Happy Things:
1. I'm more healthy than sick. Not so cold anymore.
Unhappy Things:
1. Found out some pretty shocking news today and can't sleep now thinking about it.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
The Book Thief - READ IT!
The Book Thief is a phenomenal book. I know I probably say this about a lot of books (not loosely though - I do mean it every time I say it), but seriously, this is a must-read. No matter what your subject interest is, no matter what genre you prefer, no matter books you're used to reading and enjoying, I believe that anyone and everyone can get something out of this book.
Let me provide a little backdrop for what this book is about.
First notable detail: The Book Thief is told through the point of view of Death. First off, that's really ambitious. Using first-person in the form of death - how many books do that? I can't even name one right now.
Some other characters:
-The book thief herself
-Her dead brother
-Her best friend
-Her foster parents
-The Fuhrer (Hitler)
-A Jew
-Eleven stolen books
-The German town of Himmel (meaning "Heaven")
In the first scene Death witnesses the Book Thief for the first time. She is stealing her first book, The Gravedigger's Handbook. Throughout the course of the book, Death and the book thief only meet three times, the last time occurring at the very end. He is intrigued by her, but I can't say why without spoiling the crux of the story. All you gotta know is, she's an intriguing character, one of the best I've known.
The story takes place during 1939 in Nazi Germany, mostly in Himmel. On the cover of the book is a spiral-shaped row of dominoes about to be knocked over by an index finger located in the corner. The review from New York Times reads, "BRILLIANT and hugely ambitious. It's the kind of book that can be LIFE CHANGING." I say, screw the New York Times. Read this book and decide for yourself whether it can be life changing or not.
Here is my favorite quote from the book:
"There was once a strange, small man. But there was also a word shaker, too."
I guess you can argue that the book is about a lot of things - least of all the tragedy that took place during World War II, a massive black tear in the shredded fabric of human history: the Holocaust.
You can argue that the book is about the unfailing importance of human compassion - the kind that took root during Hitler's persecution and refused to let go against all odds. The kind that divided families and got people beaten and killed on a regular basis. Who knew that compassion and cruelty could exist in the same time-space continuum, and in such close quarters? There is a scene where the book thief's father, the kind of person who can't witness injustice without having himself react, tries to help an old Jewish man stand up after he has fallen, following days of dehydration and fatigue. The German guard who is in charge of marching the Jews catches sight of them and whips the father thoroughly in front of his family and the rest of the town. Yet afterwards, despite the red welts forming across his back, his only thought goes for the Jew hiding in his basement, whom they will surely find after he has established himself a traitor to the Third Reich, and not for himself.
You can argue that the book is about the shitty things that humans do to one another in times of fear and coercion. The old man who cringes helplessly as a giant rock is hurled through his store window by antisemitic neighbors. The father who is forced to go into war after refusing to send his son to Nazi Camp. A 12-year old who is buried in rubble after the building collapses, only to be sought by his mother minutes later. The constant bombings on Himmel Street. The many, many deaths. The Jew who sketches terrible scenes in his notebook in the corner of the basement he is forced to hide in. The little girl who watches him unfailingly as he falls sick and lies in a coma for fourteen days. And above all, Death as a witness. Death watching from afar, waiting from afar, ready to take the billions of souls lost during this time of destruction.
But personally, I think what this book is really about is the importance of words. Most people think of the Holocaust in terms of the concrete cruelties that the Nazis felt obligated to push through. Concentration camps, gas chambers, full-fledged starvation, barbed wire, guns and dogs and steel. But they tend to forget where all this monstrosity originated from. How did Hitler build his empire in the first place? How did he convince hordes of seemingly harmless, normally upstanding German citizens to rise up to his cause, even at the expense of injustice and cold-blooded murder?
There's a good chance that Hitler never even fired one gun during the time of the Third Reich. He didn't have to. He had people to do it for him, again and again and again. And why? How? Because of words. He took the power of words and used them to fit his own agenda. Hitler wasn't a stupid man. He knew what words could do to crowds and to the nation as a whole. He knew their potential. And he used it to fuel his hatred, their hatred. He used it to construct a life-crushing empire - you're either with us or you're against us. Choose your words wisely.
And so does the Book Thief. This is why she steals books. When she steals her first book, she's illiterate. She can't even attempt to read what she's picked up. But even then, she feels drawn to the book, captivated by the words on the pages lying before her. Death understands this. He watches her debate in her mind whether or not to pick up the book. And later on, she steals so that she can practice reading. This is what kills me about this book. A girl who loves to read so much that she makes it her purpose to steal books. Come on. Tell me this doesn't get to you at least a little bit.
Just imagine. A scrawny little twelve-year old hoisting herself through the window of the mayor's library (technically the mayor's wife, but let's not go into specifics) in order to steal a BOOK. She's starving, she's cold, she's tired - but she's going through a whole lot of trouble in order to steal a couple of pages. Because that's how much she loves reading, how much she loves the words. Can you picturing that happening in today's world? Certainly not in America, where reading is becoming a dead art faster than you can say, "Pick up a book, idiot! Read before you forget how to!" (Yeah, honestly, do you ever wonder why this generation of kids seems so much dumber?)
Words fuel everything in this book, and not just in the literal sense. Words shape the characters (their reaction to words manages to reveal a lot about them already), they build the momentum, they break and form relationships, they perpetrate power, the kind used to hurt and the kind used to heal, but most of all - they linger. Read it (hell, just READ) and you'll see what I mean when I say this. There's nothing more powerful than words in The Book Thief. Nothing. Not the Book Thief. Not Hitler. Not the bombs and the soldiers and the whips. Not even death.
Understand the importance of words and you're set for life. I honestly believe that. Yes, nothing beats experience. Nothing beats going out there and doing the thing yourself, whatever it may be. But after all is said and done, what remains? What are memories made of? Where do dreams go after you've dreamed them? What preserves life and love and experience in all its temporary, faded glory? How are you going to be remembered after you die?
"There was once a small, strange man. But there was a word shaker, too."
Now there's something you won't forget.
Let me provide a little backdrop for what this book is about.
First notable detail: The Book Thief is told through the point of view of Death. First off, that's really ambitious. Using first-person in the form of death - how many books do that? I can't even name one right now.
Some other characters:
-The book thief herself
-Her dead brother
-Her best friend
-Her foster parents
-The Fuhrer (Hitler)
-A Jew
-Eleven stolen books
-The German town of Himmel (meaning "Heaven")
In the first scene Death witnesses the Book Thief for the first time. She is stealing her first book, The Gravedigger's Handbook. Throughout the course of the book, Death and the book thief only meet three times, the last time occurring at the very end. He is intrigued by her, but I can't say why without spoiling the crux of the story. All you gotta know is, she's an intriguing character, one of the best I've known.
The story takes place during 1939 in Nazi Germany, mostly in Himmel. On the cover of the book is a spiral-shaped row of dominoes about to be knocked over by an index finger located in the corner. The review from New York Times reads, "BRILLIANT and hugely ambitious. It's the kind of book that can be LIFE CHANGING." I say, screw the New York Times. Read this book and decide for yourself whether it can be life changing or not.
Here is my favorite quote from the book:
"There was once a strange, small man. But there was also a word shaker, too."
I guess you can argue that the book is about a lot of things - least of all the tragedy that took place during World War II, a massive black tear in the shredded fabric of human history: the Holocaust.
You can argue that the book is about the unfailing importance of human compassion - the kind that took root during Hitler's persecution and refused to let go against all odds. The kind that divided families and got people beaten and killed on a regular basis. Who knew that compassion and cruelty could exist in the same time-space continuum, and in such close quarters? There is a scene where the book thief's father, the kind of person who can't witness injustice without having himself react, tries to help an old Jewish man stand up after he has fallen, following days of dehydration and fatigue. The German guard who is in charge of marching the Jews catches sight of them and whips the father thoroughly in front of his family and the rest of the town. Yet afterwards, despite the red welts forming across his back, his only thought goes for the Jew hiding in his basement, whom they will surely find after he has established himself a traitor to the Third Reich, and not for himself.
You can argue that the book is about the shitty things that humans do to one another in times of fear and coercion. The old man who cringes helplessly as a giant rock is hurled through his store window by antisemitic neighbors. The father who is forced to go into war after refusing to send his son to Nazi Camp. A 12-year old who is buried in rubble after the building collapses, only to be sought by his mother minutes later. The constant bombings on Himmel Street. The many, many deaths. The Jew who sketches terrible scenes in his notebook in the corner of the basement he is forced to hide in. The little girl who watches him unfailingly as he falls sick and lies in a coma for fourteen days. And above all, Death as a witness. Death watching from afar, waiting from afar, ready to take the billions of souls lost during this time of destruction.
But personally, I think what this book is really about is the importance of words. Most people think of the Holocaust in terms of the concrete cruelties that the Nazis felt obligated to push through. Concentration camps, gas chambers, full-fledged starvation, barbed wire, guns and dogs and steel. But they tend to forget where all this monstrosity originated from. How did Hitler build his empire in the first place? How did he convince hordes of seemingly harmless, normally upstanding German citizens to rise up to his cause, even at the expense of injustice and cold-blooded murder?
There's a good chance that Hitler never even fired one gun during the time of the Third Reich. He didn't have to. He had people to do it for him, again and again and again. And why? How? Because of words. He took the power of words and used them to fit his own agenda. Hitler wasn't a stupid man. He knew what words could do to crowds and to the nation as a whole. He knew their potential. And he used it to fuel his hatred, their hatred. He used it to construct a life-crushing empire - you're either with us or you're against us. Choose your words wisely.
And so does the Book Thief. This is why she steals books. When she steals her first book, she's illiterate. She can't even attempt to read what she's picked up. But even then, she feels drawn to the book, captivated by the words on the pages lying before her. Death understands this. He watches her debate in her mind whether or not to pick up the book. And later on, she steals so that she can practice reading. This is what kills me about this book. A girl who loves to read so much that she makes it her purpose to steal books. Come on. Tell me this doesn't get to you at least a little bit.
Just imagine. A scrawny little twelve-year old hoisting herself through the window of the mayor's library (technically the mayor's wife, but let's not go into specifics) in order to steal a BOOK. She's starving, she's cold, she's tired - but she's going through a whole lot of trouble in order to steal a couple of pages. Because that's how much she loves reading, how much she loves the words. Can you picturing that happening in today's world? Certainly not in America, where reading is becoming a dead art faster than you can say, "Pick up a book, idiot! Read before you forget how to!" (Yeah, honestly, do you ever wonder why this generation of kids seems so much dumber?)
Words fuel everything in this book, and not just in the literal sense. Words shape the characters (their reaction to words manages to reveal a lot about them already), they build the momentum, they break and form relationships, they perpetrate power, the kind used to hurt and the kind used to heal, but most of all - they linger. Read it (hell, just READ) and you'll see what I mean when I say this. There's nothing more powerful than words in The Book Thief. Nothing. Not the Book Thief. Not Hitler. Not the bombs and the soldiers and the whips. Not even death.
Understand the importance of words and you're set for life. I honestly believe that. Yes, nothing beats experience. Nothing beats going out there and doing the thing yourself, whatever it may be. But after all is said and done, what remains? What are memories made of? Where do dreams go after you've dreamed them? What preserves life and love and experience in all its temporary, faded glory? How are you going to be remembered after you die?
"There was once a small, strange man. But there was a word shaker, too."
Now there's something you won't forget.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Emotionally Fraught
I finished an amazing book today. I would talk about it but it's late and I don't have the mental energy, especially since I think I have a fever as I'm writing this...
It's Christmas and raining outside. Usually these two things alone would be enough to make me smile, but for some reason I'm not feeling very Christmas-y. Maybe I'm too old for such things. I just find the whole gift-exchanging process so lame and tiring, unless it's someone you REALLY like and must express your love for in the form of something tangible and materialistic - but even then, gifts aren't a necessity. I would much rather have people give me their time, their talk, and their faces. A simple phone call, a written card - whatever happened to the sanctity of price-free, good old wholesome communication? A little contact goes a long way, and I'm not talking about posting on someone's wall using Facebook. You and me, we're a little more intimate than that, or so I'd like to think, so why not indulge in the relationship every now and then? But even during the holiday season, when you are automatically obligated to spend time with loved ones, this seems hard to arrange. I'm just going to say it outright - this makes me extremely sad. Sometimes I feel like I'm trying to keep in touch with people who really don't give a shit. I hate that excuse - "no time." Such a sad, pathetic excuse. It's like giving someone the middle finger without actually having to give it. Mark my words, I would never say this to someone I truly cared about.
The bottom line is this: If you are important to me even in the slightest, I WILL MAKE THE TIME AND EFFORT TO SPEND TIME WITH YOU. And not just when it's convenient or out of sheer boredom. Period. No ifs, ands, or buts. Life is too short to do otherwise. And if you don't feel the same way, at least have the decency to let me know in a truthful manner. I don't want to have to wade through layers of bullshitting in order to understand where you're coming from. If you don't see me as a friend, at least see me as, oh I don't know, someone human perhaps? Not a little voice mailbox that you can shovel petty messages into. Goddamn. Humanity disappoints thoroughly at times. Or at least certain people do.
I have been trying to work on my temper and pessimism over the past year but certain individuals like to push the limits...
I've been pretty sick these past couple of days and spending six hours in rainy and freezing San Francisco yesterday wasn't exactly the smartest idea. Everywhere I went there were NO TISSUES! It was crazy. My runny nose was bothering me the whole time I was on BART. But it was good to catch up with people, nonetheless. Sometimes I feel like even if I had all the time in the world I couldn't see all the people I want to see - at times this makes me sad, other times I couldn't care less.
Oh no, my sore throat is coming back. A bad sign. The cold is sneaking back up on me. I should get off the internet and go to sleep. For some reason I kinda want to throw up too. Gross. My body's so weak. It used to be able to handle the cold weather just fine but ever since I went to LA it's all been downhill from there, health-wise. I don't tend to get sick at school but whenever I come home it seems inevitable. Oh Bay Area, I do love you in all your gray dreariness, so why not have a little mercy on me?
I can't remember the last time I wasn't cold.
It's Christmas and raining outside. Usually these two things alone would be enough to make me smile, but for some reason I'm not feeling very Christmas-y. Maybe I'm too old for such things. I just find the whole gift-exchanging process so lame and tiring, unless it's someone you REALLY like and must express your love for in the form of something tangible and materialistic - but even then, gifts aren't a necessity. I would much rather have people give me their time, their talk, and their faces. A simple phone call, a written card - whatever happened to the sanctity of price-free, good old wholesome communication? A little contact goes a long way, and I'm not talking about posting on someone's wall using Facebook. You and me, we're a little more intimate than that, or so I'd like to think, so why not indulge in the relationship every now and then? But even during the holiday season, when you are automatically obligated to spend time with loved ones, this seems hard to arrange. I'm just going to say it outright - this makes me extremely sad. Sometimes I feel like I'm trying to keep in touch with people who really don't give a shit. I hate that excuse - "no time." Such a sad, pathetic excuse. It's like giving someone the middle finger without actually having to give it. Mark my words, I would never say this to someone I truly cared about.
The bottom line is this: If you are important to me even in the slightest, I WILL MAKE THE TIME AND EFFORT TO SPEND TIME WITH YOU. And not just when it's convenient or out of sheer boredom. Period. No ifs, ands, or buts. Life is too short to do otherwise. And if you don't feel the same way, at least have the decency to let me know in a truthful manner. I don't want to have to wade through layers of bullshitting in order to understand where you're coming from. If you don't see me as a friend, at least see me as, oh I don't know, someone human perhaps? Not a little voice mailbox that you can shovel petty messages into. Goddamn. Humanity disappoints thoroughly at times. Or at least certain people do.
I have been trying to work on my temper and pessimism over the past year but certain individuals like to push the limits...
I've been pretty sick these past couple of days and spending six hours in rainy and freezing San Francisco yesterday wasn't exactly the smartest idea. Everywhere I went there were NO TISSUES! It was crazy. My runny nose was bothering me the whole time I was on BART. But it was good to catch up with people, nonetheless. Sometimes I feel like even if I had all the time in the world I couldn't see all the people I want to see - at times this makes me sad, other times I couldn't care less.
Oh no, my sore throat is coming back. A bad sign. The cold is sneaking back up on me. I should get off the internet and go to sleep. For some reason I kinda want to throw up too. Gross. My body's so weak. It used to be able to handle the cold weather just fine but ever since I went to LA it's all been downhill from there, health-wise. I don't tend to get sick at school but whenever I come home it seems inevitable. Oh Bay Area, I do love you in all your gray dreariness, so why not have a little mercy on me?
I can't remember the last time I wasn't cold.
Monday, December 22, 2008
In a way, I need a change
From this burnout scene
Another time, another town
Another everything
But it's always back to you
Stumble out, in the night
From the pouring rain
Made the block, sat and thought
There's more I need
It's always back to you
But I'm good without ya
Yeah, I'm good without you
Yeah, yeah, yeah
How many times can I break till I shatter?
Over the line can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around
Give me a break let me make my own pattern
All that it takes is some time but I'm shattered
I always turn the car around
I had no idea that the night
Would take so damn long
Took it out, on the street
While the rain still falls
Push me back to you
But I'm good without ya
Yeah, I'm good without you
My mom is 47 today.
From this burnout scene
Another time, another town
Another everything
But it's always back to you
Stumble out, in the night
From the pouring rain
Made the block, sat and thought
There's more I need
It's always back to you
But I'm good without ya
Yeah, I'm good without you
Yeah, yeah, yeah
How many times can I break till I shatter?
Over the line can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around
Give me a break let me make my own pattern
All that it takes is some time but I'm shattered
I always turn the car around
I had no idea that the night
Would take so damn long
Took it out, on the street
While the rain still falls
Push me back to you
But I'm good without ya
Yeah, I'm good without you
My mom is 47 today.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
There are times when I want to forget that the rest of the world exists and just crawl into my own little cave and hibernate. There are times when I want to forget about things like compassion and shared understanding and connectivity and just say fuck the world, I'm fine on my own, just leave me alone, thanks and good riddance. There are times when nothing appears to be beautiful and the world is simply barren and desolate and depressing, and this includes the people that inhabit it, even loved ones. Don't get me wrong - times like these are not a cry for attention or help, far from it. When I feel like this I don't want to see or talk to anybody because I know that nothing they say or do will make me feel better. I don't want them there; their presence is only a distraction for the thoughts I want to pursue. The only person able to get me out of this self-dug hole is myself, and if I'm particularly stubborn, I won't want to leave for awhile.
The thing is, thoughts like these aren't driven by anger or hatred for everything and everyone around me. They aren't driven by desperation, or even self-pity. I'm not sick of people. I don't want to die. I haven't lost my purpose or my way. Ironically, it's times like these that I feel most alive and most alert, albeit in a less fathomable way than if I were jumping up and down for joy because something wonderful has happened and I simply can't wait to share it with the rest of the world. No, these thoughts are meant to be private, and it is only in the recesses of my own mind that I can fully pursue them.
In a recent conversation with someone I truly admire and have a lot to learn from, I was asked if I had any regrets. I said I didn't. In my honest opinion, I believe that I'm far too young to have any real regrets.
The thing is, thoughts like these aren't driven by anger or hatred for everything and everyone around me. They aren't driven by desperation, or even self-pity. I'm not sick of people. I don't want to die. I haven't lost my purpose or my way. Ironically, it's times like these that I feel most alive and most alert, albeit in a less fathomable way than if I were jumping up and down for joy because something wonderful has happened and I simply can't wait to share it with the rest of the world. No, these thoughts are meant to be private, and it is only in the recesses of my own mind that I can fully pursue them.
In a recent conversation with someone I truly admire and have a lot to learn from, I was asked if I had any regrets. I said I didn't. In my honest opinion, I believe that I'm far too young to have any real regrets.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Life is cruel and unusual (and maybe a little funny, but just a little)
My first full day home and I'm sick.
Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Imagine.
Every moment reveals its own universe.
"I can't keep myself and keep you too."
How very profound, Kanye.
"I can't keep myself and keep you too."
How very profound, Kanye.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Out of Sheer Procrastination
The Last Survey of 2008
1. What did you do in 2008 that you'd never done before?
Well, a lot of things. But the biggest thing would probably have to be living in my own apartment.
2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
Didn't make any & won't make any. It's ridiculous to sketch out a self-improvement plan on just one day of the year, when you could (and should) be doing it all the time.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Nope.
4. Did anyone close to you die?
Nope.
5. What countries did you visit?
England, France, Italy
6. What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?
A decent but cost-effective keyboard.
7. What date from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
July 18, 2008 - one of the best movie experiences of my life
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Dabbing in the arts of self-sustenance
9. What was your biggest failure?
Not completing NaNoWriMo
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Not exactly
11. What was the best thing you bought?
A ticket to see Les Mis in London
12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?
David Tennant's performance in RSC's 2008 production of Hamlet
13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?
There's a lot:
-The man carrying the sign on Election Day that said "Yes on Prop. 8 isn't about universalizing marriage. It's about normalizing perversion." Seriously, what the fuck?
-The Mormons who went to enormous lengths, including some who donated their entire life's savings, which probably included many of their children's college funds, to make sure Prop. 8 didn't pass in California.
-The same people whose behavior makes me appalled and depressed nearly every day of the year: people who are too close-minded to even entertain a second opinion on any given issue. Mainly those who failed to recognize that gay marriage is an issue where the separation of church and state should be recognized in a country where religion and politics are not legally intertwined.
14. Where did most of your money go?
Movies
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
The Dark Knight
16. What song will always remind you of 2008?
17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
i. happier or sadder? happier
ii. thinner or fatter? fatter
iii. richer or poorer? poorer
18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Read.
19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
No regrets.
20. How will you be spending Christmas?
Probably with family.
21. Did you fall in love in 2008?
Yeah.
22. How many one-night stands?
None
23. What was your favorite TV program?
30 Rock, Firefly
24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
No
25. What was the best book you read?
I dunno about "best" book, but Unaccustomed Earth was pretty good.
26. What was your greatest musical discovery?
The Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack!
I also remember hearing this one song I really liked, but I don't know what it's called or who it's by. Funny how these things work.
27. What did you want and get?
Knowledge, independence, satisfaction
28. What did you want and not get?
More time
29. What was your favourite film of this year?
Let The Right One In
The Dark Knight is a pretty close tie.
30. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
20. Spent the day with loved ones, it was pretty sweet
31. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
More time!
32. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008?
The more layers, the better.
33. What kept you sane?
I am proud to say that I did.
34. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
David Tennant
35. What political issue stirred you the most?
Prop 8
36. Who did you miss?
I missed (miss) a lot of people, all the time.
37. Who was the best new person you met?
I refuse to answer stupid questions like this one.
38. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008:
Sometimes you just have to enjoy the moment.39. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
Nothing comes to mind right now.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
Sometimes I Scare Myself
If there's a day when I go crazy, this will be it.
Right here, right now.
...When's witching hour again?
OH MAN IT'S DECEMBER!!!
Dear Self,
I have failed you. I'll do better next time.
Right here, right now.
...When's witching hour again?
OH MAN IT'S DECEMBER!!!
Dear Self,
I have failed you. I'll do better next time.
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