You know, although I can't picture living in L.A. permanently anytime in the near future (or ever, if I'm to be completely honest), I have to admit that it's a really good place to go to school. Or even just as a place of exploration. I don't think I'd be too out of bounds if I said that every day here is an adventure. Okay, that's somewhat of a small lie; some days are definitely more mundane than others. But for the most part I'm really enjoying my time here.
Case in point, I love it when random (randomly good, that is - randomly bad, not so much) things happen, and these past couple of days alone have proved to have great potential in that arena. For instance -
1. I was walking back from Ralph's yesterday with a bag of groceries when the guy striding along next to me turned and asked if I played the piano. I was momentarily puzzled by the seemingly irrelevant nature of his question (after all, it wasn't like I was carrying a keyboard) but then I realized that I was wearing my piano belt. (Aha, mystery solved.)
Anyway, a conversation regarding the piano and music turned to a relatively lighthearted discussion about good and evil (yeah, I don't know how it happened either - and yeah, "lighthearted" and "good" and "evil" all in the same sentence? Inconceivable! But it really wasn't heavy-handed, to tell you the truth) and how it would really suck if select individuals had the power to read everyone's minds. Why, you ask? Let me inhabit the mind of a 12-year-old boy and enlighten you with my infinite Spiderman wisdom: "With great power comes great responsibility!"
After about 7 minutes discussing good and evil, he suddenly noticed the package of taco shells in my grocery bag. Long story short, he ended up telling me how to make homemade hard taco shells as well as homemade guacamole and where to get the best packaged kind (Trader Joe's) if I'm not up to chopping the onions and tomatoes and making mulch out of a $2 avocado.
I don't know about you, but getting random cooking tips from someone you've never even seen before (his name turned out to be Andrew - till we meet again Andrew!) is pretty cool for an ordinary Thursday afternoon. And you know what else? That piano belt is a great conversation starter. Someone else asked me if I played the piano today.
2. Today I saw a parrot. No joke. And it wasn't a wild parrot flying around (although that would have been a sight to see too, I'm sure). I suspect it was a pet parrot. So I was on my lunch break at work, minding my own business, when I noticed the woman sitting across from me feeding a french fry to a creature sitting (standing?) on top of a rectangular cage. Turns out that creature was a parrot. Don't think that's random? How often do you see parrots on this campus? Squirrels, yes, but parrots are more of a novelty. I like novelties.
3. On Bruin Walk - spotted a girl and a guy sitting at one of the tables dressed in hot pink elephant suits. Actually, just elephant heads - they were wearing regular clothes underneath. They were being filmed by someone else and the whole trio attracted some pretty weird stares as more people passed by. I think they were making a movie for Campus Moviefest. I only caught one line of the dialogue - I think I heard "And this is why we shouldn't go into Iraq" - but it was still a pretty intriguing experience.
Oh, and one last reason why I love L.A. (as a temporary, rather than permanent, home): Last night I got to see Let The Right One In, the Swedish vampire film that recently won a bunch of awards at several film festivals, including the Rotten Tomatoes Consensus Award (it has 100% on rottentomatoes.com - now granted, it only has about ten reviews) and Best Narrative Feature at the Tribeca Film Festival.
I didn't know much about it going in - I didn't even bother to watch the trailer, partially because I feel like a lot of trailers these days give a misleading impression of the actual story, probably for marketing reasons more than anything else - but I must say, Let The Right One In is one of the best horror movies I've seen in a long time. Watching it reminded me of how much I love foreign films, sometimes because of the sheer fact that they're foreign (or "different"), but mainly because more often than not they deviate from typical Hollywood clichés. Even though many (okay, most) of the horror scenes were rather campy and purposely outrageous, I really enjoyed watching them on-screen. I don't know, maybe I have a thing for vampire movies, but my usual dislike for slasher flicks (or gratituous violence for no real purpose other than to shock the audience) was momentarily suspended when I watched certain scenes last night. Although - the movie itself was by no means a slasher film and thinking back on it, most of the serious violence occurred offscreen anyway.
The casting was really well done (and the cinematography, my god! I love snow and anything to do with snow even more now) and I loved the actress who played Eli. There was just something truly alien about her that drew the audience in- maybe it was in the way her eyes would change colors depending on the lighting in the scene (sometimes they looked completely black, other times a darkish blue) or how she looked so young but sounded and smiled like someone who's seen the ways of the world. I don't know, she was just good. It made me wonder how old the actual actress is. I tried googling her afterwards but nothing really came up (a downside of watching non-mainstream movies).
The romance in the film was a good offset to the dark undertone as well - not too overboard but still a good backdrop for the story that unfolds. I remember one reviewer on rottentomatoes.com comparing it to Twilight (it's here, actually: http://www.horror.com/php/article-2088-1.html ) and I was somewhat irritated because when I think of Twilight, I think one-dimensional. Stephanie Meyer doesn't ever really show Edward gnawing on a human's neck or describe what his face looks like right after he's had a meal (i.e. not very pleasant, unless you enjoy the sight of blood). In Let The Right One In, vampires are savages, serious predators who aren't afraid to hunt and destroy in order to survive (as in, when they bite you, it hurts), and the filmmakers don't hesitate to show that. But at the same time, their savage nature is heavily nuanced, as in one minute I was thinking, "Man, that Eli girl is downright VICIOUS!" (does the fact that I say that somewhat with a sense of glee make me a bad person?) and another minute, "Oh, poor little vampire girl...She desperately needs a hug."
Nuance, nuances, nuanced. Man, I love that word. I think all good things should have nuances. No, scratch that. I think all good things do have nuances. I refuse to see things in black and white for the same reasons why I dislike the blockbuster genre (as a general rule - though there are certain blockbuster movies I enjoy) : 1) it's BORING (predictability = somewhat lame) and 2) it's not realistic. Now by realistic I don't mean realistic in the sense that it could happen in real life- that would totally rule out any sci-fi or fantasy potential, which are two genres I've grown to really like. But realistic as in: Can I see that happening in an alternate universe where all things are possible and yet somehow life still makes sense at the very end? It's a paradox, I know, and I'm not so sure I understand it myself. But it's like that one Nietzsche quote:
"There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness."
Now replace "love" with "movies" and that's what I mean when I use the word "realistic." Not every detail in a film has to make sense in the long run (although the ones that do are usually good films), but when too many of the details veer offtrack (or are just plain absurd), the sheer lack of coherency, as well as believability (in the same loose sense that I've been using these rather concrete terms), renders the story invalid. Now this is not to say that I don't enjoy a little absurdity every now and then, because I do (I really liked The Science of Sleep, for example, and half of that movie went right over my head. The style of Requiem for a Dream was also appealing for the same reason. And don't get me started about The Dreamers). I just don't like walking away from a movie feeling like the filmmaker made it just because he could, that he made the movie because he's a filmmaker and that's what filmmakers do. Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should. If you're going to do something, make some effort to do it well.
To some extent, I believe in Oscar Wilde's philosophy, or the notion that all art is useless for the mere purpose of being art, but still, that art should mean something to you at the end of the day. It should mean something to its audience. There's nothing worse than taking the time to experience something (whether it be a movie, a book, a song) and feeling completely indifferent about it afterwards. I'd rather hate a movie than feel indifferent about it. I would rather think "This movie sucks because of this or that" rather than "I could have totally spent the last two hours doing something else and it wouldn't have made any difference at all." Now that's sad.
Speaking of which, that's sort of how I felt when I read the last Twilight book, Breaking Dawn. I was reading it because it existed (and yes, my curiosity does often get the better of me), not because it offered anything particularly innovative or worthwhile. The writing started off terrible. The story became terrible. And the characters all became mere caricatures of themselves - i.e. without nuances.
So please, don't compare Let The Right One In to Twilight, of all things. For me, it gave off a more Interview with a Vampire vibe than anything else.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
So I'm going to be really nerdy and talk about something we learned in English today. Ironically, it doesn't really have anything to do with English (surprise) but it's definitely one of the more practical pieces of advice I've been given in a long time.
True fact: The days get shorter as you get older.
We were talking about the difference between a child's perception of the world compared to that of an adult (while discussing one of Blake's more famous lines: "The child is father of the man"...so I guess it was somewhat English-related) and we reached the conclusion that the reason why the days seem so much longer when you're a kid is because for children, everything feels new. There's so much to do and you have no real perception of time so you can go on doing whatever you feel like indefinitely.
But when you're an "adult" (however you choose to perceive that word -- I for one don't believe that most 18-year-olds are adults. Technically, for the sake of being able to vote and buy cigarettes, sure. Intellectually, probably not. Some of the most immature people I know are eighteen and over. Speaking of which, I definitely was not an adult at 18), sometimes time seems to be the only thing that matters. Everything revolves around it. You're almost always aware of it. Therefore, the days get shorter and shorter.
According to Professor Lopez, there are only two real ways to fight this phenomenon. They are:
1. People you really don't like. Hang out with them more frequently. Because when you're with them, time automatically slows down. The ticking hand couldn't be moving more slowly. Problem solved. The day has become long again.
2. People you do like. Hold off on seeing them. As long as you postpone seeing them for a while, it allows you to enjoy your own sense of mortality for longer, especially during that period when they are fluttering in and out of your life.
True fact: The days get shorter as you get older.
We were talking about the difference between a child's perception of the world compared to that of an adult (while discussing one of Blake's more famous lines: "The child is father of the man"...so I guess it was somewhat English-related) and we reached the conclusion that the reason why the days seem so much longer when you're a kid is because for children, everything feels new. There's so much to do and you have no real perception of time so you can go on doing whatever you feel like indefinitely.
But when you're an "adult" (however you choose to perceive that word -- I for one don't believe that most 18-year-olds are adults. Technically, for the sake of being able to vote and buy cigarettes, sure. Intellectually, probably not. Some of the most immature people I know are eighteen and over. Speaking of which, I definitely was not an adult at 18), sometimes time seems to be the only thing that matters. Everything revolves around it. You're almost always aware of it. Therefore, the days get shorter and shorter.
According to Professor Lopez, there are only two real ways to fight this phenomenon. They are:
1. People you really don't like. Hang out with them more frequently. Because when you're with them, time automatically slows down. The ticking hand couldn't be moving more slowly. Problem solved. The day has become long again.
2. People you do like. Hold off on seeing them. As long as you postpone seeing them for a while, it allows you to enjoy your own sense of mortality for longer, especially during that period when they are fluttering in and out of your life.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Got books?
I've recently discovered something about myself that I probably knew all along but just never really wanted to admit.
I can't dislike people who like to read. I just can't. It doesn't matter how far-fetched their ideas are or how different their opinions might be from my own - as long as they have that one little detail connecting me back to them then I just can't dislike them. I have nothing but admiration for people who are genuinely able to enjoy the written word. Maybe that's a dumb reason to like someone (or not to like someone) but I always end up giving heavy readers the benefit of the doubt. They can say something totally outrageous and offensive to me and I will actually think about what they said instead of dismissing them in my head like I would someone who never reads books.
It's biased for sure but that's the way it is.
The sad truth is that I'm extremely weird when it comes to first impressions. These are always the things I notice first:
1) Hands. (Call me weird but I believe that you can tell a lot about someone just by looking at their hands.)
2) Laugh.
3) Speaking and/or writing ability (and then I can usually tell how much they read).
I can't dislike people who like to read. I just can't. It doesn't matter how far-fetched their ideas are or how different their opinions might be from my own - as long as they have that one little detail connecting me back to them then I just can't dislike them. I have nothing but admiration for people who are genuinely able to enjoy the written word. Maybe that's a dumb reason to like someone (or not to like someone) but I always end up giving heavy readers the benefit of the doubt. They can say something totally outrageous and offensive to me and I will actually think about what they said instead of dismissing them in my head like I would someone who never reads books.
It's biased for sure but that's the way it is.
The sad truth is that I'm extremely weird when it comes to first impressions. These are always the things I notice first:
1) Hands. (Call me weird but I believe that you can tell a lot about someone just by looking at their hands.)
2) Laugh.
3) Speaking and/or writing ability (and then I can usually tell how much they read).
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Salmon and Politics
This morning, as Jess and I were about to enter Royce 164 for English class, I turned to her and said, "I bet you anything that J.D. Lopez (our professor, as he is informally known) is going to spend a good portion of the class talking about the second debate today."
And lo and behold, before the classroom was filled and the seats were even warm, he turned to everyone and asked, "So what did you guys think about the second debate?"
And that was the first twenty minutes of English.
Oh J.D., you never cease to crack me up. I love that class more than I love ice cream on a hot day. Okay, that was a pretty bad metaphor considering I don't even love ice cream that much (even on hot days).
On a different note, it was my turn to cook for the apartment today. I wanted to make salmon and I kinda forgot what I usually put in it (even though I've cooked it numerous times before) so I called my mom to ask her. She didn't pick up. I called my dad. He picked up after four rings. I said, "Dad, how do you cook salmon?" And he's like, "What? I can't hear you." So I had to repeat the question four times before he finally got it (he's a little hearing-impaired). He gave me an acceptable answer and hung up. An hour later, my mom calls back. I ask her the same question. She says a whole bunch of stuff and then concludes it with, "You're a smart person. You'll figure it out." Thanks, Mom. What about all those times you directed comments at me like, "How could a smart person be so stupid?" But it's okay, 'cause she's still my mom and I love her.
The salmon turned out pretty well. If I had seasoned it earlier (and for longer) it probably would have tasted better but honestly, who has time to do things early these days?
I gotta go. I'll finish this later.
And lo and behold, before the classroom was filled and the seats were even warm, he turned to everyone and asked, "So what did you guys think about the second debate?"
And that was the first twenty minutes of English.
Oh J.D., you never cease to crack me up. I love that class more than I love ice cream on a hot day. Okay, that was a pretty bad metaphor considering I don't even love ice cream that much (even on hot days).
On a different note, it was my turn to cook for the apartment today. I wanted to make salmon and I kinda forgot what I usually put in it (even though I've cooked it numerous times before) so I called my mom to ask her. She didn't pick up. I called my dad. He picked up after four rings. I said, "Dad, how do you cook salmon?" And he's like, "What? I can't hear you." So I had to repeat the question four times before he finally got it (he's a little hearing-impaired). He gave me an acceptable answer and hung up. An hour later, my mom calls back. I ask her the same question. She says a whole bunch of stuff and then concludes it with, "You're a smart person. You'll figure it out." Thanks, Mom. What about all those times you directed comments at me like, "How could a smart person be so stupid?" But it's okay, 'cause she's still my mom and I love her.
The salmon turned out pretty well. If I had seasoned it earlier (and for longer) it probably would have tasted better but honestly, who has time to do things early these days?
I gotta go. I'll finish this later.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
This post has gravity but no center.
Dude. I have been thinking way too much lately. I mean I usually think a lot to begin with but lately the thinking has taken a turn for the worse and it's been really overwhelming. I don't even know the relevance of half the stuff that goes through my mind, but it must be pretty damn important if my thoughts feel the need to invade the otherwise relatively mundane nature of my every day life. I don't know. It just bothers me. I even have a hard time sleeping now. This may be partially due to the insanely hot weather going on right now (am I the only one who wishes it would RAIN every once in awhile? I mean, is that really too much to ask of Los Angeles?) but more of it is due to the annoyingly cyclical nature of my head, I think. See. I'm doing it again. Thinking. Ahhh. It's a vicious cycle. I can't stop thinking any more than I can stop breathing. Maybe I'm going crazy. No. That can't be it. I wouldn't admit to being crazy if I really were crazy. Insanity only happens when people stop trying to understand you. I haven't stopped trying to understand myself yet (case in point, I'm writing all this down in the hopes of some newfound clarity arising in the mist of the doom and gloom) and I'm a person so therefore I am not insane. Yeah that totally makes sense. I'm starting to understand myself already...
I suppose I'm also just really, really tired. On a scale of 1-10 (1 being disgustingly alert and 10 being on the verge of crashing) I am probably a 7 or an 8. I'm probably the most tired I've been in awhile. I think it's just because I had so much class today (along with the lack of good sleep) and that's really a drain on your mental system, attending class after class after class. Reminds me a little too much of high school, to tell you the truth. Okay right when I thought "high school" all these dark images started floating around in my head, no joke. I should move onto something else. Oh, and if my thoughts seem seriously disorganized right now that's because they are. I'm just going to be honest about that.
So. English class. Wow. Having classes as great as this really makes me sad because I know it's all going to end someday. And that someday is not really "someday," as in the general sense of the word, but someday as in someday soon. Soon I'll be out of college and treading upon the well-worn paths of the real world and all this talk about jobs and taxes and insurance and family is really grating on my nerves. I.e. freaking me out. What if I don't want any of that? What if I want to be stuck here forever? I don't mind growing old, I honestly don't. Wrinkles and sagging body parts and hapless diseases don't scare me. Why? Because it happens to everybody. So why freak out about it? You're not going to be the only one. There are plenty of other people who went through the very same things and they came out of it alive. As long as you're alive, you're good. You can still do something about it. That's what I believe. Just stay alive. No matter what happens, survive. That's the important thing. Everything else you worry about later. If you survive, later will come.
No, what I'm really scared of has nothing to do with age. I'm not even sure what it has to do with. Finding a job? No. That might be hard but if you work hard and you have some sort of talent in one area or another then you are good to go. Because even if you start out at the bottom, so what? You have your whole life to get that figured out. I don't predict that the first real job I land will be my dream job. Of course not. This isn't Fantasyworld, this isn't even close. It's good to have ambitions but let's be realistic and not kid ourselves. That's what growing up means: being realistic and not kidding yourself - no matter what area of life you're talking about (school, work, relationships, blah blah blah). Yes, always aim for higher, always try to be better, but at the same time -- chill out. Just chill out. Why can't people just get it in their heads to tell themselves that everything will work out eventually? Why do they have to work themselves into a rut over every single minor detail plaguing their lives? It's LIFE. LIFE HAS PROBLEMS. Okay. Obvious point made. Get over it. Grow some balls. That was totally sexist and I take it back. What I mean is don't expect things to get better just because life sucks and you can't help but whine about it. Whining never did anybody a bit of good. (Except maybe the temporarily lucky few who aren't so lucky now because they never learned to grow up.) So you have problems. Deal with them. Work through them. Think about them. Don't think about them. Do all that, but DON'T act as though you're the only person in the world with these problems and that your life is over just because they exist.
Okay, see. I just had to get that out because I think the person I'm directly speaking to is myself. The whole adolescent egocentric attitude works when you're like 12 or 13 but man, that was freaking ages ago. There's no bullshitting around the obvious now. It's there whether you acknowledge it or not so might as well make it a little easier on yourself and stop lying and/or pretending you don't see it.
You know what I realized? I really don't like talking about my problems with other people nowadays. It's not that I can't open up and spill my guts out or whatever (if need be), but somehow, I just get the feeling that if something is really nagging me on the inside, it's gotta be something I have to deal with on my own. I'm not against asking for advice or getting a second opinion on any decision, particularly the important ones, but ultimately what it all boils down to is whether or not I think I'm doing the right/responsible/appropriate thing. Me. Not anyone else. I have to learn how to take care of myself first before engaging others in my life. This unfortunately sounds like psychobabble 101 (but it is psychobabble I wholeheartedly believe in) but man, it just really hit me the other day how alone we all are. Not alone in that overrated emo sense of the word, "oh it's just me against the world and that's how it's always gotta be *insert nauseating tear drop*" -- no. But alone in the sense that after a certain age you eventually make the necessary realization (hopefully this comes in your mid-twenties and not in your fifties or something) that hey, it's actually your life that you're living and you have to take responsibility for it. If something's not going right or if you're dissatisfied with anything regarding life's many contingencies then you owe it to yourself to do something about it. More importantly, you don't owe it to anyone but yourself. Not your parents. Not your friends, close as they might be to your other half or whatever. Not your significant other(s). Yourself. Because if you don't do something about it, who will? Who has the right to? Who has the obligation to? No one. It's you and you alone.
With that said, I do believe that no man (or woman) is an island. Professor Lopez actually made a really good point last lecture when he asked us to think about how often we thought of other people on a regular basis over the course of the day. So I thought about it and I realized, holy shit, I actually do think of people other than myself a hell of a lot more often than I originally thought I did. Really. Like during breakfast the other day (I was eating Cocoa Puffs) I was thinking about whether my dad was eating breakfast too because he doesn't like cooking for himself and ever since my mom left he's kind of had to force himself to do it a lot more often. And then I started thinking about my mom and how she used to wake up earlier than all of us on weekends just to cook us breakfast. And how that must have really sucked for her because she doesn't even like cooking all that much. (I'm sure she liked sleeping more.) And then I felt a little bad because what if the only reason why I don't really want a family is because I don't want to have to wake up on Sunday mornings and cook for them when they're snoring away on their lazy butts. Because the first time will probably be really heart-warming and worthwhile and a total aww-moment, kind of like those tear-jerking family scenes you always see on TV sitcoms, but by the time the 105th breakfast rolls around you might just be ready to kill them off with the spatula you used to make the pancakes. (And then turn around and go right back to sleep.) ["Why don't you want to get married?" "Well, because I don't want to get divorced."] And then I thought about my apartment-mates and whether or not they had breakfast that morning, and if so, what they ate and how long it took them to make it.
Okay, so I digress. But you get the point. It's not that I deny that humanity has various kinship ties or that we really shouldn't make anything out of them, because I actually believe the very opposite. I think that if you really thought about yourself 24/7 you are probably a very self-centered bastard who needs a serious reality check and preferably a good old slap in the face. And that you probably don't even deserve the people who have stood by you all this time, despite your obvious oblivion to the rest of humanity. But I digress again.
The point is, life is life. And you are you. And while you can and should ask for help sometimes, ultimately it's up to you to make it all work.
And that somehow that's all supposed to make sense in one way or another.
I suppose I'm also just really, really tired. On a scale of 1-10 (1 being disgustingly alert and 10 being on the verge of crashing) I am probably a 7 or an 8. I'm probably the most tired I've been in awhile. I think it's just because I had so much class today (along with the lack of good sleep) and that's really a drain on your mental system, attending class after class after class. Reminds me a little too much of high school, to tell you the truth. Okay right when I thought "high school" all these dark images started floating around in my head, no joke. I should move onto something else. Oh, and if my thoughts seem seriously disorganized right now that's because they are. I'm just going to be honest about that.
So. English class. Wow. Having classes as great as this really makes me sad because I know it's all going to end someday. And that someday is not really "someday," as in the general sense of the word, but someday as in someday soon. Soon I'll be out of college and treading upon the well-worn paths of the real world and all this talk about jobs and taxes and insurance and family is really grating on my nerves. I.e. freaking me out. What if I don't want any of that? What if I want to be stuck here forever? I don't mind growing old, I honestly don't. Wrinkles and sagging body parts and hapless diseases don't scare me. Why? Because it happens to everybody. So why freak out about it? You're not going to be the only one. There are plenty of other people who went through the very same things and they came out of it alive. As long as you're alive, you're good. You can still do something about it. That's what I believe. Just stay alive. No matter what happens, survive. That's the important thing. Everything else you worry about later. If you survive, later will come.
No, what I'm really scared of has nothing to do with age. I'm not even sure what it has to do with. Finding a job? No. That might be hard but if you work hard and you have some sort of talent in one area or another then you are good to go. Because even if you start out at the bottom, so what? You have your whole life to get that figured out. I don't predict that the first real job I land will be my dream job. Of course not. This isn't Fantasyworld, this isn't even close. It's good to have ambitions but let's be realistic and not kid ourselves. That's what growing up means: being realistic and not kidding yourself - no matter what area of life you're talking about (school, work, relationships, blah blah blah). Yes, always aim for higher, always try to be better, but at the same time -- chill out. Just chill out. Why can't people just get it in their heads to tell themselves that everything will work out eventually? Why do they have to work themselves into a rut over every single minor detail plaguing their lives? It's LIFE. LIFE HAS PROBLEMS. Okay. Obvious point made. Get over it. Grow some balls. That was totally sexist and I take it back. What I mean is don't expect things to get better just because life sucks and you can't help but whine about it. Whining never did anybody a bit of good. (Except maybe the temporarily lucky few who aren't so lucky now because they never learned to grow up.) So you have problems. Deal with them. Work through them. Think about them. Don't think about them. Do all that, but DON'T act as though you're the only person in the world with these problems and that your life is over just because they exist.
Okay, see. I just had to get that out because I think the person I'm directly speaking to is myself. The whole adolescent egocentric attitude works when you're like 12 or 13 but man, that was freaking ages ago. There's no bullshitting around the obvious now. It's there whether you acknowledge it or not so might as well make it a little easier on yourself and stop lying and/or pretending you don't see it.
You know what I realized? I really don't like talking about my problems with other people nowadays. It's not that I can't open up and spill my guts out or whatever (if need be), but somehow, I just get the feeling that if something is really nagging me on the inside, it's gotta be something I have to deal with on my own. I'm not against asking for advice or getting a second opinion on any decision, particularly the important ones, but ultimately what it all boils down to is whether or not I think I'm doing the right/responsible/appropriate thing. Me. Not anyone else. I have to learn how to take care of myself first before engaging others in my life. This unfortunately sounds like psychobabble 101 (but it is psychobabble I wholeheartedly believe in) but man, it just really hit me the other day how alone we all are. Not alone in that overrated emo sense of the word, "oh it's just me against the world and that's how it's always gotta be *insert nauseating tear drop*" -- no. But alone in the sense that after a certain age you eventually make the necessary realization (hopefully this comes in your mid-twenties and not in your fifties or something) that hey, it's actually your life that you're living and you have to take responsibility for it. If something's not going right or if you're dissatisfied with anything regarding life's many contingencies then you owe it to yourself to do something about it. More importantly, you don't owe it to anyone but yourself. Not your parents. Not your friends, close as they might be to your other half or whatever. Not your significant other(s). Yourself. Because if you don't do something about it, who will? Who has the right to? Who has the obligation to? No one. It's you and you alone.
With that said, I do believe that no man (or woman) is an island. Professor Lopez actually made a really good point last lecture when he asked us to think about how often we thought of other people on a regular basis over the course of the day. So I thought about it and I realized, holy shit, I actually do think of people other than myself a hell of a lot more often than I originally thought I did. Really. Like during breakfast the other day (I was eating Cocoa Puffs) I was thinking about whether my dad was eating breakfast too because he doesn't like cooking for himself and ever since my mom left he's kind of had to force himself to do it a lot more often. And then I started thinking about my mom and how she used to wake up earlier than all of us on weekends just to cook us breakfast. And how that must have really sucked for her because she doesn't even like cooking all that much. (I'm sure she liked sleeping more.) And then I felt a little bad because what if the only reason why I don't really want a family is because I don't want to have to wake up on Sunday mornings and cook for them when they're snoring away on their lazy butts. Because the first time will probably be really heart-warming and worthwhile and a total aww-moment, kind of like those tear-jerking family scenes you always see on TV sitcoms, but by the time the 105th breakfast rolls around you might just be ready to kill them off with the spatula you used to make the pancakes. (And then turn around and go right back to sleep.) ["Why don't you want to get married?" "Well, because I don't want to get divorced."] And then I thought about my apartment-mates and whether or not they had breakfast that morning, and if so, what they ate and how long it took them to make it.
Okay, so I digress. But you get the point. It's not that I deny that humanity has various kinship ties or that we really shouldn't make anything out of them, because I actually believe the very opposite. I think that if you really thought about yourself 24/7 you are probably a very self-centered bastard who needs a serious reality check and preferably a good old slap in the face. And that you probably don't even deserve the people who have stood by you all this time, despite your obvious oblivion to the rest of humanity. But I digress again.
The point is, life is life. And you are you. And while you can and should ask for help sometimes, ultimately it's up to you to make it all work.
And that somehow that's all supposed to make sense in one way or another.
Friday, September 12, 2008
I just got home a couple days ago and I don't know what's wrong with me but I don't really feel like doing anything productive, social, or fun. My room's a mess, as always, and even though the pigsty is making me feel even more lethargic (if that's possible) I'm not going making any efforts to clean it.
I don't know what it is. It's not jet-lag. I slept a whole bunch the past couple of days, more hours than I can count. It's not boredom. I wouldn't be sitting here on my butt if it were. It's not illness, though I do have a slight head cold that's refusing to go away. It's not that I don't want to see people or hang out. I really do want to catch up and get some good things to eat. But I'm just not taking any real initiative to make anything happen. I'm not in the mood. And I don't know why.
I'm going to go watch Psycho.
I don't know what it is. It's not jet-lag. I slept a whole bunch the past couple of days, more hours than I can count. It's not boredom. I wouldn't be sitting here on my butt if it were. It's not illness, though I do have a slight head cold that's refusing to go away. It's not that I don't want to see people or hang out. I really do want to catch up and get some good things to eat. But I'm just not taking any real initiative to make anything happen. I'm not in the mood. And I don't know why.
I'm going to go watch Psycho.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Here Today, Gone Tomorrow
So I haven't posted here in a while. That's usually the case with blogs, at least when it comes to my terrible blogging habits. I get tired of them and then forget I have one and simply make another when I feel the urge to blog again. I don't even know how many of my online journals are out there on the internet now - probably more than I can count using two hands. On a different note, French keyboards are weird. I'm still having a hard time typing on them because the keys are in different places. Not all of them, but a lot of them. So I've been in France for almost a week now. I never know what day of the week it is here because I'm not really keeping track of time. Why bother, when I'm on vacation and have no deadlines to worry about. And it's not as though I'm counting the days until I go home or anything.
I'm staying at my uncle's flat in Nice, which is located in the southern part of the country, very close to Italy. Actually we drove to Italy just yesterday, into a city called Genova. Didn't stay too long though, not even for a full day. I think tomorrow we're taking a train to Paris, which is about five hours away. I can't wait to visit the city I've heard so many good things about. I've also heard that it's touristy, but who freaking cares? It's not as though I'm pretending to be anything other than a tourist while I'm here. I don't deny it, not in the slightest. In fact, I relish the fact. I get to be a tourist in a place like Paris, how cool is that?! I want to see all the touristy spots like the Effiel Tower and the Louvre and Oscar Wilde's grave. I want to eat lots of bread and see the thousands of couples walking around at night and listen to people jabber away in French while having myself a field day trying to decipher what they're saying. Yeah, I am a tourist! I am one of the many Americans who are pretty ignorant of the French culture and language (doesn't help that I took Spanish in high school) but hey, that doesn't mean I can't enjoy it while I'm here. And I intend to enjoy it, every minute of it. Who knows when I'll have the chance to come back to Europe again? Never say never, but there are a lot of other places around the world that I want to see before making second visits.
By the way, I am reading The Picture of Dorian Grey for the second time and loving every minute of it. Oscar Wilde is a genius, not to mention downright hilarious. Much like David Tennant, whose awesome performance in RSC's Hamlet will give me something to rave about later. (Trust me, once I get started I won't be able to stop.) Dude, British actors are so cool. They know how to articulate themselves in interviews as well as in person, not to mention they can do all sorts of crazy accents at will. And they're so modest too. I absolutely adore them! I wish we had BBC in America so I could watch Doctor Who. Better yet, I wish I lived in England so I could walk a couple blocks down to the main square and get my fill of museums and musicals and theatre because by golly, America doesn't even come close when it comes to quality entertainment. (Yes, I used the word "golly," so what? It could have easily been worse.) All we have is Hollywood and face it, that's getting old fast. There's hardly any movies that come out these days that hasn't been done before, whether it started out as a book or a comic or some sort of short film. Hollywood stopped being original a long time ago. To be fair, Shakespeare isn't exactly novel either (17th century dude!) but prior to coming to England I had no idea that theatre could be so satisfying as an intellectually stimulating (as well as fun) form of entertainment. Sometimes more so than a well-made movie (not better than The Dark Knight though) even. I just wish we had more of that in the States. And I really wish our claim to fame/pop culture wasn't limited to what's on the streets of Los Angeles and New York.
I'll end this right now with some wise Wilde words: "Life is too important to take seriously."
Seriously!
I'm staying at my uncle's flat in Nice, which is located in the southern part of the country, very close to Italy. Actually we drove to Italy just yesterday, into a city called Genova. Didn't stay too long though, not even for a full day. I think tomorrow we're taking a train to Paris, which is about five hours away. I can't wait to visit the city I've heard so many good things about. I've also heard that it's touristy, but who freaking cares? It's not as though I'm pretending to be anything other than a tourist while I'm here. I don't deny it, not in the slightest. In fact, I relish the fact. I get to be a tourist in a place like Paris, how cool is that?! I want to see all the touristy spots like the Effiel Tower and the Louvre and Oscar Wilde's grave. I want to eat lots of bread and see the thousands of couples walking around at night and listen to people jabber away in French while having myself a field day trying to decipher what they're saying. Yeah, I am a tourist! I am one of the many Americans who are pretty ignorant of the French culture and language (doesn't help that I took Spanish in high school) but hey, that doesn't mean I can't enjoy it while I'm here. And I intend to enjoy it, every minute of it. Who knows when I'll have the chance to come back to Europe again? Never say never, but there are a lot of other places around the world that I want to see before making second visits.
By the way, I am reading The Picture of Dorian Grey for the second time and loving every minute of it. Oscar Wilde is a genius, not to mention downright hilarious. Much like David Tennant, whose awesome performance in RSC's Hamlet will give me something to rave about later. (Trust me, once I get started I won't be able to stop.) Dude, British actors are so cool. They know how to articulate themselves in interviews as well as in person, not to mention they can do all sorts of crazy accents at will. And they're so modest too. I absolutely adore them! I wish we had BBC in America so I could watch Doctor Who. Better yet, I wish I lived in England so I could walk a couple blocks down to the main square and get my fill of museums and musicals and theatre because by golly, America doesn't even come close when it comes to quality entertainment. (Yes, I used the word "golly," so what? It could have easily been worse.) All we have is Hollywood and face it, that's getting old fast. There's hardly any movies that come out these days that hasn't been done before, whether it started out as a book or a comic or some sort of short film. Hollywood stopped being original a long time ago. To be fair, Shakespeare isn't exactly novel either (17th century dude!) but prior to coming to England I had no idea that theatre could be so satisfying as an intellectually stimulating (as well as fun) form of entertainment. Sometimes more so than a well-made movie (not better than The Dark Knight though) even. I just wish we had more of that in the States. And I really wish our claim to fame/pop culture wasn't limited to what's on the streets of Los Angeles and New York.
I'll end this right now with some wise Wilde words: "Life is too important to take seriously."
Seriously!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
