 words since I've woken up this morning. And it's not that I've been trying to be anti-social, when people spoke to me I answered back, but beyond that I just kept silent. But even when I did speak to people, I noticed a suprising warmness in the reactions I got, as if saving my voice for when it was needed made it that much more powerful. It makes sense, doesn't it? When moses wanted to be a lone with God he went up a mountain--and before that he was a shepherd. How much more space do you need than that? Buddha had his tree on a mountain, and even the President gets Camp David.

It's easy to get lost in the distractions at ground level. When I cut out the extra noise--the cars, the televisions and the cell phones and the internet and even my own voice, and strip everyting down to the simple sounds of nature and the voice of my own thoughts; I find that everything is a little bit clearer, answers are more logical and questions are....they just don't seem to matter as much. Now the pertinant question now is how do I follow through? How do I bring this back off the mountain?

this is what happens when you second guess your blogging

2007-02-14T20:53:00.000-08:00

I've had so many thoughts rampaging through my buck-shot mind recently that everytime I try to follow one jagged path I get pulled down another. So I start one, and can't ever seem to finsih and eventually just leave it alone, clogging up my concentration like a wicked case of mental blue-balls. So instead of twenty pages of philosophy and self-discovery, here's one page of simple confession. Things that've been on my mind recently:

-I need to take time for myself so I can start taking pride in myself.

-I want to finish all of the books I have started

-I hate playing the dating game, yet right now I want nothing more than to meet someone nice. I hate that this enthusiasm is what is driving people away.

-I want to go rock climbing again

-I wish it felt like my friends were as excited about what I am involved in as I am about them

-The more I discover about myself, the more I realize the infinite more I have left to discover

-When people don't respond to what I write on here, it makes me feel like a bad writer.

Single Awareness Day

2007-02-14T18:21:00.001-08:00

Ive never really like Valentine's day. The whole aire of romance that surrounds the day seems a little forced. Thinking back, I've never actually shared Valentine's day with anyone. I've done nice things on Valentine's day for people--I used to buy a rose for three of my friends every year--and it was always very well received but I've never actually had someone who I could share the notion of Valentine's day with.

It hasn't really bothered me, until now. As I look around me I'm realizing that it seems like everyone has someone they can share today with. For some the special someone is literally right next door, while others have a few miles to trek before they sleep. Even for those who can't be with the one the love today, they still have someone. It didn't really sink in until I got a call today and found out that one of my closest friends is getting married...in ten weeks. She and her-now-fiance-are both a year younger than me! And what's more is that she's fourth friend to get married. Other friends are in committed relationships, and I? I am.....I don't know what I am.

I am not one to wallow in my own self-pity, nor am I fishing for sympathy. I will do what I always do when the stark realization of romance rears it's cock-eyed head. Read some Raymond Carver, listen to Tom wait, and get the fuck over it. Still though, the bitter reality of the single life seems to bite a little harder tonight--it's sting seems to be lingering a little longer tonight.

The real skill is in the follow through.

2007-02-09T09:51:00.000-08:00

I believe the source of my troubles lies in the follow through. Like so many ameteur gold or tennis players, I put all my effort into the brunt of the action. I have a good swing whenever I do something; but just like the sports if you only focus on your short game you end up leaving yourself in more traps than not. Is this a bit confusing to understand? You bet. It is on my end too. But I think that any self help starts with identifying the problem.

New and exciting things

2007-02-01T11:21:00.000-08:00

Classes, teachers, people, relationships....

There is a certain side of life, that I am ignorant too. There is a barrier built into who I am, and where I was born and who I was born to that keeps me from understanding life of the oppressed. There is a plethora of opportunity built into my life, I didn't ask for it but I have it. It is easy to skate through life without meeting much opposition simply because of the way I look (except in Texas--they don't like hippies).

The more I've studied the more aware of this advantage I have, so it's with some serendipity that the classes I have this semester are all designed to help me along that path. Men, Women, and Media is studying the bias of gender roles in the media. The History of African-American Literature highlights the significant advancements of African-American literature--literature that best shows what black society has had to put up with.

Some of you may be reading this and wondering why I hate my own skin so much--this isn't the case. This isn't white guilt. I've done nothing to feel guilty about. But what these classes, and really being in college, has taught me is that I truly believe in equality--for everyone. And that for anyone who has an advantage over another--it is their responsibility to reach out and obliterate those hurdles. I believe in this, in absolute equality for everyone. And it is time that I start taking it seriously--these classes will help.

This is going to be a hard, but a good semester.

first day

2007-01-30T10:02:00.000-08:00

I am in a fanstastic mood. First day back at school was awesome! That's all.

=)

Please assume the position

2007-01-22T14:10:00.000-08:00

Materials >Select by Course

Booklist for: Northridge Campus > Regular Sessions > Spring 2007 > JOUR > 371 > 10828

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All Governments Lie

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Taking Their Place

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Booklist for: Northridge Campus > Regular Sessions > Spring 2007 > ENGL > 409 > 16065

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Goest

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Here, Bullet

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Incognito Body

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Luster

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Booklist for: Northridge Campus > Regular Sessions > Spring 2007 > ENGL > 396CO > 16067

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V For Vendetta

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Contract with God

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Kramer's Ergot Five

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Don't Go Where I Can't Follow

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Understanding Comics

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ALTERNATIVE COMICS: AN EMERGING LITERATURE (P)

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One Hundred Demons

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Fun Home

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Anthology of Graphic Fiction, Cartoons, & True Stories

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EPILEPTIC (P)

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PYONGYANG: A JOURNEY IN NORTH KOREA

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DUCK FEET, BOOK 6 (P)

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Ode to Kirihito

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Kampung Boy

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Pride of Baghdad

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Booklist for: Northridge Campus > Regular Sessions > Spring 2007 > ENGL > 311 > 16409

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Norton Anthology of African Amer Lit (w/2 CDs)

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Booklist for: Northridge Campus > Regular Sessions > Spring 2007 > ENGL > 355 > 16412

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Literature: Compact

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Booklist for: Northridge Campus > Regular Sessions > Spring 2007 > RTM > 151A > 17805

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Mountaineering

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____________________________________________

Subtotal: $596.08

2007-01-22T13:04:00.000-08:00

So yeah, I have 22 books this semester--TWENTY-TWO. They break down to: 13 comic books (for "comic books as literature!), 4 poetry books, 2 anthologies, two books on journalism, and one book on mountaineering. Who says my interests are a little ambiguous? Anyway it's pretty obvious that I won't be buying my books at my school's bookstore (by the way the subtotal includes all possible used books available). I got the same list on amazon and it dropped about $200 but it's still approximately $400. The clencher is that not one is above eighty dollars, I don't have any biology or physics books that are notorious for requiring indentured servitude in order to afford them. I am an english major! We don't have any money, don't they realize that! Still I suppose it is my fault for taking four english classes in one semester.... >_< I don't know how I'm going to do it all. I'm going to start regreting this in exacly 5 weeks.

RA-ness *officially* picks up tomorrow. I'm axious to get see all my friend again, they're all such awesome people. I've missed that closeness we all share. There are a couple new RA's this semester replacing some that left last semester, and I know that I don't have to worry about them not fitting in--because all of the RA's are so appecting. I'm also excited to see my residents and start programming stuff, I have a lot of ideas and I can't wait to get them going. Between that and the metric ton of reading I'm going to have, this semester is going to be rather insane. Still I know if I can kepp my head above water, it's going to be really awesome.

Immer Suchen

2007-01-21T17:34:00.000-08:00

it's german for "always searching"

I have been searching for something for a while now. The problem is I'm not sure exactly what it is I'm searching for. Makes it a little difficult. But I'm searching for something...when I was younger not a lot bothered me, sure I'd get worked up about quasi-political issues and sure social issues pestered me, but then I'd just as quickly forget about them to play video games with my friends. Now it feels like no matter what there is this constant barrier between me and that comfortable happiness I had. I'm not saying I'm never happy, I'm sort of proud of the dogmatic optimism that saturates everything I do. I think there's at least some happiness to be found on even the bleakest of days--so much so that it has probably annoyed my friends more than once. But I am saying the ratio is backwards.

I'm finding myself feeling wanting more often than content. There's something that's missing, but agian, I don't have a name for it. If I could just get a glimpse, an understanding, a taste or smell of it, then at least I would know which way to plant my feet. I don't have to ask for much, I possess more than most people do and am quite...comfortable. Comfortable...why does it sound like such a dirty word?

If you think this is bad, imagine shopping for grocery's with me.

I don't know what's bothering me. Maybe it's senioritis, maybe it's the fact that I'm stuck in my dorm with no particular place to go. Maybe I desperately want my classes to get started so I have something to do. Maybe there's something more. It gets difficult sometimes, the whole notion of trying to find something that you can't even identify is overwhelming. Sometimes I just wish life were more like math--then at least the answers would be in the back of the book.

Things to do on a Sunday morning when you don't have any money or a way to get back inside the building:

2007-01-21T09:20:00.000-08:00

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I'm bored.

West facing East

2007-01-20T09:37:00.000-08:00

Have you ever stared on the window so long that all the colors fade to black and white? And even though the windows shut you can still hear all the movements outside?

My one window in my room (which is actually a large sliding glass door) faces east over the grounds and on up to the mountains. I gotten woken up by a loud noise this mornng at sunrise; I looked out my window and saw the most vibrant oranges and yellows and blue all blending effortlessly between twin peaks on the horizon just behind the pine trees in the courtyard. Everyone talks about California Sunsets, but I don't think they give enough credit to the sunrises--then again I wonder how many people are awake to see them. Honestly, in those moments i like to pretend I am the only one. That way the sunrise and the illogic-but-still-precocious colors are mine. That was east itself is mine.

There is something mysterious about the east. Something mystikal and wonderful and terrifying the east. I miss it.

edit: I was browsing through my archives and realized that this is my one year anniversary--I've been writing this blog for a year now. *throws some confetti*

Mull it Over

2007-01-17T21:37:00.000-08:00

If you were a verb, what would you be?

my answer: Search

Introspection

2007-01-16T22:26:00.000-08:00

I have an intense personality. I know that. Most of the time I take it in stride, it's part of who I am and I don't apologize for it. But sometimes I wonder if I am simply too much for my own good. It seems that those with overly-intense personalities are viewed as myopic, nothing is seen beyond the aspect of their extreme character.

We tend to laugh at people like this and group them in with the classic fool. Jack on Will and Grace, Mrs. Bennet in Pride and Prejudice, that-big-flashy-loud-side-kick-comic-relief in ALL of the teen movies (yes. all of them). Obviously I know that i am more than that, if for no other reason I am a living human being and with sentience comes complexity (although I've known a few people in my life who could make a STRONG case against that).

But I think one of my biggest fears is always being labeled--furthermore, being seen only as that label. I don't want that, I don't think anyone wants that. I know I am a charismatic person, but sometimes I get the feeling people get tired of it. I feel like the puppy who simply has too much energy--it's cute at first but it eventually gets old. I think I'm lacking the one thing I preach the most: balance. There has to be a better balance.

If I were to make a new year's resolution it would be to use less words and more actions.

Lost: One Wallet

2007-01-14T14:24:00.000-08:00

-Brown trifold
-floppy ears, leather skin
-answers to the name jimmy
-pictures of my friends
-bank cards
-my license

if found please call. His family misses him very much.

The question isn't could he, but WOULD he....

2007-01-09T18:36:00.000-08:00

Take that philosophers!

Zen and the art of driving

2007-01-09T13:28:00.000-08:00

There is something in the unbroken drone of the road that hypnotizes us. There is something in the complex rhythm of broken pavement, tar seems, and the doppler whine of passing cars that lulls our minds into an instinctive mode. Buddhists call this place Zen--the place where your body can function on it's own and your mind is free to explore the infinite possibilites of being--a place they achieve through rigorous meditation, in immense nature, or peircing solitude.

It is somewhat paradoxical to find this zen while moving a one-thousand pound machine down a road at death-defying speeds. One's instinct would be that any action at this speed would require absolute concentration and focus, and any divergence would invariably result in death. But it is this concentration--being congnisant of me and of my surroundings at all times that allows me to let go of my body and let it run on it's own.

It doesn't make complete sense to me either, I just know that it works.

A teacher once explained to me how he found his zen through doing dishes, and I realized that driving was very much the same thing--my hands and arms know what to do, each muscle knows when to flex and relax in time so that I won't die and ultimately will arive at my destination. In the meantime I am free to think less about where I am driving to, and more about why I am driving there. I think everyone has something they can do to meditate. What's yours?

Alone Together

2006-12-27T13:16:00.000-08:00

Alone Together

This highway is like a ballet,
each car leaps in time
with the symphony we play.
Headlights and tail lights intertwined
pirouette together, flickering Red and blue.
We trade melismas for fermatas
As we glide seamlessly to a slow and steady
Grand. Pause.
As the conductor holds us in suspense
and stare at myself in the unbroken mirror
of my neighbor’s inescapable glass.

Lane changes are choreographed perfectly,
mechanically,
to the adagio drip of classic rock
leaking from my radio;
coming so close but making sure never to touch another.
Engines drone on with the low reeds while
the horns shout their appoggiaturas
in that all too familiar call and response.
My car sings out her soprano descant above the chorus;
the same old song that never changes key.

I roll down my window
as the piece crescendos
to forty-five and reach out the window
so I can finally shake hands
with someone in my section.
But everyone knows that you don't talk
in the middle of a performance.
You look straight ahead, remain silent,
keep your hands to yourself and
never ask a question if you don't understand what's going on.
How can so many people play the same song
but never meet another musician?

I was talking with a friend about this poem as we went for a long drive. I was talking about how surreal it felt to watch traffic glide so effortlessly in and out of itself and that it almost seemed like a ballet and that's why I wrote this poem, I've posted it on here before but I reworked it for my last poetry class and I think it has a bit more energy now. Hope you enjoyed it.

If you have ever played classical music, this one's for you.

2006-12-20T20:07:00.000-08:00

Finally someone speaks up!

three cheers for mediocrity! HIP-HIP!

2006-12-20T13:49:00.000-08:00

...yeah me either...

so grades will be coming soon. I'm not terribly thrilled about that notion, but at this point I really want them to come and go. This semester was....odd. I've definitely done a lot of growing this semester--as a person, as an artist, and as a friend. But for some reason my academics just weren't on point. I don't totally understand it, I guess it's sort of like physics--water can't change physically and thermo-dynamically. If I'm doing well as a person, as a student I have to take a break. Maybe it's just me. Or perhaps, I'm just getting tired of the same circus that school presents me with. I'd never thought I'd grow tired of learning in a class room, but the truth is I'm loning for something else...some sort of education that is more tangible.

As for right now, I am all but finsihed with this semester, and looking foward to the coming break. Maybe by next semester I'll be ready to be taught at again.

Music Geek

2006-12-17T18:43:00.000-08:00

There are certainl different level's to one's geekiness. This takes a special kind of music geek.

p.s. thanks Post Secret

WHOA.

2006-12-02T01:31:00.001-08:00

Julianne Moore's son is named Caleb.

=o

course correction

2006-11-30T14:20:00.000-08:00

It's as if my life is a series of vectors, each a semester long. At the end of each segment I take my entire life in account--everything I have done, and everything I want to do, shuffle my life around, re-roll the dice and trudge on. Problem is I really don't know what all I want to do with the rest of my life. There are so many things I want to do, want to try. There are a number of things I'm good at, but I am really no closer to knowing which one I want to make a career of.

Unfortunately my school doesn't agree with such a laissez-fair take on life. You have got to know what you want, and get to doing it soon so you can start making money and living your life just like the rest of us. It makes me tear at my hair and shout from the top of my lungs "WHY!?" In reponse I get a mildly confused stare and "....because that's what you do.."

So once again I come to a pause, and ask my self "where the hell am I going?" I know that I want to help, I want to make the world a better place to live--but is that an education I can really get in school. Don't get me wrong, I love my poetry classes and I'm doing well in them. I hear almost daily from Jennifer what a wonderful writer I am, and I take for granted her (and everyone's) compliments. I know I have the potential for being really good...but I guess I wonder what the benefit is being good if I don't use it for good?

"Some of the most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don't..."
-Baz Lurman

Old Crow Medicine Show

2006-11-27T12:39:00.000-08:00

this song has brought me home when I couldn't be there.

Wagon Wheel

Headed down south to the land of the pines
And I'm thumbin' my way into North Caroline
Starin' up the road
And pray to God I see headlights

I made it down the coast in seventeen hours
Pickin' me a bouquet of dogwood flowers
And I'm a hopin' for Raleigh
I can see my baby tonight

So rock me mama like a wagon wheel
Rock me mama anyway you feel
Hey mama rock me
Rock me mama like the wind and the rain
Rock me mama like a south-bound train
Hey mama rock me

Runnin' from the cold up in New England
I was born to be a fiddler in an old-time stringband
My baby plays the guitar
I pick a banjo now

Oh, the North country winters keep a gettin' me now
Lost my money playin' poker so I had to up and leave
But I ain't a turnin' back
To livin' that old life no more

So rock me mama like a wagon wheel
Rock me mama anyway you feel
Hey mama rock me
Rock me mama like the wind and the rain
Rock me mama like a south-bound train
Hey mama rock me

Walkin' to the south out of Roanoke
I caught a trucker out of Philly
Had a nice long toke
But he's a headed west from the Cumberland Gap
To Johnson City, Tennessee

And I gotta get a move on fit for the sun
I hear my baby callin' my name
And I know that she's the only one
And if I die in Raleigh
At least I will die free

So rock me mama like a wagon wheel
Rock me mama anyway you feel
Hey mama rock me
Rock me mama like the wind and the rain
Rock me mama like a south-bound train

Giving thanks

2006-11-24T23:27:00.001-08:00

Football, Parades, button-front pants. I'm sure this isn't what the pilgrims had in mind. I'm also sure they had no idea that simply getting on a boat to get away from a England because it was "too loose" would cause such a mind-numbing frenzy of consumerism, feeding some primordial desire to get more stuff. It is ironic, if only a little, that the day after thanksgiving is marked by a nation-wide manhunt for the biggest and lowest deal, causing consumers to put themselves through tortures they would never normally put up with. Even still, something tells me that the very idea of thanksgiving was far from anything about a hundred sea-sick, starving people had on their minds.

But still, Thanksgiving is what it is. It is a day designed to say thank you for everything good that has happened to us this year. Thank you--it's a funny word isn't it? We aren't born knowing thank you; society has told us that we must be thankful for everything we get--whether we deserve it, have earned it, or if some cosmic probability pulled our number. Am I thankful? Absolutely. I am thankfull for my family who love and support me unconditionally. I am thankfull for my friends who are constantly at my side and at my back giving me a trusting place to fall. I am grateful that I am sitting comfortably in my home away from any real danger. I am thankfull I am not in Iraq, which saw one of the bloodiest days in the entire war yesterday.

I didn't ask for most of what I have in my life, but the truth is I am grateful. The truth of the matter is that we all understand gratitude, society teaches us how to express it--we just get so caught up in what we're excpected to do that we forget why we do it. Tomorrow, while you're shopping and someone holds the door for you say thank you. Then wonder why...

C-RAP

2006-11-12T13:42:00.000-08:00

We Came.
We Cheered.
We Lost.

Our heads are still high.

This Saturday a huge group of our RA's met with RA's from five or six other schools from around the central area of California to talk about RA-related things. We went to each other's programs, bounced ideas off each other, and met new people. But most of all we all were competed for the coveted spirit stick. *cue the glorious choir music* The spirit stick was given to the school whose RA's had the most spirit.

WE ARE DYNOMITE! YES WE ARE DYNOMITE! AND WHEN YOU MESS WITH DYNOMITE, IT GOES tic-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic-tic BOOM DYNOMITE!

Spirit. We got it.
However we evidenlty did not have enough.

Spirit was divided into four catagories: The Banner, The Roll Call Video, Philanthropy (CD's collected for a CD drive--whoever got the most got the award for best philanthropy), and actually spirit that day. It fairly unanimous that we had the best video ever. And as for spirit that day? Well it's like the video said--it was reckless. We were cheering, dancing, screaming, gyrating, and embarassing ourselves ALL DAY. We didn't stop; most of us lost our voices. Still it looks like the politics of "philanthropy" outweigh the ability to spell CSUN three-demensionally using people.

Still, the impression has been made. Our spirit on them, their ideas on us. I networked with a few RA's from other campuses and we're planning a multi-campus awareness program for the geonocide in Darfur. You can't get that without getting out and meeting new RA's. No we didn't win but when you leave with other schools saying you SHOULD have won, you know you've done your job. Next year that stick is ours.

Midterm

2006-11-03T11:35:00.000-08:00

The amount of shit that went into that essay left me reeling for water for fear that I may die of diarrhetic dehydration.

Chi'Gong

2006-11-02T17:10:00.000-08:00

Today in Tai Chi we being to learn meditation. My instructor doesn't realize what good time she has.

Prefixes: The Root of All Evil

2006-10-30T00:12:00.000-08:00

It's kind of funny...don't you think?

The power that words have. You ask someone "what's the most beautiful word in the english language" and you can't an answer that has deeper meaning that just the random collection of letters and sounds. You ask the opposite question, and you'll get the same result.

But it's all words are, isn't it? When you break it down to the bare bones of what we call language, words are nothing but a representation of what we're saying. We assign sounds, we assign syllables, we assign meaning; words are symbols for what we want to say. Haley commented on the first question and brought up a very interesting point--that people who don't know our language find beauty in words we would find repulsive. "Diaherra" It almost sounds like an Opera. Any word in french is a pretty word, "poubelle" "devoirs" "maird" ("trash", "homework", "shit", respectively). Personal opinions of opera music or the french culture aside, these words do sound very nice, they're sort of fun to say. Yet if you asked anyone in their native tongue what they thought of these words they would say that they are ugly.

So what makes a word ugly? After all words are just symbols and symbols have no more power than what we assign them; "Cross" what did you just think of? If it was anything close to religious than you see what I'm saying. I remember vividly accidently saying the word "nigger" in front of my mother when I was younger. Her reaction quickly led me to believe that it was never okay to say that word. Yet if you examine the current hip hop culture, one of the primary objectives is to reclaim the word and desensitize it, to strip it of it's meaning. Is this a wrong thing to do?

I love words, I don't think theyre is anything more powerful or beautiful or tumultous as a word. I believe that, when used well, words pack a force that nothing can stop. Words can topple governments, words can make a fortune, words can define a relationship. But the only reason any of this is true is because we let it be true. I am a writer, and I believe in the power of words. I believe that words are like any other tool--use it well and you can change the world.

So what do words mean to you?

another question, a little less random

2006-10-17T21:21:00.000-07:00

What is the ugliest word in the english language?

Random question:

2006-10-12T17:17:00.000-07:00

What is the most beautiful word in the english language?

celebration

2006-10-12T08:56:00.000-07:00

So I'm 21...

Cabin Fever

2006-10-08T20:40:00.000-07:00

I've spent every night this week alone in my room. In fact I've spent nearly every moment not in class in my room. I wake up in the morning and I get ready for class, make myself some breakfast and a cup of coffee, get my bag ready and walk the same route to class every morning. After class I walk back, come to my room and sit down and get online, visit the same five or six websites I always do and generally let my eyes glaze over while the hands on the clock march steadily towards the next hour. How did this happen to me?

I have organized my semester so that I would have time to get away from this very symptom--the same symptom I find myself in time after time. But it seems no matter how strong my convictions or how well-placed my intentions complacency reaches up and grabs my ankle and just pulls me back down. Why do I let myself get caught up in this same struggle time after time? I know the solution to my problem, I just don't know how to get there. I get so comfortable in my room that I simply don't want to leave. I get so comfortable in my routine that I simply don't want to diverge.

This is the same problem I'm constantly fighting against--it's the one issue that seems to always be able to drag me down. There's so much I want to do, and so much I want to see, there's just so much I want to think about that I don't know how to cope with it. I feel like it's pushing me away from my friends, I don't know how to connect to them. So when I try I feel like I'm coming on too strong. This is the last curve that bends this issue into a viscious cycle. So now I find myself at a cross-roads. I know I need to get out and do more. I want to spend more time with my friends, but I also want to find comfort in spending time alone again. Problem is if I go too far towards the latter I won't see anyone at all. I'll become a transcendentalist and go off in the mountains bymself...but even Thureau had friends.

I need to get away--I need to change my cycle. I need to clear my head. I need to get back to stony point (and not talk myself out of going). I need to stop being so afraid of the outside world. I'm not sure what has made me feel this way again, but I want it to stop. Maybe the Tai Chi will help....

wtf, crane?

2006-10-06T10:00:00.000-07:00

So I woke up this morning to a cool, crisp breeze. It's overcast out, and the sky looks wonderful. I went outside three minutes ago and it's serene and peaceful and very relaxing and has absolutely nothing looking like a crane. I go back outside just now and, wtf? Crane!

thanks, crane, for killing the mood.

Skankadouche.

Gloat

2006-10-02T12:24:00.000-07:00

click the title.

The man responsible for the single greatest art project of our modern time is speaking at my school in eighteen days. At 3:30 pm.

Be jealous, it's okay.

so much time, so little to do...

2006-10-02T11:47:00.000-07:00

wait a minute; strike that, reverse it.

I love Yesterday's Books of Modesto California. I love them. If I could take some action to that would make my love legal I probably would. However given the state of the current conservative marriage laws in California, I will continue to worship from affar.

Wednesday, as I was leaving my english class we were instructed to read 154 pages of The Rise of Silas Laphem by William Dean Howell. I was 100% sure I had this book and was ready to read on my arduous journey home to Modesto. Turns out I was 100% wrong. I did not have this book, and from the reports of others in the class had no chance of buying it anywhere in Los Angeles. At all. Ever. Unsure of exactly what I was going to do, I put it behind me and concentrated on the upcoming trip.

Planes with propellers are cool.

Saturday it was time I left with Kasey to look for the book, problem is by the time I drove half a mile from my house to Barnes and Nobles the sum of the information about the book I could remember was that it had something to do with "Silas" and the author's name had an "H" in it. Still the deligent detectives at B&N found the book (my hats off too them) however, they did not have the book.

Enter "Yesterday's Books" the quintessential around-the-corner-used-book store. I show up and hand them the sheet with the picture of my quandry. "I'm looking for this book," I say. "ooh, Howell...I think I've seen one title by him in section 21." I trek back to section 21, and sure enough "The Rise of Silas Lepham" by William Dean Howell, the only Howell title there. It was $2.50. I love Yesterday's books.

Now, I have the book. the next step is read the 120 pages I haven't read yet that I was supposed ot have done by today. 130 pages and negative three hours to read it. Guess I better get started.

keep your coins

2006-09-28T20:01:00.000-07:00

pretty sure this is my new motto:

Random thought:

2006-09-26T08:50:00.000-07:00

If you had a superpower what would you want?
What would you do with it?
Would you use it for altruistic or self-serving purposes?

now I'm easy, easy like sunday morning.

2006-09-17T10:38:00.000-07:00

it's funny how bad situations can sometimes just fix themselves (especially if you complain about them enough). Hiroko and Tom are visiting me. They are visiting me for a loooooong time, I haven't really wanted anything more than my own room back the past couple days but there's not a whole lot of places to go. Having him here was my choice, so really I've been reeling at my own inability to realize that having two people here this long is INSANE. It's been stressful.

However, they decided last night to take off for Santa Barbara today, and since Dave is going as well, they all decided to stay at Dave's place last night. Wham-o, Bang-o, I have the place to myself. When I woke up this morning my room looked like that. It was warm, sunny and a cool breeze was blowing. This morning was beautiful, it was so beautiful it was almost surreal. I felt like I was in a jewelry commercial...or the beginning of a cat food commercial (because they start off the exact same way). I made myself bacon, eggs, and toast, and worked my sketch book and talked to some very dear friends.

Funny how little problems can just sort of work themselves out sometimes.

whooda thunkit?

2006-09-15T08:37:00.000-07:00

I stayed in last night and mended my favorite pair of jeans instead of going out and partying. I watched a little TV and read some poetry and sewed my old blue jeans. Who would have thought I would find that more fun than going out and partying?

lets give them something to talk about

2006-09-12T03:14:00.000-07:00

I've avoided writing this, my 50th post on this site, for want of something to write about. Actually it hasn't been the lack of topics but the wealth of them; and picking the right one to express what I felt about it.

as most of you know, I'm a resident advisor in one of the dorms at my school. 56 people live on my floor. 56 people coming from different lives and backgrounds and ways of thinking and all of them collecting here on my floor. What happens with 56 people come together to live? What happens when 4 come together (hopefully) coexist? Now all four individual personalities are under 4 equal microscopes. The values of one are weighed against the values of another in a constant--yet silent--struggle of "who is right?"

A week ago one of my residents came to me complaining that the fourth roomate was not working out. He was brining people over, letting strangers in at all hours of the night, and smoking marijuana on the balcony. The first resident was not happy. I told him to talk about it as a room try to sort it out and talk to the fourth roomate, then if it didn't work to come back to me. They came back the next time telling me it still wasn't working. I tried to help them as much as I could but our system does not allow for a majority rule. Everyone has a fair chance at CSUN.

An hour ago there was a loud banging on my door, I jumped out of bed and tore open the door (expecting it to be a prank) when to my suprise my resident was standing the yelling about calling the cops. Three peope had pinned the fourth roomate down while the first was yelling at me about the fight that had just happened. It felt like seconds before the cops were arriving on the scene and taking contorl (I was glad to give it up).

These guys, the firs three roomates, came to me asking me to fix the situation. I pointed out all the recourses available to them, I did everything in my power to allieviate the situation. But our system does not take sides--it does not decide who is right. Our system is put in place to help residents find mutual ground to respectfully coexsist without killing each other. So if it boiled down to a fight tonight did the system fail? If there was a death threat did the system fail? I've done everything in my power to alieviate the situation and still the police showed up on my floor tonight. I know I haven't failed as an RA, in fact I've done everything I was taught to do. But I still can't swallow away these nagging questions:

Is there a point in which the values of one outweigh the values of another?

Who is right?

It's the most wonderful time of the year

2006-08-09T16:27:00.000-07:00

well, some would say so...

I head back to school Friday. No, our school isn't starting monday; I simply have JOB TRAINING! woo! We have to be enthusiastic about it--it's in our contract. The staff at school has nearly every hour for the next three weeks of my life scheduled out to properly train me to be a resident advisor. That's right, for one whole year I will be responsible for the safety and well being of some 63 students all going through the same struggles, tribulations, and confusing path-choices that I am, I will be largely responsible for helping them--guiding them through these decisions this year. God help us all.

Still, I am very excited to be getting back to LA (never thought I'd say that in my life..), this has been a trying and confusing summer and at this point I think the only thing that will help bring clarity is being able to get out of everything--lift my head above the smog as it were. I miss my friends in LA, hell I miss hanging out with people my own age. I think it's funny just how far apart people can be in thinking even if they're the same age or just a couple years apart. I suppose it's just part of growing up, everyone goes down different paths to get there.

My books and DVD's are packed, my new kitchen stuff is organized and sorted. Friday I'm LA or bust.

Who are you?

2006-08-07T00:04:00.000-07:00

Some say that we are defined by the friends we make. Others say that we grow as people because of the environment we put ourselves in--by the friends we take into our lives. But at what point do we grow because of our friends, and at what point is our growth hindered by them?

Everyone is familiar with the tired old addage "be yourself." While i'm not disputing it's validity, I wonder how sincerely we keep to such a rigid rule. How does one "be themselves" anyway? I suppose it would start with knowing who you, as a person, really are. This takes us back to the beginning: we are what our friends make of us. Is this absolutely true? Absolutely not. But I believe that we would be fooling ourselves to say that we do not (at times) bend ourselves to fit the image of what our friends want us to be. There are times we do not make a snide remark out of politeness because it may offend one of our friends, even if we find it hysterical. We forgive our friends for saying something inappropriate because "that's just how they are."

Everytime we let something go, everytime we don't say what's on our minds, or on our hearts we placate ourselves to the image we want to maintain in our friends eyes. We are all guilty of allowing ourselves to fold the will of others, simply because being true to ourselves every waking moment of every day is just too tiresome. For those of you who are currently shaking their heads I do not say that it is done intentionally, or even consciously; but I'll bet that once or twice in your life you've really wanted to do something and thought better of it because of what others might say.

So, we cut our stones against that of our friends, in order to help shape who we are. Doing so is neccessary to make us well-rounded individuals. So when do we decide when to chip and when to be chipped? Friendship, relationships, life, everything is about give and take. It is a dance between Person A and World B and I suppose the real trick is not letting your partner step on your toes.

If none of this made any sense, then I only hope you don't feel like you wasted your time here. But if this sounds familiar, then please tell me. If you feel that sometimes it just feels like you've bent over backwards so that world can push you a little further, then talk to me--reach out and let me know. Perhaps we can found a support group, and maybe between the two of us we can find a way to put a stop to it.

Troublesome

2006-08-05T09:33:00.000-07:00

I was sitting in my living room last week with three other people, watching a very good movie. "An Unfinished life" starring Robert Redford and Morgan Freeman--two ranchers who've lived together on their farm in Wyoming almost their whole lives and who probably love each other but would never admit to anything so propesterous. The movie is touching and heartwarming (in a roughneck sort of way) and is an all around good movie about reaching out and finding a connection with someone.

Yet at the end of the movie, as the credits began to role, the lulling sense of a good movie was brutally interuppted by the loud voice of the person sitting beside me "well that was a chick flic!" Said the booming bass. The other two people heartily agreed. I protested that it was not a chick flic because it showed emotions. The reluctantly downgraded the movie to a "date movie."
I have noticed a pattern (mostly with males) that any movie that displays a person's emotions candidly and vividly is written of quickly as a "chick flic." That is to say, any movie that breaks through this shell people put around them and expose the naked and vulnerable side of who we really are cannot be enjoyed by guys--emotions are for chicks. Such a mentality leaves a taste in my mouth not unlike old milk. What are we so afraid of that we cannot openly look at the relationship between two people without the need for some sexual controversy to justify this foray into their feelings? More importantly why is it automatically assumed that because a movie is dramatic, it cannot be enjoyed outside the context of romantic involvement?

decisions

2006-07-19T22:44:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to write a letter to the head of my department, telling him I've decided to switch majors. Is it ironic that the hardest thing I've had to do with the jazz department is tell them I don't want to be a jazz major anymore?

Sojourn

2006-07-16T17:32:00.000-07:00

Decided I needed to go to Sonora, so I did. Hopped in the car completely decked out with the new CD player, and my camera with a role of black and white film and drove up to Sonora. Spent the afternoon walking in and out of random shops, talking to strangers, and gabbing about chocolate confections (by the way, if you go to Sonora, visit Vicky at Yosemite Fudge Co. she's awesome).

Decided to travel up to Columbia after to the old town--found a girl my age smithing horse shoes and nail puzzles--a young girl blacksmith...that's cool.

been needing to get out of town for a while, just see something new. I'll show anyone who reads this what I saw after I get the pictures developed. Til then...

teeter-totter

2006-07-14T22:50:00.000-07:00

Music was his life, it was not his livelyhood...

I have found myself realizing recently that I have been dragging myself down the wrong path through the dark forest of higher education. For three years now I have been struggling to be a music major--practicing, studying, and playing for three years trying desperately how to express myself through music and playing catch up with those who already can. I realized that I already know to express myself through writing, and I've been denying my ability because music was the "right path for me". When all of this became clear to me, and that music isn't the path I should be seriously persuing, I realized that I knew this a long time ago.

I have been writing almost as long as I've been playing music, and even when I grew tired of playing music, I still found solace in writing. Writing gives me a chance to clearly express my thoughts, my ideas, my feelings so that when I tell other people about them, I hear them say "yes". Yes is a powerful word. When I wrote for the bee, I would recieve almost weekly-praises about my articles--people loved reading my articles and I loved writing them. When I played trombone the most common response was "not bad, but..." When I play, I rarely here a genuine "yes."
In this recent internal sojourn down the path of what-do-I-want-to-be-when-I-grow-up I realized that my problem has always lied in the decision making process--the choice of what we do with our lives doesn't come from the path of least-resistance. It comes from the path of most-praises; both personal praises and praises from other people.

...it made him feel so happy, and it made him feel so good...

This decision wasn't easy. My dad is a musician, my mom is a musician, my sister is a musician, my grandmother was a musician, all of my friends are musicians. Music has been my life, literally, since the day I was born. Since I can remember I've always known that I would be some sort of musician, even through the constant search for which is the right career for me (you know the routine, astronaut, fireman, police officer, member of the X-men, the usual) I knew music would someone be in there. It was logical for me to simply go with music, but there lies the problem. There is a fine line between passion and career, and the problem with all passion is that soaring highs can easily turn into desperate lows. I was working so hard at playing music that it stopped being fun, I began to forget why I wanted to be a music major, and slowly but surely it became clear that I, in fact, didn't. I love music, I absolutely love music, I love music so much that if I keep trying to be a music major I'm going to wind up jaded towards it and I will lose the passion I already have--I can't bear for that to happen.

Sometimes the only thing that tells us if we're redy for the plunge, it to go ahead and take it. Sometimes we find out it's not the right one. The trick is getting off the path and starting over before you get too far down the line. The more I think about it, the more I dwell on it, the more I (heh) write about it; the more I realize that writing is where I feel at home.

...and he did not know how well he sang, it just made him home...

(thank you, Harry Chapin--for everything)

"It "ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble...

2006-07-03T21:57:00.000-07:00

...It's what you know for sure that just ain't so."

-Mark Twain

When you were five, your world didn't go much beyond the block you lived on. When you twelve, your world didn't go much beyond your side of town, maybe your town at best. Now you've grown up, now you're all grown up and you have learned all about the world around you. Or have you? It is difficult to accept that what we think we know is inaccurate (or even wrong), yet how often do we find ourselves redifining what we know with a wider definition of what is actually true?

Global Warming has been a hot issue for a long time now. There has been growing acknowledgement that the way we live our lives is detrimental to the environment around us. Our complaceny, our thirst for a more convienant life, has come at the cost of dramatically altering nature. You get in your car to drive to work, stop on the way to get a latte and a bottle of water. It's hot out today--seems much hotter than it did this time last year--so you turn on the air conditioner at work; without thinking you crank the dial down four or five degress. The day ends and you get back in your car and drive home. The house is a mess, so you start cleaning up, throwing away all the newspapers and plastic bottles from the same routine from the days before. To someone who's day mirrors this, it may not seem all that bad. You're just one person, right? One person is all the difference when it comes to global warming, you do have an affect, and that is the point of the growing global warming movement, and the point behind Al Gore's an Inconvienant Truth.

An Inconvienant Truth, part environmental presentation/part behind the scenes documentary, follows Al Gore on the road as he goes from place to place, country to country give his "slide show" a detailed presentation on the adverse affects of global warming. His friendly demeanor and charming charisma draws you into listen to every word he has to say, whether about the ice shelf of antarctica melting, or of his son's near-death experaince when he was six year old. Gore cares about this issue, as much as he cares about his family, and in his soft-spoken way, make you realize that they two are absolutely related. Gore's presentation is poignant and well-assembled, he successfully addresses every issue that has caused a contraversy with global warming and effectively crushes them. His facts are solid, his graphs are colorful (and numerous). The presentation is suited for any audience who may see it (using an explination of global warming from television's "Futurama" certainly helps).

The movie is good, the message is better. I was on the fence for a long time, but this movie has certianly enlightened me. I've heard many say that this issue is just politics. I've heard many rationalize this problem as nothing more than cyclical. This movie answers your questions. Go see it while it's still playing at the State.

If You Can Read This

2006-07-01T00:02:00.000-07:00

then go see "An Inconvienant Truth." It's good. It's really good.

An Incovienant Truth

Opening a door to what we've forgotten

2006-06-20T23:37:00.000-07:00

I've been reading a book over the past couple of weeks called "How to be a Gentleman: a contemporary guide to common courtesy." It's an interesting guide to the most affective way of being polite and well-recieved in company. Little things like "a gentleman never carries his cell phone into a movie theater. If he has no choice but to take it in than he certainly does not allow it disrupt the show;" "a gentleman says excuse me if he must inconvience someone by stepping over them;" "if a gentleman is walking his dog, he takes responsibility for his dog's poop."

Yes the little things seem trivial. And it would obviously be easier on us if we simply over-looked them. But it is that little extra effort that seperates the good men from the assholes. We all get annoyed by the person in the theater who talks on their cell phone. We all get annoyed by the person who turns suddenly without using their blinker. So why be that person? These are not rules, they are not required nor should they be. Because a gentleman would want to make sure that he does not put anyone off because doing so would be putting himself off as well.

Chivalry is not dead, it is simply forgotten. It is part of an ancient language comprimised for express lanes, cell phones, personal data machine and drive-through coffee. Yes, chivalry takes more time. Yes, doing what is right can sometimes be an inconvience or even difficult. I am not a saint, I have made a right-hand turn without signaling. I have carried on a conversation on a cell phone while in a checkout line. No one is perfect, but I would optimistically think that we all have some common sense (at leas to some degree) and when you think about it, that's all chivalry requires. Being nice to someone else. Going out of your way to help someone. Restraining yourself from saying something rude, that you know would hurt them. Why would we want to do this--what do we gain? Nothing, whereas a gentleman may have nothing. But he still has respect.

My Mother's Kitchen

2006-06-16T00:41:00.000-07:00

It always begins with boiling water.
Add a little margarine, three quarters cup of mother’s milk,
and a dash of Sundays-after-church.
Mix together children playing football
in the back yard in a large bowl,
add in the men sitting on the back porch
slowly.
“Don’t forget the rosemary!”
little Rosemary always says.
Poppa always makes sure to toss in his
Louis-Armstrong from his jar of
sun-dried-music-records
(when he’s upset he always orders a side of
Beethoven).
Every time he tries to pick out the Gramma-singing-along
but mom always smiles at him and said it tastes
better that way.

When the foamy white cream began to bubble,
then momma hands me the spoon--
I get to stir, it’s my favorite.
Watching everything blend together
into a sea of white with tiny flecks
like little singing green fish.
I stirred until our family couldn’t get any closer,
then Mother would pour us over fleshy yellow noodles
and we would eat in silent reveries on the warm sunny table.

Poppa’s died, and Miss Rose-Marie
has moved to California.
My sauce isn’t as creamy as Mother’s was,
it normally comes out kind of gray.
I try to make it likes she does,
but it just doesn’t taste the same.

feeling much?

2006-06-12T19:13:00.000-07:00

I miss this...

25x'25

2006-06-10T09:53:00.000-07:00

It is true that our country has found itself in an unfortunate addiction to oil. The addiction oozes to the very core of our society, so that it is improbably to function without it. Oil has been a growing problem for several decades, evidently to hot to deal with immediatly and thus put off for the next administratioin or generation to deal with. Yet in the midst of pointing fingers and procrastination, a small voice sings out an answer.

The idea is that home-grown U.S. energy from corn and soybean byproducts can offset the nation's growing dependence on oil imports and relieve consumers and businesses suffering from escalating energy costs. -Washington Post

In addition to the ethenol power is the use of solar and wind power, giant power farms stationed in places like the dakotas that reportedly have enough wind to power the entire nation. These ideas are not necessarily new ones, alternative feuls have been preached by their advocates for a long time, possibly as long as we've been in this oily crisis, it seems that no one was quite ready to listen.

They're listening now. The "25x'25" movement (the idea that by the year 2025, 25% of our feul should come from ethenol or other alternative feul sources shources) has been growing it's grass-roots numbers with wild-fire tenacity. This legislation has tremendous support from both sides of the hill, from former House Speaker Newt Gingrich and republican governor Jeb Bush, to the former Clinton cheif of staff John Pedosta and the democratic party from Iowa and Indiana (the two biggest corn producing states of the U.S.). Support has also come from the big-three auto industries of the U.S--General Motors, Ford, and Chrysler. With support like this it makes you wonder, why isn't it a done deal yet?

25x'25 is a bold step, one that has been blocked by partisanship and personal agendas. Wouldn't it be nice to see politicians do a little governing instead of placating to the popular interest? We shall see...

The article

the 25x'25 official website

complacency

2006-06-09T10:41:00.000-07:00

If there's one thing I've noticed in my endevour to become a better artist in any sense of the word, it is that the process of becoming better never ends--there is always more room to become better. As such, the one thing that has the ability to end art is complacency. How do we create when the burning desire of inspiration dwindles to an ember of self satisfaction?
It is the insatiable hunger to better one's self that creates new and better art, and is why the painter continues to paint, or the writer continutes to write or the singer continues to sing. So what do you make of a singer that ceased to struggle for better music? When a group of singers get up and sing the notes on the page instead of the music that was intended, how do you combat that without being accused of being to tough or "mean?" What do you say to people want to sing but don't want to listen?

click me

2006-06-06T09:41:00.000-07:00

If you click the title, it'll take you to of a kid beatboxing into a harmonica. It's cool.

The art of creation

2006-06-04T16:49:00.000-07:00

So I'm starting an art project. For those who don't know, I'm building a coffee table. I know to most a coffee table would hardly seem like art, but it's something I've been thinking about for a very long time. I see most of the design in my head, and I have most of the skills I need to complete the task, so really, why shouldn't I?

I'm not building this table for anyone but myself, so that it will look good sitting in my apartment. But mostly, so that someone sees it, and appreciates it I can say "yeah, I built that." That's the thing about artwork, while it has been given countless purposes throughout history, utlimately it's primary purpose it be aesthetically pleasing. We like art because it looks good (with the rare exception of some post modern art that is intentionally "bad"), and we like creating art because it's nice to be recognized for doing something good.

I'm not one to say that all art is good depending on who you're asking, but I will say that all art is appreciated at least by someone. I believe there is generally a limit to "beauty" and that we, as a society, can put parameters around it. But this still isn't the point of creation, I believe we create because the artwork is an extension of ourselves. And when we do really well on something it is a reflection on ourselves. We can look at the artwork we've created and we can see ourselves looking back--proud.

So I'm going to create a coffee table, not just any coffee table, a special coffee table. My coffee table. Once it's done I'll post pictures and you can tell me what you think, and then if you really want one, maybe we'll talk ;-)

oh, that's very kafka-esque

2006-05-31T21:37:00.000-07:00

If you've heard this statement before it's normally describing a very strange set of events that have no reason by someone who is trying to sound pretentious (and is normally succeeding). The reference comes from Franz Kafka's most famous work "The Metamorphosis"; a story about the unfortunate Gregor Samsa who is a hardworking young man and most regretibly turns into "a very large vermin." He spends the entire story deeling with life from this perverted perspective--most prominantly his relationship with his family who had been relying on him to support their living. Unfortunately for them, there is not hope for that as Gregor Samsa is now a very large vermin. Beginning to understand "Kafka-esque" yet? Yeah, me either.
Kafka uses the surreal idea of the metamorphasis to explore the fragility of the relationship between Gregor and his family. While the story goes out of it's way at times to be just plain strange, Kafka makes it subtly clear that there is a serious strain on the relationship between Gregor and his family. Gregor has gone out of his way to be the utmost polite, deligent, and professional young man he can be, any parent would be proud of the struggle this boy goes through in order to keep his family accustomed to their lifestyle. However, we later find out that it is Gregor who is the sole supporter of his family--his father does not work which Gregor rationalizes away due to a previous illness. It is clear to the reader that the father has become complacent with his lifestyle and does not want to work. Gregor's sister, Grete, is a beautiful musician who Gregor feels especially close too. Out of extreme generosity and love for his sister Gregor plans to announce that he will put Grete through a conservatory, but even the close bond he feels with his sister is strained beyond the breaking point after his random transformation.
Now, Gregor is a large insect. His family is understanably distraught, and since it is a particularly uncommon thing to have your son turn into a horrifying bug, it is hardly something they bring up at the supermarket. Their reaction is empathetic at first, but their self depricating attitude lasts beyond a mourning period into an awkward period of angst. Gregor cannot understand why his family is so insistant on remaining so dismal instead of tyring to remake thier lives into something that can be appreciated--is it that they cannot get over the sorrow of losing their beloved son, or can they not get over the sorrow of loosing their meal ticket?
Kafka obviously draws on aspects of his own life in dealing with his parents and his sister (whom he shared a close personal relationship with), and the various aspects of their lives and how they affected him. It is clear that Kafka felt burdened by the lower-middle-class status of his devoutly jewish family. Kafka had grown up during a time of quickly-changing philosophies, when the idea that your past defined who you were was lost to the idea of discovering the true self. Kafka offers a post-modern concept (not brought around until at least thirty years past Kafka's writing era) with a semi-traditional german folk tale. All of kafka's characters in this story can be considered allegorical (Gregor the vermin, the old charwoman and the three bearded tenants especially). And as allegorical characters, each represent aspects of Kafka's life that basically call him a problem. Ultimately this is a style-experiment giving Kafka a place to vent about aspect of his life that are plague him. However in doing so, he touches on the real plight of the every-day man which sets the groundwork for all his later writing, which is largely along the lines of Nietszche's philosophical school.

This is definately a fun trip to wrap your mind around--read if if you have a few free days.

seventeen people found this review helpful

A passing thought, and random thank you

2006-05-31T08:13:00.000-07:00

In this world of indirection, artificial complacency, and pseudo-experiance, it was so nice to simply stop running and searching for fulfillment and sit down and watch a good movie with a good friend. I was searching for something fleeting and dull and got something much better.

So thank you.

Know Thyself

2006-05-29T08:25:00.000-07:00

Who are you? Can you actually answer that question? I mean without writing an essay-long comment on this post (for clarification, I would welcome an essay-long comment on this post, if it meant people actually commented more than once, in fact go ahead! but I digress). I wonder how many of us truly know who we are, and what "being me" truly entitles. In literature the only characters people relate themselves to are the complex main characters of the story. The teen-age boy struggling between honoring his parents and his past and being his own man; the daughter desperately searching for her identity in a world that she feels she's abandoned her. Even still, these literary characters only offer us a fleeting glimpse into what we might deal with as human beings.
Even though we relate ourselves to these characters, they still fall short of defining us. It is a shame that our english language lacks the words to fully express who a person is. Instead we are a hodgepodge of nevaeu vernacular--words we either made up or else contorted to better fit the way we see ourselves. We wear patchwork hats of identity, and pull the most appropriate color foward to display depending on the situation. Today I will be a poet...Today I will be a car guy...Today I am a musician. Our immediate environment dictates to us who we are at that moment.
Our environments are temporary and fleeting. So why then do we allow ourselves to be clearly defined for a moment? It is possible, that by searching out every angle that is you, and understanding who you truly are, one may come across as pretentious. But why is understanding both your shortcomings and strong qualities such a bad thing? To know how one functions in all parts of your small take o the world is the only way one can help somone find answers with their problems.
Your friend asks you to give them advice on a very serious matter, how do you as a friend (but more improtably as a good person) offer them sound advice without first knowing how your would respond in that situation? You cannot offer clear sound advice to a person, advice that unviels all possible outcomes on their perspective of the world unless you have that very understanding of yourself. When we give up our multicolored hats and take the one that says "me" then we can take on the world, with the comfortbale knowledge that what ever situation is handed to us, we can and will come through.

mature for my age

2006-05-16T21:15:00.000-07:00

I was in the third grade
the first time I ever said the word
Fuck.
My parents tried to hide it from me,
They kept the TV on the top shelf
with the hard liquor and the handgun,
but then again, they did say how I always liked to climb.

I was a Samurai, Fuck was my
double-edged sword.
I kept it hidden, under pressure
sitting patiently like a skeleton in it’s sheath
ready to slice through a prepubescent duel
with my cavalier coup-de-grace:
Fuck You.

I sent them home crying.
victory was sweet like the
blood of an orange running
sticky down my fingers on
a hot afternoon.
Fuck cut my throat like ice cold lemonade.
It was my friend and we didn’t need anyone.

I was the Emperor Ronin between
Holland and Grand—I was quick,
oh yes I was. I was sure none
were quicker. That’s why I was sure
of another sweet victory when I
went up against my mother.

She was not aware of my sojourn
To the top shelf, and when I said it;
Fuck you.
She was caught off guard.
But her geisha years came back to her,
her years of lipstick and fans and
that word.
her years without friends and without love
but with that word.
She told me to never say that word again
It made the air taste like salty corn.

I am older now and I have many scars,
Each one hurt less than the last.
I remember the bad old days,
When the world was on the top shelf
When I was pink-skinned and raw
I remember back then when Fuck was still my friend

Resolutions

2006-05-09T17:27:00.000-07:00

It's easy to fall victim to such trite cliches and New Years Resolutions. The fact that they're so cliche is a good reason why they tend not to last. As a student, I find that summer is not simply a break from school, but a chance to rejuvinate, refresh, and come back to school a stronger person. That's why I've decided that this summer I am declaring my Summer's resolution; my resolution will be a few small goals I feel I need to come back to school and do a better job than I did this year.

This summer I resolve to slow myself down. I will drive less and walk (or ride) more, I will eat less and excercise more. I will start yoga.

what's your summer's resolution?

this has been plaguing me

2006-04-25T18:02:00.000-07:00

what was the first college founded in the united states of america? I need a definate answer.

Alone Together

2006-04-21T22:47:00.000-07:00

I spent the afternoon crawling down the 405
losing my mind trying to make sense
of all the bumper stickers.
And wondering the true meaning of
vanity plates.
The radio pumped classic rock
down my veigns from it's I.V.
lulling me into submission,
forcing me to stare at my own relfection
in the window of my neighbor through unbroken glass.

This highway is like a ballet,
each car leaps and slides in time
with the symphony we play.
Engines drone on with the low reeds while
the horns shout their appoggiaturas
in that all to familiar call and repsonse.
Lane changes are choreographed perfectly,
coming so close but making sure never to touch another
the make it look so easy.
My car sings out his descant above the chorus;
the same old song that never changes key.

I rolled down my window
as the piece crescendoed
to fotry-five and reached
my hand out the window
so I could finally shake hands
with somoene in my section.
But everyone knows that you don't talk
in the middle of a performance.
You look straight ahead, remain silent,
keep your hands to yourself and
never ask a question if you don't understand what's going on.
How can so many people play the same song
but never meet another musician?

Remembered

2006-04-12T23:45:00.000-07:00

I think it’s funny how a random object can hold so much meaning to one person, yet go completely unnoticed to another person. This object may not be a particularly important or even unique thing, it is just that—a thing. It is peripheral decoration meant to be overlooked in mindless sensory grazing. To everyone around you it is nothing more than an objected painted on the canvas in front of them, but to you…to you, this thing is real. You can reach into the canvas of clutter and touch it, singularly. It alone is the only thing that actually exists. Seeing it, or touching it suddenly throws you back in the past, in the middle of a whirlpool of memories and feelings. While you are standing there, perhaps in a crowd of gray blank faces yours is light up by your eighth birthday, watching your grandfather bring an antique mason’s sword (the one that belonged to his father) and present to you.

Suddenly you’re back in the present staring down at the new-found metaphor for your life, suddenly aware that no one else sees the same thing you do. And what’s more there is no way you’ll be able to get them to. There’s no fault to be laid—to them it is just a sword. To them it is just a trunk. To them it’s just a music box, and they will never see what you see. But then again, what else is seen in that music box that you don’t see?

Anything can trigger memories and emotions. Anything can remind us of another time—maybe it was better, maybe it was worse, but either way it was different. Our past is a fundamental aspect of who we are; we base the decisions we make in life in large part off of our past. I suppose in order to understand someone, you must first be able to understand their past—where they came from, what they’ve done and most importantly why. But no one really know why walking into an antique shop and seeing an antique mason sword in a display case was so important to me. And they never will because I can’t explain it. So then how well does anyone know me? How well does anyone know anyone else? Thankfully we have more to go on than our past experiences alone, at least then, if you’re lucky, you may know what that sword means to me.

postponed

2006-04-11T20:21:00.000-07:00

The last two posts were the beginning of a long series about the power of words. How they can hurt, how they can heal, how they can make us laugh. Howver, I haven't had enough time to think them out fully, so I will come back ot the idea at a later time.

in the mean time I offer you to think about this:

Rhode Island: It is niether a road nor an island. Discuss.

Share Some More

2006-04-08T20:54:00.000-07:00

What's the best pick up line you've ever heard?

2006-04-04T15:24:00.000-07:00

What's the worst joke you've ever heard?

Afterparty

2006-03-30T12:18:00.000-08:00

The three of us
you, me and tom.
What a laugh it was
sitting in the booth at 3 a.m.

Oh sure the waitress said she was fed up
but who can blame her at 3 a.m?
You could see deep inside
She was happy to see us
what with her normal clients
being greasy truckers and
mudd ruckers--the grime
at the bottom of the coffee pot
she said

What a laugh it was
at 3 a.m. the four of us,
you, tom the waitress and me.
The hipest people at the party
after a hard night's jam.
What a laugh it is,
when you're the only people there.

a random thought:

2006-03-29T15:38:00.000-08:00

A giraffe throwing up....

it would take FOREVER!

Experiences you don't write home about.

2006-03-25T11:06:00.000-08:00

In Ernest Hemmingway's book In Our Time, the predominant character, Nick, finds resolution for his restless soul by going off into the wilderness alone, to be alone with nature and his own thoughts. In the simple actions of pitching a tent, and fishing a mighty river, Nick calms his mind--rattled from the great war, and the ensuing disillusionment from living in Europe--and seems to find himself again right where he had left it, the forests surrounding his old home.
My english class let out into the rain that night, Monday. I walked with my friends through the cold and wet to my car. We said our usual goodbyes, the promises of seeing each other next week, and went our seperate ways. I sat in my car, dark and cold ruminating on the class we had just left. Had everyone else read the same book I had? Had they heard the same conversation I had? I felt like Hemmingway had reached through is book across time to touch my forehead and say "I wrote this for you."
At the end of every week on Saturday morning I sit in the quiet and I reflect on the past six days, trying to find some common thread of self-improvement that gives me life meaning, or at least direction. I should say that "quiet" isn't exactly that. There's something playing on my laptop, the TV may be on, some idito is screaming out his window across the park, no matter how "quiet" it is, there's always noise. It seems that everytime I try to concentrate on self-reflection, there is a little bit of flotsam from life's gutter openly trying to distract me. That was before Ernie taught me about finding my voice in absolute quiet, and that it is the only way to center one's mind. Hemmingway taught me (in this single book) that if I cannot find absolute solitude near me that I must seek it out, intentionally and willfully.
I learned that on Monday night.
Tuesday progressed normally, I didn't have any classes so I slothed about, ignoring my cluttered desk for the instant gratifcation of 99 channels of cable that I'm not paying for. Wednesday was hectic, bogged down with classes and insecurities of what the rest of my week was supposed to hold--so far it was turning into a normal week. So why this nagging feeling? What was this deep, gruff voice with a midwestern accent berating me about how trivial and idiotic I was being? Hemmingway was still there, in the back of my mind watching over me.
Thursday came, another break from classes. A second chance. A letter from the cable company remding me that if I did not return the cable box to them they would hire goons to come and break my face reminded me that I needed to take a trip out to Topanga Canyon to turn the cable box in. After looking up the address for the cable company, I realized that it was very close to Stony Point, the small moutain jutting up from the earth. A few miles before the nothern wall of the San Fernando Valley, it stands as the gate keep to the kings posing behind it. Stony point is a mecca for local fee-climbers, adreanline junkies, and adolescant romantics feeling their need to blossom in it's fertile trees. As I saw it's jagged rocks on the map, I felt a rough heavy hand slap me on the back of the head. That heavy, gruff voice was back "Go climb you idiot." Hemmingway isn't very nice...
Thursday afternoon I found myself at the base of stony point, starin up at it's summit. My car had driven itself there, my cameras and waterbottles packed themselves into my back pack, I felt after so much effort on their part the least I could do was oblige them. I hiked. I climbed. I found a trail and skittered along, barely taking time to breath I was going so fast. Each step propeled foward with greater tenacity than the one previos. When I came to a wall, I climbed. When I came to a view, I stopped and took a picture. After an hour I reached the summit and turned and looked out over the valley. I was standing on the shoulder of a giant, and he whispered his secrets in my ear with heavy gusts of wind. Secrets so big they nearly knocked me off his shoulder. I stayed on the top of Stony Point and found a comfortable notch on a ledge at the top of a very tall and sheer cliff. I sat down in the notch, I pulled out my Hemmingway and I read.
After that, everything made sense.

I'm not copying Joy, I promise.

2006-03-23T09:55:00.000-08:00

If you were a breakfast food, what would you be?

eat, drink, and be merry...

2006-03-19T22:34:00.000-08:00

for tomorrow you shall surely diet.

I need help. To anyone who is listening. I want to lose weight, I am unhappy with the weight I have or my body really and I'd like it to change. Before anyone goes accusing me of a low self esteem, or a lack of decent self-image, I'd like you to know that I can pick up a couch by myself.
That said, it is not really a matter of how I look, it is a matter of how I feel. I am discovering that the transition to becoming an adut is proving to be a hard one, and where I though I would have more control of my life, I am actually just trading one set of rules for another. I feel out of control, and I feel that a strict diet that I can stick would be something I can control. Getting in shape, and feeling good about myself, will give me an attainable goal that will leave me feeling like I have control of something.

So, any ideas?