You Want To Be Where You Can See, Our Troubles Are All The Same; You Want To Be Where Everybody Knows Your Name

--"Where Everybody Knows Your Name", Cheers Theme

Well, I've finally reached it. Tomorrow is my last day at my current position as a collector for Bally's. After tomorrow I can kiss my free gym membership good-bye. After tomorrow I'll never have to worry about starting another shift at 6 a.m. hopefully. After tomorrow I'll never have to hold in any urges to tell people, "well, go ahead and be fat. See if I give a crap." And, sadly, tomorrow is probably the last day I'll see many of the people I've worked with in the last year-and-a-half.

I know I'm supposed to feel more... more something... about leaving, but right now I don't think it's completely hit me what a big change this new job is going to bring. It not only means a change in pay, a change in scenery, but it also means a change in the way my days are socially structured. There's not going to be as much hanging out after work with co-workers as I have no clue how sociable my new co-workers are going to be. Certainly, it'll be a rough road to establish the same tight bonds that I made in the last few months working in the current department where I work at. There's not going to be as much familiarity, at first, with the way everyone around me reacts to what I say and do. It's frankly a little scary to think of having to work at making new relationships. It's kind of like I'm going to be the new kid in school and worried about not making any friends at all. I know I'm better than that. As my cousin said, I think I've opened up in the last couple of years and I shouldn't sweat such a small thing as being liked. It was just kind of nice coming into work and not having to worry about all the drama and bureaucracy that accompanies most days at work. It was nice being generally liked just as it's kind of nice to be missed by people.

I know I should feel more emotional about this, but the truth is that it doesn't quite yet feel like I'm leaving. I still have a lot of pins in the air that I'm juggling in terms of plans with the people at Bally's. I still have an Angels game next week with some of my co-workers. I possibly have a date at Ruth's Chris next week with some other of them. And I still have my trip to Boston with a friend of mine from work. Not to mention, I have certain plans set up in the future that insure that I never have to lose touch with the goings-on at Bally's if I never want to. To tell the truth, it doesn't even feel much like I'm saying good-bye at all.

It's like what they say about your job. It'd be great if you didn't have to work so much.

I'm not going to miss my responsibilities at Bally's. My replacement can have those. The only thing that I was in danger of missing were the people there and, if I plan things right, I'll never have to really miss them at all.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Place Your Bets

As most of you know, I'm being deported next Tuesday along with my clone, to a long deserved vacation in Japan. We'll be eating, drinking, partying, sightseeing, shopping, spooning, and who knows what other activities ambiguously gay people do.

But the problem with this is, all that crap costs money! And since my side job of being an international hand model has not been as lucrative as I thought it would be.

Photographer: "Alright Fobio, I need you to hold your hands up in the shocker and punisher positions..."
Fobio: "Fobio doesn't do such positions. Fobio's pinky is too pretty to go up a dukie shoot. See! Smell them..."

So to hopefully help make some money to cover the costs of my trip, I'll be taking bets on my clone Jason (aka Bolo, Jwang, Chi Chi, Cranium, Iron Jay, Silver Dollar Jay, etc.), and what kind of play he'll get in Japan. Whether it be a kiss, a number or email, perhaps some road head, sit on face action, or even dirty rotten porno sex. Hell, I'll even take bets to see if he brings back a wife... or husband...

Now for those who don't know him, let me tell you what he's like. For starters, there's a reason why I call him my clone. It's because he's very similar to myself except his piece isn't nine and half flaccid. But other than that he's about 5'9, Chinese, buff, and looks like someone who just got off the boat and went straight to Urban Outfitters. He's also equally as gay/metro as I am. You can put our closets together and find enough apparel to clothe a small nation. I'd say he's pretty sociable too so I think initiating conversation with these J-pop girls won't be a problem. What comes out of his mouth is another story though. I can barely understand him when he speaks English, so who knows how well it's going to go over with the Japanese.

So there you have it. Who's in? I'm thinking 3 to 1 on the email and number, and then up an odd from that. What do you say? Or you can name your own terms for your bets. The house is open.

I Long For You Night And Day, Your Pain Was My Pleasure, Your Sorrow My Joy, I Feel Now I've Lost You To Health And Good Cheer

--"The Dirty Glass", The Dropkick Murphys

One would imagine that seeing four Red Sox games at Fenway in a month's time would be what is making me excited now. But, in truth, nothing matches the expectation of finally having Amy back in my life.

After what seemed an interminable wait, my current favorite show is back on the air. Once again I'm able to visit Colorado without having to ever leave the comfort of home. During the wait I've had time to ponder why exactly I consider this the finest show on the air and it's taking me a bit to come up with a concise the answer. The most succinct manner in which I can describe it is that all my favorite shows, whether one is talking about Avonlea, Buffy, or Everwood, have shared the undeniable trait of mixing the humor with the sadness. It's a delicate balance to maintain, but when it works it works like gangbusters. I don't know--perhaps I'm one of those rare individuals that revels in other's misery, but I've been kind of jonesing for this show if only because I can count on the drama to put me in a happy place. Yes, I do get my share of drama on the other "can't miss" shows I have during the week like 24 or Veronica Mars, but those kind of shows always seem to draw their drama from hyper-realistic situations. It's all well and good to be excited by the situations, but they lack the conviction of being situation that very well may happen to me.

Everwood is different in that respect. This show always either reminds me of something I too went through or puts me in a frame of mind where, but for the grace, I very well could have been. The sadness, the feelings, that this fine show stirs in me always originates from a point of familiarity. The sad fact is I always seem to do my best thinking and have my best reflections when prompted by a tale of woe. Be it the star-crossed path of love taken by Amy and Ephram, the struggle by Andy of rectifying past mistakes, or even the simple missteps of first love undertaken by Hannah and Bright--there's enough fodder for the angst and melancholy of everyday life that seems to be a motif in my writing.

I really am only happy when it rains. I cannot abide simple stories and there is nothing simple about the plotlines that run through any episode. Subtlety, depth, and nuance take on whole new levels when it comes to the show and I cannot think of a better example of fine programming than Everwood.


I fell for you my darling dear

Maybe there's something twisted about me to get this giddy over someone else's misfortune. I've often contemplated the notion that I'm drawn to these shows because they bring forth a vindictive and often masochistic instinct in me. I really do think a part of me doesn't feel real unless I'm blue or mildly worried in some way. Somehow when I'm totally fulfilled and happy, I feel less connected to the world at large. When things are going well I have almost a sense of disconnection, that all the events that are currently happening aren't real. It's much like when one goes to see a movie and one gets caught up in the action on screen. Sometimes one feels like all the joys the characters are experience are happening to oneself. That's how I feel. All these accomplishments and milestones don't feel like they're happening to me. They feel attached to someone else whose identity I'm just borrowing.

But the pain and the tears, those are all mine.

People always say that misery loves company, but to me feeling blue is a personal thing. I get the sense that nobody experiences my sorrow quite like me. I plow my way through suffering in a fashion wholly conceived and executed by me. Like somebody else said, nobody knows the trouble I've seen... nobody knows my sorrow.

I think that's more precisely why I like the show. It isn't just the fact that it presents the beauty of inbetween days, those days when the world isn't exactly crashing around you, but also when the world isn't exactly filled with rainbows. What I like about the show is the fact that it kind of understands my pain and reflects it back to me. Maybe I don't like seeing other people in pain as much as I like knowing that there are other people hurting just as much and for similar reasons as me.

So, yeah, being made sad, in a strange way, makes me happy.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Cafe Lumiere third impression:

It lives up to its title; it's luminous and redolent of film through the years. I can definitely write a whole thesis, probably just about a scene if I had to. But I'm trying to watch it through with no 'strategy' this time, to let the film tell me what to notice and note and be unable to forget. Rather than read it like a book, or repeatedly ask the camera what is it telling me, I want almost to author this film for myself, imagine myself as creating and caring for the contents of the screen. Basically before I start building the structures in earnest I want to have the utmost sympathetic substance. The first and second time through I mostly just watched the camera, a bad habit, but this time I saw more nuance in the personalities and the family and social situations.

Tomiko's album second impressions:

I'm obsessed with morning glory, could listen to its chorus for eternity. Neither can I resist the opening with its glowy fade-up--same feeling of awakening and taking shape as the intro of the last song that so slew me, Ai no Kakera--nor the fierce coloring she gives all the sustained lows, which is probably my favorite thing her voice does.

Overall I would dislike this album as I do Thai food. With too many flavors I don't so much experience as try to decoct a thing. I like music that's simple and perfected. But I can appreciate that there's less format for a studio pop artist wanting to have a more 'mature' sound. It wouldn't do to follow the guitar-pop formula of DAI, and it's alright that a superior form didn't quite emerge and gain confirmation yet.

A Day in the Life of a Metro

You know it's not easy being half gay. There's responsibilities we have, to maintain our metro status or else if neglected, they take away our metro card. And I'm not talking about my bus pass. I'm talking about our get out of manual labor card. Or our free porking pass when trying to be noticed amongst regular males.

But these are just the benefits. Looking this gay isn't easy. Well I guess it's easy when you're really gay. But when you're straight and just trying to look gay it becomes 10x more difficult. I don't know maybe it has something to do with the butt love.

Anyway, there's a standard of living that is required with this title. We have to be knowledgeable of certain topics that most guys would normally never hear of. For instance, when's the last time a regular guy went to a museum to check out the latest art exhibit? I'm guessing not since he last tried to bone the artsy-fartsy chick in his introduction to art class that he was forced to take in college.

Aside from knowing certain things, the most obvious of our duties lies within our appearance. And here clothing is not optional. It is a requirement. We have to keep track of the latest trends. If Hollywood says we should be wearing jock straps over our faces because it's cool, then damn it, give me a man thong so I can sniff the hell out of it!!!

But our appearance doesn't stop at clothing. And this is where I'm extra bitter right now. We have to have extra special hair styles. I can't exactly walk into a barber shop and ask for a fade. Nope, we have to grow it longer than your average male and get it styled with "product" instead of gel or hairspray.

The reason why I'm bitter today is because naturally I have a fro. Well not really a fro, more like I have pubes growing out of my head. It isn't pretty. So to prevent the nut sack head look, I regularly straighten my hair to make it look presentable by metro standards. Of course the usual chemicals I use are out of stock this week so I buy this other shit that burned a hole right through my skull. It hurt like a mo-fo. So here I am at work. Forehead and scalp with 3rd degree burns. I look like leprosy kicked my ass.

And this is where I stand. Hair looks good. Face looks like shit. And you're probably thinking, "So how is that different then any other day?" And I say on to you... well, um... something bad. I can't think of anything right now. It'll probably involve the words "Sit on face" and "F-U mother bitches!"

Samurai vs. Ninja

Yup, that's right. I still have way too much time on my hands. So here's my next article at Nozomi Online.

http://www.nozomionline.com/entertainment/samuraisvsninjas.html

And We'll Linger On, Time Can't Erase A Feeling This Strong, No Way You're Ever Gonna Shake Me, Oh Darling, 'Cause You'll Always Be My Baby

--Always Be My Baby", Mariah Carey

One of the longest standing traditions in our friendship is that there's always some type of wager whenever one of her teams plays one of my teams. When we were younger (or when she was younger I should say) the standing bet was $20, but, as we've both gotten older, the ante has gone up. Right now the standing bet is $100, no stipulations, on any major sporting event. It doesn't happen often as our teams are destined to play in either opposite leagues or opposite conferences, but it does happen. For instance, were the Bulldogs of the fine institution of the University of Georgia ever to meet the Trojans of the also fine institution of the University of Southern California, well, we'd kill her team. But also there would be a check being sent in the mail (or Paypalled as it has come to pass) the minute the game is over. Come hell or high water, you can be sure that if Breanne's team and my team are ever playing each other I shall have a vested interest in the outcome of that game.

I don't just watch the game, I rub her face in it. I may not be the world's best trash talker, but I do know a thing or two about getting underneath my Southern friend's skin. It's not just the "You might be a redneck/Southerners are dumb" variety, but I also like to tease her about how "she's just a girl and girls don't know the first thing about sports". That really crumbles her cookies as she in many ways is more up on the latest goings-on of her belove Dawgs and Falcons. But she also goads me as well whenever she happens on a bit of sports news that she figures to mock me with endlessly. Four words for you--Damon signs with Yankees.

I guess that's the reason I'm writing this is because, of all the series in all the sports we follow, nothing is more precious nor more sacred an annual (or semi-annual event as the case may be) event as whenever the Red Sox play the Braves. We both set aside whole afternoons or evenings, waste tons of hours on the telephone to each other, and may as well breath baseball for those few days of games. Last year when I went to Boston for the first time it was to see the Sawx play Braves at Fenway. Believe you me I made sure to taunt the fact that we came back from being down 3-1 to win the game I watched 5-3. It not only meant that I wouldn't be compelled to sign over a hundred dollars of money I had worked semi-hard for, it also meant seeing the absolutely hilarious notes Breanne likes to leave in the margins of her check whenever she has to pay me my winnings. Last year's entry was a classic.

Well, they do say opposites attact...so I sincerely hope you meet somebody who is attractive, honest, intelligent, and cultured.

I can only cringe at the thought of actually sitting next to her at a stadium with her when the Red Sox and Braves play. I believe the zingers would come quicker and with more ferocity than in His Girl Friday. I could not imagine having to put up with that coy smirk of hers were her team to be winning throughout the whole game. I would have to leave. I would. Not only is she one of the cruelest bullies when it comes to her teams being victorious, she's also one of the smuggest. I mean--she's the most polite and well-mannered person (at times) I've ever met, except when it comes to Chipper Jones and the boys. Then she really does turn into a maniac.


oh baby believe me it’s only a matter of time

But here's the darndest thing about our friendly rivalry. I root for Georgia when they're not playing USC. I root for them so much that I get teased at work for having two favorite teams. I also check on the Braves almost as often as I check on the Red Sox when baseball's in season. I like it when they're winning because it makes her happy. Just as she'll call me up and tell me what a great move one of my organizations made or just to tell me that so-and-so played perfectly today. We both have each other's colleges keychains. I can tell you that the first and best pep talk I received when USC lost to Texas was from her. She wanted them to win just as much as I did. That's how it is with us and that's why we've stayed friends for so long. We support each other. Knowing she's a fan of Georgia is enough for me to root for them, and vice-versa. It makes me, at least, feel connected to her in another tangible way.

Sure, we may putdown and insult each other's sports teams, but that's just the nature of good friends. Whatever they like and whatever they're into you've always got to knock it down a peg or two. You can't ever let them know that you actually think one of their interests is actually worthwhile because it'll go straight to their heads. She's like my little sister in some ways. I can't ever let her know how completely I support her or her teams because that would be overly sentimental. I kid and I joke because I know she can take it. But, secretly, we both get excited whenever that next home run is hit or that next touchdown is scored because, yeah, it does make the other person happy.

The bet is our way of showing each other that we're still a big part of each other's lives. Besides, it's an institution by now. I couldn't imagine not having the bet in my life even with all the hurt feelings and brutal insults that sometimes result because of it.

It'd be like trying to imagine not having Breanne in my life.

So come June 17th at Turner Field Breanne better be ready to pay me my money because that bitch is going down!

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Class yesterday definitely girded my desire to teach English, but not to foreign language speakers or kids who need to learn basic skills. I want to teach reading to English majors, for they know not how to read. They think that everything is an experience--to which reading about it is necessarily untrue--except reading, which is to them like no experience whatever. No concept of relating to an aesthetic object, just the truly true truth of the real, which cannot be talked about, to, with--little Ahabs they are, confounded by the 'about'ness of 'what are you talking about?'--reading between the lines and seeing nothing but white =O

Alright, I don't know how to begin this. I was thinking today about what I was going to say here but I forgot it, and I only thought about it 5 minutes ago! A blog is like the diary you used to have when you were a brat and my posts here are just like the ones of my old old diary I had long long long time ago. That's to say, rarely. But, a diary was private (unless someone come and read it) and a blog can be read by thousands of people if they want so. Ok,ok... Not many people read my blog, perhaps a person full of hope to find something here in my empty words do.
And here I am, complaining about life again. When was the last time? Not so far ago, I think. Dunno. But I was happy! I was happy until yesterday in a certain hour of the day when magically I realized that sometimes I have nothing and nobody... And that my imagination is so poor that I am not able to create a new life for myself!
And ha (that's a laugh), I was pondering today in the shower (hell, who asks me to find a pondering place like the shower, bearing in mind how expensive the water is in this building!) and while the water was hitting my back and from my lips crazy words were going out, I turned into tears... And no, I didn't cry because I was talking to myself (I know I'm insane so that's not something that afflict me anymore) but because of the words I let go... It is just that, suddenly... I thought (or realized) about that I've never done a worthwhile thing. All my dreams have gone directly to trash. And I know you're all going to say I still have many years to live and that I'm still young but, how do I know I won't die tomorrow? What if that happens and I die without having reached anything in my life?
All my dreams to trash, all the things I wanted to reach and couldn't, all the things I reached and didn't bear fruits...
My dream of going to university came true and... That's all. Where's the fruit? I haven't reached anything with it. My dream of learning the art of dubbing came true, I did a couple of little things, my mother paid a course to I learn and.... Where's all? Is it that I do all wrong or what?
Do you know how that is called? Do you know how to want to be and not to be is called? FAIL. That's the name and that's what I am nowadays. I'm a failure, a blunder.
I don't know who the fault is. I guess it's mine. It's the fault of that idiot shyness I try to hide every fucking day of my life and I cannot. Or it's maybe God's fault who doesn't want me in this world but would have a terrible remorse if he takes me and that's why he's trying I commit suicide. But that's not fair. I don't want to commit suicide! Do you think I'm not afraid of that? If you want to take me, well, take me! If you don't want, then don't and leave me here. A lot of clowns are needed in the world.
Nothing else a blunder has, than looking for new hopes of being something. I don't get tired of looking for it... And if it's my fate to die looking for something to be at life, then I'll look for it endlessly. I'm a blunder but I have no blunder-like talent. Perhaps that's why I cry when I think of it... Because I cannot accept it.

So, I'm Never Gonna Be Just Like I Was, I'm Not Gonna Be The Same, Now I Know That I'm Here, Now I Know

--"But Now I Know", Smoosh

There's a scene at the end of Don't Come Knocking where Skye, as portrayed by the indomitable Sarah Polley, absolutely comes close to breaking your heart without actually doing it. She gives this stirring monologue about how when she was a kid she used to search for similarities between her appearance and that of her estranged father--a wrinkle to a brow, the same bridge to the nose, same tilt to the eyes. She used to search in vain for that connection to him that would give some validity to the fact that he is her father. But as she stands there in front of him, slowly letting go of her hand, she states aloud that there really isn't any connection to be found. She doesn't say it with anger or sadness or even disappointment in her voice. She says it as a statement of fact. The whole movie her purpose was to find a bit of the family she lost when her mother died. She thought she could find that with him, yet by movie's end she realizes he is never going to be her salvation. He is only her dad, after all. She still loves him, but he's never going to be the family that she's searching for.

She stands there, watching him leave, and that's when I realized this is destined to be one of my favorite movies. It isn't so much that it features Sarah Polley, both my favorite actress and who I consider the finest actress of my generation, but that it's full of scenes like this that tweak the usual "man's search for reconnection with loved ones" theme. While I don't think it'll ever be as popular as other movies I've seen, it works for me. It succeeded in tugging at me emotionally when I was merely looking for entertainment. I highly recommend it to anyone who's searching for a movie that doesn't follow along with Hollywood's norms.

And what can I say? Sarah Polley definitely still has it because she gives a very nuanced performance that I'll probably have to see again to make sure I'm not exaggerating its impact. The scene I spoke of above is worth the price of admission alone.


never knew that I was sitting here
waiting for you

I think I've had the same struggles with identifying myself by my family. It's always been a struggle for me to remain independent of the preconceptions that come with being a part of my life. Everything I'm supposed to be according to them I've fought against falling into. That's why I identify with the movie so much, because I'm still at that stage where I'm trying to parse out exactly what kind of person I'm trying to mold myself into. I'm still at that stage where I tend to neglect or even push away the people that are supposed to be closest to me. However, just like the movie, one of my biggest fears is that I'm going to come to a point in my life where I'm going to want them back in my life and discover that I've already burned all my bridges. Everybody thinks they don't need someone until he discovers it's them who don't him any longer.

The film puts the notion of what a family is and how unconditional a family's love truly is to the test. I definitely think it's put into perspective of just how far I can push certain people away before they get the hint and stop pushing back.

I've got to stop thinking about what it is about them I don't like and start looking for the qualities I do admire. I know now I can't be the same because being the same will eventually lead me to a place too far away to return back home when I need to.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

I seriously need to get out more.

The past weekend was quite exciting.

Friday--After taking some notes in Westin, my friend and I rode the elevator to the top floor and back down. It was a cheap thrill, but whatever. Then we checked out Nikko cuz she liked the "curved" design from the outside. Once we got in I think she wanted to leave. It was prolly too breezy for her, but I liked the feeling. Ever since I got my haircut, I stopped worrying about my hair getting messy; it's pretty easy to fix. And sometimes I get the feeling of singing "The Sound of Music". XD

Saturday--Checked out Weddings in Paradise--some expo to help potential brides (and grooms if they're dragged over there) with wedding stuff. The only thing I liked about the expo was cake tasting. Honestly, I never really put much thought into "my future wedding". I don't know why. Anyway, after getting bored with the expo, my friends and I checked out more of the hotel. They have a pond with koi and a Japanese-style bridge. Then we checked out the view of the ocean and continued to hmm, what do you call it? Well, let's just say we went down to the rocky beach area. Good thing we wore sneakers. It was fun. Getting back up was hard cuz the hill was steep. One of my friends started humming the Rocky theme and I just kept laughing. I ran out of breath and almost fell to the ground laughing. Maybe it's a girl thing, but we went to the restroom to freshen up. When I wiped my glasses, the lens popped out and the screw got out of place. So, hahaha, sheesh, we sat on a couch so I could fix my glasses. My friend held the frame and lens in place while I tried to put the screw back, but I dropped it. I gave up looking for it and decided to just wear my glasses with my left eye closed. Haha, it felt odd so I just went around without my glasses. The strangest feeling, really. Good thing I didn't have to drive. I didn't expect my friends to feel determined in getting an eyeglass repair kit, but they did anyway. ;__; The screw driver didn't really work, but the screw fit so I tried to put put it in with my fingernail. It went half-way, but haha, it was enough. Next time, I should just bring an eyeglass repair kit with spare screws.

Nothing interesting happened on Sunday.

I live on a small island. People think there's nothing to do here. I guess they've done and seen everything already, but I hope more things like this happen.

It's Supposed To Be Real Life, So Let's Pretend That We're Not Bored, That We Exist And That We're Resolved, To Real Things Happening To Me

--"Small Figures in a Vast Expanse", Rilo Kiley

She was working at the local Taco Bell--she of the pink hair, pretty face, and unsolicited cheery disposition. People had told her that she didn't have the right to be so happy, that only happy, fulfilled people could ever smile as broadly as she always seemed to. She didn't care. She did what she wanted and what she wanted was to be one of thos happy, fulfilled people. She didn't exactly covet the life she had, but, so far, she didn't see much to be disappointed with either. It wasn't a bad life and it wasn't a great life, but it was hers and she was determined to be someone who didn't look back upon it with regret. She of the pink hair, pretty face, and cheery disposition had always gotten along fine in this manner.

He had met her on a Sunday when he had passed through her drive through, ordering a nach bell grande for what he thought was going to be another night alone in his sparsely decorated and even lonelier studio--he of the green eyes, disheveled clothes, and scarred soul. He didn't say much to her besides, "hold the sour cream on everything," but she had made quite an impression upon him. No one working at a Taco Bell at midnight should be that chipper, he thought to himself. Even when he made it home and tore into his meal the thought of her weighed upon his mind heavily. Why should she be so happy and I, so miserable, he reflected. What makes her tick? He of the green eyes, disheveled clothes, and scarred soul had to know and so he drove back to her drive-through window.

It wasn't until later on at around two a.m., when he had convinced her he wasn't some insane stalker and she had agreed to talk to him outside, that he discovered her secret. She wasn't just happy today, she was happy all her life. More than that, she had made it a point to try and be happy for the rest of her life. She didn't want to be one of those people that could only be happy when something or someone made her happy. She had made it an obsession to spend the majority of her time here as grateful and as joyous as possible. She couldn't see how you could live life any other way. He responded to that by complimenting her on her positive demeanor and the firm desire to emulate her philosophy in some way.

"It's easy if you want me to show you how," she said. "Come back tomorrow night, same time, and we'll talk some more."

He did come back the next night and the night after that until it became a regular occurrence. He became a regular fixture at the Taco Bell. So much so that, when it came time for her to get off at 3 a.m., the two of them would hop in his Accord and drive over to the local Carrow's and continue their conversation. Both of them worked later on in the day so it was easy for them to talk all the way up until the sun rose. She told him how she saw life as something you had complete control over, like a television. If you didn't like the program that you were watching, then by all means change the channel. You're only stuck if you let yourself be. He, on the other hand, talked mostly about how unhappy he was and how she was starting to change that for him. Sadness, he said, was like a disease for him. It was like a disease he'd lived with all his life and that, for a time there, he thought it was going to be a terminal one. She helped him with that, though. She said she was glad she could help him out.

When she invited him over to her apartment a month later he almost begged off. He didn't want to believe what was happening to him. Things like being invited back to a pretty girl's apartment was something that had only happened to the younger version of himself. She assured him that this was a real invitation meant for him. Like it or not, this was really happening to him. He resolved to accept that this was his life and that she had somehow had become a part of it. He accepted her invitation and they spent the better part of the next few hours joking around with one another as having sex. They had both spent far too long dreaming of ways to attract the right guy or girl that it was kind of a relief to not have to look so hard any more.

"And you don't mind that I never made it through college?" she asked him in bed that night. "Like it doesn't bother to be with someone with barely a high school education?"

"No. It's not like you're interviewing for a job. I'm fine with it as long as you're fine with it."

He already knew the answer, though. He had learned enough about her to realize that she as a person thought life was education enough. She had done alright without school and she felt she didn't need any more. For him, though, he worried that that was going to be a point of contention later on for the both of them. It wasn't that he looked down upon her, but eventually, he thought, there was going to come a time when they would run out of thing to say. He wanted to believe that they were suited for one another and that everything would turn out perfectly, but everything breaks down in the end in his experience. He wanted to have some assurances that the two of them wouldn't be one of those casualties.

He began to take her to and from work. Eventually, two months later, they planned a short trip to Vegas for later on that month. He'd never been there before and she was determined to show him how much fun it could be. When they arrived she noticed he had this bored look on his face. She asked him what was wrong. He could only say that perhaps Vegas wasn't his speed. She had noticed that he was happiest when it was only the two of them and had had been hoping this trip would have the effect of pushing him a bit out of his shell. But, in the end, she was pragmatic about the situation. He was who he was and she was nothing if not flexible. Instead of hitting the clubs and the bars, instead of doing a bit of the gambling, they mostly stayed in their hotel room and ordered in room service. She still had fun and had seen to it that he did as well.

"You think I'm boring, right?" he asked her on the way back home.

"No, I don't think you're boring. I was just worried that you weren't going to have a good time."

"I had fun. Well, I had fun with you."

"That's good."

Eventually the decision had been made that they should find a place together. They had been together for a sufficient length of time that the only logic step was to share a place. It wasn't really discussed much beforehand. She had kind of nudged him in that direction and by that time he was starting to really worry about what he was going to do if the two of them ever broke up. For her part, she liked him well enough and they had been seeing a lot of each other lately. She thought the decision was inevitable so she took steps to insure that it happened sooner than later. Besides, she thought, it'd be good for him.

Fairly soon, they had settled on a place just outside the city. It had taken some reconditioning, but through hard work and determination over the course of the next few months, they made it into a cozy home for themselves. They christened it "The Golden Milestone" in honor of one of their favorite series of books and soon fell into the routine of being a couple who lived together. They took walks everyday with each other, ate dinner together, and slept together. They went out to movies together. They left each other cute voice mails while the other was at work, saying endearing phrases like "come home soon," "I miss you," and "I'll be waiting for you." Every so often they would sneak off to some exotic locale like San Diego or Seattle. And, once in a blue moon, she got him out to come to a party with her at her other friends' houses. All in all, they built what was turning out to be a good relationship.

It wasn't until he began thinking about changing the jobs that the cracks began to show. He began talking about how, since he was planning a career change for their future, that maybe she should start thinking about the same. He asked her if it wouldn't be nice if she maybe could go back to school they could afford bigger and brighter things. She took what he said into consideration. She was hurt slightly that maybe he thought she wasn't good enough for him as she was, but decided he was only thinking about their future. She told him that he would think about it. That's all he asked, he said. In reality, though, he had been thinking long and hard about the state of things between them and he was beginning to be really bothered how ignorant she seemed at times. It wasn't so much how she talked because she carried herself very smartly and concisely; it was more of the range of subjects she felt comfortable talking about. He like talking to her still, but didn't want to feel like he was tiptoeing around certain subject. He wanted her to be his everything.

At first she took in schedules for classes at the local JC's, but her heart just wasn't in it. She liked who she was and felt no desire to change it. She felt her growth as a person was something that should be left up to her. At that point in her life she felt fairly stable, fairly confident, and fairly happy. She was mostly going through the motions to make him happy.

"Have you decided which classes you want to take yet?" he asked her.

"Not yet."

"Do you need some help because I've got some suggestions if you want to hear them?"

"That's alright."

Soon she began to despise him for his insistence. She told him flat out one day that she wasn't prepared to go back to school just yet. She just wanted to be happy with him right now and that later on she could see herself going back to get her degree. That's when he told her that later on wasn't good enough for him. He made the mistake of telling her that he was ashamed for her, ashamed for the fact that she had no desire to better herself. He asked her why she couldn't see that he was only trying to make her a better person. She answered that she already thought she was a better person because of him and how that should be good enough for him. That's when she told him that she despised him--not for the fact he kept harping on her going back to school, but for the fact that for the last couple of weeks that he had been slowly eking away at her bliss. She told him that the main reason she was with him was because he had made a positive contribution to her life, but if he stopped being that beneficial influence then she really couldn't see remaining together.

"Is that the way you really feel?"

"That's the way things really are with me," she answered him.

She packed up her things two days later.

They spent the next couple of months acclimating themselves to life on their own again. She began going out more and more with her old friends, the ones she had sort of neglected while she was with him. He, on the other hand, went back to the isolation he experienced before she had met her. He forced himself to believe that he was better off without her. He didn't need someone that didn't need him. He tried to believe that things were for the best. She, however, never gave up on him or them. She thought it wouldn't be long before he would call her to apologize and tell her that there was nothing in the world that he needed more than her. She loved him. She could see herself saying that, but she needed to be sure that he felt the same way. After all, there were a lot of things she wanted to change about him, but only if he thought they needed changing. She knew that everything that she wanted to change were minor, insignificant details. There was nothing drastically worrisome about him that raised any red flags with her. He was just this careful, methodical guy who carefully and methodically cared about her very much. Nope, she never gave up for him.

He never knew this, though. He took her leaving as a sign things weren't meant to be. In fact, he had steeled himself for the blow by telling himself she was beneath him and that she couldn't see what a great guy she was missing out on. He avoided going out altogether and shut himself away in the place they had shared together for a time. He tried not to see how large and empty the house was without her. He tried to forget what it was like to sleep next to her. He tried to escape the reality that they were better off together than apart. To him his life was something he had come to expect as being always disappointing and she was just the latest in a long list of disappointments. There was nothing he could do now about that.

A year passed and then another, and soon it was four years since they had seen each other. In the interim she had come to her own decision to go back to school. In the beginning she had deluded herself into thinking that he would magically show up at her door the instant she got her A.A., but he never did. Soon, though, she saw it was more important for her to get it so she could be proud of finally getting around to it. She moved on from Taco Bell onto a better job that took her four hundred miles away. However, it was until she had actually moved away that she finally gave up hope on seeing him again.

Meanwhile, he had hit bottom. It wasn't all her fault, though. The new job had only served to exacerbate the problems he had been having all his life. He wasn't a happy guy to begin with and all the time spent away from the company of his friends and loved ones only exaggerated his loneliness. He had just ceased caring about anything and everything. He had finally let the misery consume him until it was all he was. He sold the house, their house, and moved back into a tiny, shut-in apartment where he was sure no one was ever going to bother him again. There he lived and died a little each day until he was only an imprint of his former self.

When she of the now brown hair, pretty face, and unsolicited cheery disposition bumped into him of the still green eyes, disheveled clothes, and scarred soul at the airport that Sunday, she almost didn't recognize him. She had spent what seemed a lifetime remembering how he had looked in her arms that the person before her had seemed downright a stranger. He knew who she was at first sight, though. He had spent that same lifetime trying to forget her. Now, he realized, he had never really forgotten her or what she meant to him.

They stopped in at the Starbuck's at the airport to catch up with each other. He felt the sting each time she mentioned how happy how she was with her new life. He had hoped there was still a place with her. He knew he didn't deserve it, but he wanted her back and was trying to work up the nerve to ask her back. But with every one of her successes he was only reminded of his every setback, with every one of her accomplishments he could only see his failures. He was no longer the person of her he decided and he left the table after their talk thinking that she was better off without him.

"Aren't you going to come with me? I mean--that's what you've been wanting to ask me all this time, isn't it?" she asked him after he had turned and walked away from her.

"Why should I ask when I already know the answer?"

"I told you when I first met you that I wanted to teach you how to be a happier person. And the first lesson you need to learn is that when you find someone who makes you happy," she continued as she put her arm around his, "is that you don't walk away from them completely."

"You don't."

"No, you don't. Don't you know that all you ever had to do was ask me back? Don't you know that the happiest I've ever been is with you?"

He tried to protest with claims that they still had problems between them and that she should be worried about how things between them were always going to be slightly off. Mostly though, he was insistent that they could never get back to where they were before, that that point in their lives had possibly left them behind. He didn't think he deserved a second chance. He didn't deserve her back.

"Well I'm coming back either way. Like it or not, this is really happening to you."

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

My previous post was a very self-centered one about my habits of object-love, which are no doubt inequitable. I would still submit that this part of human life--reflexively being attracted to, or more importantly enjoying, something--has little to do with fairness in the moment of enjoyment. Especially since this little apologia comes from everything I've read lately and haven't processed enough to be able to reproduce, I beg forgiveness.

When you're watching a movie or reading a book there are elaborate set-ups you've made beforehand, you know how to read, you know cliches and conventions, etc. But there's a point where you give yourself over to the appearance in a way, isn't there? A point where you cease trying to appreciate and your feelings become automatic. These feelings come from both it and from you. It thus follows that a biased person may expect to have biased feelings in this moment of spontaneous appreciation. What if not biased (and biasing) is love at first sight? The iris shots in West Side Story: beauty is an oasis, but it comes out of the same world as all tensions.

From the inside of my mind...

I was watching Ayumi's "Born To Be..." music video just now, and it got me thinking--but before you Ayumi haters write me off, hear me out.

As some of you already know, I was especially impressed by her latest music video, "Born To Be..." But what got me thinking during the video is how consistent she has to be as an artist--how consistent all great artists have to be. Whether it be Do As Infinity, m.o.v.e, Green Day, James Newton Howard, or any artist, the key to being a success is to continuously impress. Not to just settle for being a good artist, but to do something that people will remember you for; to rise above normal expectations of putting out "solid" work, but to work your butt off to do something special. Even if it isn't to the liking of everyone, or even to the liking of your normal audience, you've got to try to get people's attention. That is to say, don't pump out random crap and see how the audience reacts, but to try your best and to get your audience talking. Because if you try something new and fresh, where some people love it and some people hate it, you've at least created what media and message boards are all about-discussion. So for all of those artists, it elevates beyond just being consistent, but having to be consistently impressive.

It's one thing to consider how tough it has to be for the artist/artists involved in the creative process, and it's another to actually be a person involved in the creative process. I happen to fall on both sides, really. No, I'm not a professional, and no, I'm not yet an up-and-comer. But I'm at least working my way on becoming one-a director, to be exact (my dream? To direct videogames. Believe it.). I can't imagine the pressures I'll face in the future, but I at least have experienced some of it. To be honest, I even worried myself sick (literally) this past Thursday to Friday afternoon. In high school, I acted and wrote for three years (didn't do a whole lot Freshman year); in my first year of college alone, I directed, edited, and worked behind a camera (as camera man, which I found isn't my strongest area...). And my video team now puts out weekly newscasts to on the school's news channel (in which we get most of the editing done at the eleventh hour due to our schedules). I'll even pull news anchor duties in the near future, something I practiced in high school, to a limited extent.

It's tough, but it's a learning experience-one that I'm glad to go through. I'm finally working my way toward that dream, as hopelessly lame as that sounds. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that a lot of us are somewhat in artist's shoes, even if we're not artists ourselves. We're aiming to impress that teacher, that parent, and that girl or guy that we have our eyes on. We've got the pressure on us to really live up to, and surpass expectations. I'm not saying that these expectations are always reasonable, or even sane, but they're there. I dunno, but if you look at it like that, we've all kind of got that pressure going on (even if we don't have hundreds of thousands fans eagerly awaiting our next move). I wonder if I'll be able to consistently impress people with my work in the future?

I don't really know where I'm going with this, but I just had some of this stuff on my mind as I was watching the video, and the thoughts grew as I wrote this post. Since it's more of more like some sort of rant than it is anything else, I'll end it here. O.o

The problem with my new theorem as to why I especially like Asian girls, which is otherwise movingly elegant, is that it depends on my being basically loving of and interested in others, in spite of negativity determining my tastes (resentment of other races for persecuting me). This leap of faith about my character is unproblematic to me--and no one can refute it--but I don't have a good explanation. It's definitely true that I remember very well just what persons have shown me extraordinary kindness, when and where. Then again, that is everyone.

These are my two obsessions this semester: the minimum prerequisite of feeling oneself part of the world, some frame of blind trust; and the difference between aesthetics and magic. What happened, what I see them as having done, or having the potential to this day to do--'what' in short do I see:

Every Little Thing, "When you were born into the world, what did you see?"

Nabokov, "Beauty plus pity. That is the closest we can get to a definition of art."

Everyone Stumbles, Gets Tired, And Feels Like Crying Sometimes, But Don't Feel Bad, Don't Sigh, Puff Up Your Chest, And Let Us Hear You Say, I'm Home

--"Tadaima (english translation)", Do As Infinity

I was going to write my usual post about what happened fifteen or twenty years ago in my life. Instead, I got the brilliant idea for a post in the fact that I couldn't for the life of me find a song to translate as a topic. What follows is the scatter-brained and idiotic manner in which my supposedly intelligent mind operates.

Frustrated at not being able to find anything that sparked my interest in terms of post ideas, I turned to a ready and reliable source of musical inspiration, Myspace. Normally when I cannot think of a song to serve as a title I'll just take a whirl around people's profiles and find something that brings back a memory. Or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, I'll find a new song that really catches my ear. Either way, I can normally find a tune to work with within ten minutes of searching. Tonight, however, I found myself more fiddling with the songs on my profile than actually searching for the right song to get my creative juices flowing.

The trouble stemmed from the fact that, as a rule, I am usually floating a half dozen ideas in my head at a time. Tonight a couple of those ideas were a) I wanted to write a post before I went to bed, b) I wanted to get to bed before midnight, c) I didn't like the last video on my profile, and d) I was waxing nostalgic for Do As Infinity. So what started out as me screwing around on Myspace for songs turned into me clicking onto the Do As Infinity profile and "ooohing" and "aaahing" at songs I haven't heard for a couple of months. Soon, as per my custom, all thoughts of writing a post tonight were forgotten as I delved deeper and deeper into DAI lore on the internet. I began visiting old stomping grounds for DAI information until finally I visited another one of my favorite sites, YouTube, where I discovered they had a plethora of DAI swag. As I began to listen to all the old familiar songs, another piece to my posting impotence began to take form. I began to look for my favorite song by them, which, unfortunately, I had forgotten the name of. As I poured over page after page of DAI videos I could only cringe as each song wasn't the one I was looking for. It was twenty minutes into this endeavor that I suddenly remembered that I was on the clock for writing a post.

That's how I am, though. I have this idiotic "first in, first out" logic in my mind which states that I cannot move onto my next task until the first task is done to completion, even if that first task really could wait till tomorrow. I think I'm kind of O.C. that way. I refuse to give up on problems or dilemmas that I think should be easy. It bothers me when I get stumped. For instance, if a person asks me a riddle that I cannot figure out I'll get huffy rather hastily if they refuse to give me the answer when I inquire after one. Double that if they dare to tell me, "figure it out." I can't handle incompletes on my slate. Everything has to be done until I'm satisfied with the results. This meant that I was going to ascertain the song's title before even attempting to formulate the post you are reading now.

I finally chanced upon the title of the song, "Tadaima," after sifting through the fourteenth (!) page of Do As Infinity videos equalling about one hundred songs of theirs. I quickly watched it, smiled like a boy caught with his hands down his pants, and then posted it into the third slot of my profile. This solved two of my dilemmas--namely, satisfying my craving for DAI any time I want and replacing the third video, which I had gotten sick and tired of. Tragically, this brought up yet another task that delayed my writing.

It dawned on me that I wanted a translation of the song for anyone curious enough to watch the video and felt the compulsion to see what it would sound like in English. Again, I was on the verge of tears as the forty minutes of searching for a good English translation of the song began to appear for naught. No matter what I tried, I couldn't find the one place that would just tell me what I was hearing about. That's when the depressing thought that I wouldn't be able to formulate a post tonight crept in. I truly began to believe that I would be up all night searching high and low for this elusive translation.

I think this is absolutely the number one reason why I have a reputation for being strange or weird. I get fixated on tasks rather easily. Whereas most people would give up after about twenty or thirty minutes of looking, I went forty to fifty minutes looking for a translation that probably no one will ever bother clicking on. I just had to do it. I mean--it's good for writing. Being thorough lends itself to being detailed which, in itself, lends itself to fooling the audience into thinking what you're writing about is actually real. In "real life", though, it gets rather tiresome. I almost would rather be less stubborn if it meant I could go to bed earlier. I cannot even count how many times I've caught a case of the insomnia because I was up dallying on the net for a project that only I would see.

As it turned out, I finally found my translation, posted it up, and smiled in relief. I had found everything I'd wanted to find tonight. And, as serendipity would have it, I was struck with an idea for a post after all. I wanted you all to see what a tiring framework my mind operates in and give you a taste of the frantic pace with which any and all idea come to be in my head. I never seem to do something from A to B. It always seems to be a matter of A, sidestepping to C, which brings up D,E, and F, which finally works itself out in the end and gets me to B.

Remember, all I wanted to do at 9 p.m. was find something to write a post about before 10. And here it is 12:30 a.m. and I'm only now finishing up this piece. Yet, somehow, this is what works for me. It's how I can appear to be doing a million things at once when in actuality I feel like I've been stalled on the same thing for a century. It's also how I learn a cavalcade of bits of information. Perhaps if I didn't fail so many times trying to look up one idea, one name, one translation, I wouldn't actually be as well-versed in the variety of topics I feel I'm competent to converse about.

So there's my post about my (sort of) frantic night. It was touch and go for a minute. I didn't think I'd be able to come up with anything but, somehow, I brought this baby home.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

"I'm so sorry about this.."

"..very very sorry about my dog, he's always like this. The leashes are tangled! Say, lunch on Saturday?"

Okay, maybe there is a lot more that goes before that last line. This is an age old secret no one ever told me about! Or at least I haven't paid too much attention to it before. Dogs are really different from humans in that no matter how big or small, they'll run at each other and start barking to the dismay of two leash-pulling owners. (People aren't like that, except for an awesome few who give you a smile whether they know you or not.) Sometimes the dogs go at each other; sometimes they go straight for the other guy; it's a hilarious fiasco to watch. I'll admit that it opens up the chance for conversation. They don't even have to go up to someone and say, "hey, nice dog!" -- the dog does the talking for them! But the baffling thing is, once they start talking, they become completely oblivious to their two gigantic dogs scrambling around.

Drinking has never really appealed to me, I guess. Drinking socially, slowly increasing your blood alcohol level, seems especially weird. Probably that's because I'm used to being hyper in social situations. Maybe. But I find very attractive somehow the idea of drinking in the morning, drinking all day, starting right along with pre-breakfast coffee. I think that is romantic and beautifully decadent. It makes me think of riding bicycles slowly and tortuously without a helmet, of picnics and Leonard Bernstein conducting with a cigarette. Ha none of this reflects my personal habits, but somehow my actual habits and my perceived tastes have grown vastly riven.

Anyway I'm turning twenty-one very soon. Van's album is coming out two weeks from yesterday so I can hope for that as a present, what else I'm not sure. I'm more thinking what shall I do to mark the occasion. Something with my family I guess. Maybe a satellite occasion where the discourse is freer (i.e. Sapporo on George Street to ogle the Tomoko Kawase-resembling server there).

~ Cafe Lumiere (my new favorite movie) DVD came the other day and I just rewatched the ending. It's a lot more detailed than I remembered. My paper was correct in spirit and incisive enough but could have said some more important things more concretely. Frankly it's a paper I wasn't ready to write--I was confusing the task of six pages with the ambition of forty.

I should have looked more and talked less because the totally linear, if slightly recondite, argument I was trying to make is actually spelled out in the film. The third-to-last shot in which Yoko meanders out of frame finds the camera in the same position as Yoko is in the the second-to-last: basically she's moved around/behind where it was, or displaced it, so it was where she is, and it is where she will be: Wo Es war, soll Ich werden. (Where id was, there ego shall be).

Alternatively the person (well, subject) starts to appear when the object reappears--which is to say after it has disappeared, or 'become implicit.' Gross oversimplification of my own armchair theorizing... Oh well, still Spring Break.

My Sassy... White Girl?

Damn you Hollywood for stealing that what is still interesting to me. Why can't you let me enjoy my fobness in private? Why do you have to bring it over and mainstream things?

I just recently found out that my favorite Asian movie is being re-made into an American movie. 'My Sassy Girl', a Korean romantic comedy, is about this guy who meets a feisty girl, and has to jump through a bunch of hoops just to be with her. It's funny as hell and very romantic.

But what I don't get is how they can translate the story to fit a U.S. audience. I mean the whole point of the movie is that it's highly irregular to find an outgoing, blunt, openly offensive girl in the Korean culture. But here, you find that more often than not. You might as well just call it, 'My typical bitch'.

So who knows. I'm on the fence about this. But one thing that does interest me, is who they supposedly casted to play the main character. Rachael Leigh Cook. She is one hot piece of... Well lets just say I've been a big fan of her since I saw 'She's all that'. And I can kind of picture her playing this role. So perhaps this movie has potential.

And to be honest, I'm kind of upset that I haven't worked on converting some of the asian films and animes I've seen into possible American films. I've seen things that I think will make excellent American adaptations. In fact, I'm attempting to try and write one based on a particular anime. But that's a whole other story of why I'm a no talent idiot...

That and well most re-makes are never as good as the original. No matter what, there will always be a comparison. And the general consensus is usually that in favor of the first. Just like when I took a lot of criticism for writing that re-make, "Finding Emo'.

Fish1: "Oh my God! Where's Emo? He was just here a second ago!"
Emo: "AAAAAhhhhh!!!! This sucks! You fish will never understand the things I have to go through! You now what it's like having these white stripes?!?! I HATE IT! I HATE YOU ALL! LIFE SUCKS!!!"
Fish2: "Um... I hear him over there..."

Updates and manga's

So happy Daiforum is back at last, at first I could not believe it..^0^

Still busy as hell, so little time to be on9, even for mere browsing, I do'nt even talk about serious blog entries...

Still, feels good to know a place were the buddies are, be it here, or in 2DL, or in Daiforum....

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Emptying my mind with manga's, finished GTO, now starting Rurouni Kenshin: funny how those echo with my life, or is it me searching for mirrors, I do not know...

Manga's remind me more of the "feuilleton genre" , which was very popular in France with authors like Eugene Sue, or Alexandre Dumas, or Dickens in UK. So far away from the "comic strips" genre as we see it here in Belgium: thin albums in big format, a regular 46 pages in full colours, less coded, and more descriptive (as far as I know). I like how the narration in manga's is faster, and in a way more "violent". Am I feeling more violent myself? Do I feel like strolling around with a sakabatou, or a gun? I think not, since everything happens in my imagination, since the characters' almond shaped eyes and SD gimmicks remind me of their non-real status.

Only the feelings remain, some quotations that linger deep in mind. And always for the best. A Japanese hero is never perfect in the way Western societies envision it: perfection in Asia means Good balanced perfectly by Bad (yes I simplify a bit ^^) : that way Inuyasha is a perfect moron, Eikichi is a pervert, and Kenshin is your regular candid guy. All three have in common to be uncommonly brave strong, and rightgeous, nevertheless...

Or, like in some Seinen manga's like "Monster" or "20th Century's Boys"(if you look for mind blowing plot, go get those!), reality is never as simple as good/bad dichotomy: in the end, you start wondering about values, even if "goodness" and "honesty" still win in the end.

So human, all in all...

Finished Andrei Rublev and Death24x, the former's ending being a revelation and that of the latter's not so much, at least to one who's read 'Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema' already.

Tarkovsky's use of camera movement is very choice, the constant change becoming the conductor of the scene in a way, always subtly reordering its contents and intensities. The timing of the bell's ringing, just at the point where the suspense is being forgotten, is outstanding, as is the final chromatic invasion.

Though no biopic the film does ultimately speak worlds not just about aesthetics but about being an artist. The hysterical tears of the bellmaker's son in a way marks the climax, and after that the artwork is emphatically freed from its creator. But the boy masterminded this huge effort to cast a bell with medieval technology, succeeded (avoiding execution in the process) and all he can think about is how the bell sounds wrong--as if his father never told him the secret of bellmaking. Your wish to create and your eventual creation are sky and sea at the horizon--at best an illusion of meeting. Or in other terms (Godard) once you know the kind of movie you like, the kind of movie you make can never be the same.

Not so much in Solaris but in this film I much prefer the way Tarkovsky's camera peruses minutiae of Nature to the way that a lot of Asian directors or say Malick seem to drool over Nature, though Kim Ki Duk has a knack for combining symbols of nature and civilization--like the extreme longs of the roads in Samaria or especially the caged bird thrown into the lake in The Isle. Real Nature appreciation I think should adopt a somewhat dispassionate stance and a casual momentum, a conversation rather than a prayer, in the same way as one should never excessively praise a person because the excess is all oblique self-talk.

Withdrawal

But not of the narcotic kind.

My Journalism teacher called us back one by one to discuss our grades. He says most of my papers are in the C range, and that my grade is a D because of some missed assignments. He recommended that I withdraw from the class (deadline is Friday to withdraw) and try to take it again once my writing has improved, and also since I'm a Freshman (Freshmen usually don't take the class).

I'm kinda disappointed, but I guess it would be for the best. I'll have a small advantage if I take it again next semester, anyway. I'm gonna talk to my mom about it for a second opinion later, and then make my decision. The worse part is that I really worked my ass off in that class, and it's come down to this. Blah.

How to get laid in Japan

http://www.myxxxblog.com/pages/jokes/laidguide.html

Fob: "Ladies!!!! Excuse me can you tell me where the high school girls are? My friend's looking to spend a night in a Japanese prison."
School girls: "Hehehe... You arrerican?"
Fob: "Oh you likes huh? My friend love you long time..."
School girls: "Hehehe...."

I thought I had it all planned out. It was going to be a shady operation just like when I went to Vegas to get those massages. But in light of recent information I may have to rework my plan.

If you haven't heard, in three weeks I'll be officially on vacation and on my way to foreign booty in the land of the rising sun, Japan. But I've been there done that. The international pimp trip was done many years ago and this time I'm really more interested in the sight seeing. But that's me.

This trip I won't be going alone. My heterosexual life partner has decided he needs a break from the corporate bullshit too and has decided to come along for the party. But he's never been to Japan. And like any guy who travels to a foreign country for the first time, he wants to test his game in fresh waters. Who can blame him...

So I figure as the ambassador to asian poon, I was going to give him a heads up on what to do. But one of my good buddies has saved me the trouble and forwarded me a blog on how to get laid in Japan. Hopefully, my HLP will not F-it up and end up masturbating in a hot spring to 70 year old fobs. That's my job. I dig the cougars.

You live. You learn.

Today I had a day off--Charter Day. But I still feel like I wasted a day not doing any actual school stuff. Ahh, MIDTERMS! (>__<) I have three left: 2 math and 1 interior design. All I did today was listen to a conference for my psych project and get price quotes for a project in interior design. I'll help my friend design her room with a budget less than $150. (We're poor college students!) I'd say we did a pretty good job today looking for stuff we need. Prolly by the end of this week we'll buy the stuff we checked for about $75 hopefully before discount. Haha, we're really stretching it, but I think we can deal and make a really good room. It's a good thing the room is small so we won't need so much paint. I just wonder when we'll get started on this.

Jane, Divided, But I Can't Decide What Side I'm On, Jane Decided Only Cowards Stay, While Traitors Run, Jane, Jane

--"Jane", Barenaked Ladies

The girl works at the store sweet jane st. clair
Was dazzled by her smile while I shopped there
It wasn’t long before I lived with her
I sang her songs while she dyed her hair

Chorus:
Jane, divided, but I can’t decide what side I’m on
Jane decided only cowards stay, while traitors run
Jane, jane

I’d bring her gold and frankincense and myrrh
She thought that I was making fun of her
She made me feel I was fourteen again
That’s why she thinks it’s cooler if we’d just stay friends
Jane doesn’t think a man could ever be faithful
Jane isn’t giving me a chance to be shameful
Jane, jane
I wrote a letter, she should have got it yesterday
That life could be better by being together
Is what I cannot explain to jane
The girl works at the store, sweet jane st. clair
Was dazzled by her smile while I shoplift there
No promises as vague as heaven
No juliana next to my evan
Jane, desired by the people at the school and work
Jane is tired, ’cause every man becomes a lovesick jerk
Jane, jane

When I first started going out with Tara it was our custom to send each other small trinkets in the mail. It wasn't much, but after a half-liftime of writing people missives of enormous size, I used to get very gleeful when she would surprise me with something mailed out to me. Nothing, however, could match the immense pleasure that overcame me when she sent me a small hand-mixed tape of The Barenaked Ladies, one of her more favorite bands. Mind you this was way before they hit it huge by first going on Beverly Hills 90210 and then later on releasing "One Week." No, back when she gave me this tape it was a few years before the world at large knew who they were. Yet when I first started listening to them I knew they were going to quickly become one of my more favorite bands.

It wasn't so much that they mixed humor into a lot of their work--though that was a part of it. I still think "If I Had a $1,000,000" is one of the funniest songs I've ever listened to. It was more that in their more serious songs they adopted an attitude that for some reason always seems to draw me in. A variety of their songs seem to adopt the notion that it is possible for one person to be in love with somebody else and for the other person just not to be. That's a notion I always thought was true, but everyone else seems to adopt the attitude that it isn't possible to have true love with somebody that doesn't love you back. Most people in general seem to think that if it were true and real then it needs to be reciprocal in nature. Songs like "Straw Hat and Dirty Hank," "Break Your Heart," and "This Old Apartment" all meditate in different ways on this theme and those were always the songs, even though they weren't my absolute favorites by the group, that made me think about what my expectations of love were.

One song, though, was a favorite of mine and managed to push this philosophy to the forefront on my ruminating on the subject. "Jane" as a song and as a thinking piece works for me. To me, it's a classic song about someone who knows what he wants out of life and out of love in general who has the misfortune to fall in love with someone who's grown jaded and cynical, and basically is ambivalent about her chances of ever finding real love. As much as it is a song about a boy trying to convince a girl to fall in love with him, it's always a song about a boy trying to convince a girl that there is such a thing as true love. Ultimately, he fails at both, but the attempt is what always surprised me because of how hopeless a task it is. Every time I hear the song I get emotional. It isn't like the tracks by The Cure which can make me cry on cue, but every time I hear the song I get choked up because it always reminds me of Tara and how it subtly reminds me of how our situation slightly mirrored that of the song.

For us, though, it wasn't a matter of one person believing in love and the other didn't. For us it was always a matter of one person believing that one's first love could turn out to be the one and the other one believing that you needed to experience lots of firsts before you could decide which one is real. It became a constant squabble over whether we should stay friends or be a couple, and then whether or not to remain a couple or go back to being friends. Every time I hear "Jane" I remember what it was like to try and fight for a relationship that apparently only one of us wanted and how, like the song, it amounted to nothing.


that life could be better by being together
Is what I cannot explain to Jane

But this isn't a post to celebrate sadness. I think I do enough of that on here. This is a post to say that for as much hurt and as much sorrow our relationship drew out of me, I shall ever be thankful that a girl named Tara shared a small part of her with me in sharing her favorite music. That shall ever be a reminder, to me at least, that something substantial did exist between us once and that, for a time, we experienced an approximation of love.

It's just like Blake says. If it wasn't love, then it was the closest I'd come at that point.

So, thank you, Tara wherever you are now.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Just about done with Death 24x a Second

Provisionally I have some pretty big disagreements with Mulvey. But more profoundly and historically think DVD watching has much more in common with video games than with cinema. Complex video games have a narrative 'drive' that is halted by play sequences, or held back. It's been speculated that advancing this plot, or in other (pretty much Mulvey's) terms acting in service of the death drive, is the main impetus for players to persist in a hard game and also the main source of ludic (rous--I hate that word) pleasure therein.

I guess the big question must be, How strict is the formal separation between game and narrative? How do their goals differ? Especially in an extremely open-ended 'role-playing' game is it really true that an inevitability of ending/death manifests of its own accord (notwithstanding practical concerns in the real world)? Months ago I would have said, no, when the cutscene ends and Squall is standing in the infirmary there is a dead stop of narrative momentum that can only be restored by a radical and irrational intervention. Perhaps the 'internal audience' with an imperative to play subsumes the player through the closed loop of the interface? Even so, part of what makes it an RPG is the player's arbitrary power not to play, to let it sit... But maybe that is just a sort of, well, neuteredness in RPGs whereby they're always exerting only a weak narrative impetus, where time is broken from the beginning but always there--its repair no less a goal for the impossibility of the task. As a contrast you see fighting games or other more athletic types where time hardly matters except as rhythm.

On a more positive note the digressions about (movie) stars and fandom were pretty helpful, crystallizing what I vaguely understood and making me cognizant of some truly new ideas too. For the most part the lessons of this book are ones that I might have learned just from obsessively replaying and screen-capturing music videos; in fact I made a very prescient commen to this effect a few months ago (You can't tell by looking... you have to see by obsessively replaying). But I never saw the broader linkages: star, almost-stillness with gesture, like dance, the essential tension between correct motions and stillness that pushes for and to an extreme of control--hence the aspiration of the human toward the mechanistic. That's an alarming idea that I don't so thoroughly appreciate yet. I've only thought of it in reference to the face of a model before, the beauty of an uncommunicative look, or the minimal gesture (for example, Tomiko's mouth in the Farewell PV--telling virtually all there is to tell; she 'lives in her mouth').

Panic! At the Disco

Hey everyone, just have to recommend a band I just checked out--they're called Panic! At the Disco, and they're pretty damn good. I've been hearing about them, but never got a chance to check them out until tonight. Check out their PureVolume page for two free MP3s: "The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide Is Press Coverage" and "Time To Dance (Demo)." The former of the two songs is maddeningly addictive, and the second song is really good, too. Enjoy them!

Chile's got the first female president in its History.

Yahoooo. 'Till it finally came. We have the first female president in our history. And that's pretty interesting bearing in mind this is a terribly male-chauvinist country. Especially in politics world. Men do this, men do that...

Honestly, I don't really care about colors here. I don't care if she's socialist and I wouldn't care if she were right-winged. I do only care her FEMALE position.
Do you know how it feels seeing a woman for first time there in the Congress, promising before the Constitution, with that three colors strip? Huh, I felt proud of being Chilean again! I felt proud because my country was able to make a difficult decision, bravely. Because it was difficult. Let's face it.
I barely feel proud of being Chilean, I admit it. The history in our shoulders is bitter, I'd say. I wish I could turn back in time and delete a day in History of Chile's books. Not because the fact itself (I've always thought IT had to be done but not in THAT way), but the pain after all. There is still so much hatred, so much intolerance... People sometimes give their hatred as a legacy. You see kids yelling out for things they don't even understand. Sometimes I think Chile doesn't want to get out of its past. Past is past; we must face it, damn it! We don't have to forget the past but we cannot live forever there, these are not the 70's nor the 80's, Jesus.
I don't know if things in that context are going to change with this presidential period (honestly, I doubt it) but at least, I can say we are changing or little vision of world. At least we dared to change something.
Certain person told me that, even when we have a female president, she'd base into the known model and that's made by men. So the change wouldn't be that much. What this person does not get is that, politics is just one and you'll always follow the model you think is the best according with your thoughts and that's out of the gender issue. The important thing here is, who represents our country now. Who is THE FACE of this game.

Well, I even took a picture of the President today. I live near the Government Palace so I went there to wave Mrs. Bachelet and take a picture. And I could do it! :)

I think Tomiko Van may gaze out with a business-like expression more attractively than anyone else, owing to her nose. This new video is very gorgeous. Mostly it's excessive, the light-saturation, the low shots in the glowing grass, the indispensible breezes and so on. All told it's a very tactile video. The way the cam is always moving through things, or light is moving almost through her, is much like touch, an elaborating touch even, a feeling-out... But that's just the air's movement and her movement and the camera's movement commingling; they inevitably make some kind of a lather.

















Here it's turned in and tilted but she has a very sleek profile, aquiline, raptor-esque, or rather like a falcon's. Even in an absolutely perpendicular profile all eyes real and imaginary parallel it is uncommonly lovely; any more aerodynamic and it would seem abhuman, certainly not feminine, but as it is it's just superb.

Something savage perhaps? Especially that one part where it's shining under her throat and she almost disappears--it's implicitly pretty violent. But the ending is just sad. Her mouth opens -> white flash -> long shot: play of wind/light both in the face-to-face and the afar. It's not austere, not an erasure; it's a bereavement. Truer to the nature of loss and sadness, that 'something' in you doesn't abscond and vanish; it just turns deepeningly untouchable.

Faster than Life

I'm hyped. This is going to be the weekend that I get things rolling. I know, I know, I say it to myself every week, I've said it to myself for the past month, but this is it. I don't care what happens tonight and tomorrow and every day after that, but I'm ready to start doing what I've planned out for life.

We got our yearbook deadline done! I guess our group partially owes it to Ying, who treats Tommy like a dog on a leash. I'm serious! I'm sure it's all in good intention to get the work done (and it works, as shown) but sometimes I'm scared Tommy's going to pull a heart attack. One day I've got to film it and title it "Yearbook SM". I'm just glad it isn't me. But hey, we're getting our A's right? The end justifies the means.

The band's Pancake Breakfast happens tomorrow morning and I signed up for bright and early six in the morning. I still haven't sold a single ticket; I was never a sales kind of person, reasoning being I hate it when people try to convince me to buy things (did I ever write about the time I pledged 10$ to the local police force and never paid it? I'm a total sucker for telemarketers) so it reflects when the roles are switched. Or if you prefer to say so, then I just plainly suck at fundraisers. Maybe I'll be able to grab some wanderers at the breakfast without tickets to sell them to.

It's gonna be one of those weekends...

Alright, so I'm physically and mentally exhausted. It's hard for me to focus on the task at hand because my mind is just out there and all over the place. It was a busy week, it's gonna be a busy weekend, and at least the next two weeks are gonna be really, really hard. I guess that's what college is all about, but it's no more bearable.

Unfortunately, there's no rest for me-it's Friday night, and I can't go to see my uncle in New York for his birthday (by the way, Happy Birthday, uncle Shaun!) because I'm gonna have to work all weekend to get my second Child Psychology journal handed in late (minus some credit), math work, and a Journalism article done. The only way I can possibly do it all in the next two days is to work without taking too many breaks, and starting the moment I finish this post (hopefully I can at least knock off most of the Journalism article).

The only thing keeping me sane at the moment are Doritos, Gatorade, and Do As Infinity's Tangerine Dream single. Ayumi's newest single (Startin'/Born To Be...) is awesome, too (especially the video for Born To Be...). That should help keep my mind focused as I write...maybe.

Hi.

As of 1:55pm in Riverside, California, I am 20 years old in Bombay, India. Which means that in some twisted way, my moving to California when I was young, I stole 13.5 more hours of life from Death Himself.

I think I'll update again when it's my adjusted(actual) birthday, March 11th, 3:25am. But maybe not... I might be too drunk to do it.

And that's all folks.

I'll Be Alone But Maybe More Carefree, Like A Kite That Floats So Effortlessly, I Was Afraid To Be Alone, Now I'm Scared That's How I'd Like To Be

--"November", Azure Ray

I have recently began looking for another place to live. The tides of change have decided to flow in and I think it's about time I ride them as far as I can before they ebb away again. As a creature of habit, I fear I am like the narrator of Rilo Kiley's "Pictures of Success" who longs to make a drastic change in my life, but can't quite escape the comfort of her familiar surroundings. Well, the circumstances of my life have forced my metaphorical shoes on and prompted me to get ready to go. In this vein of exploring my own life, I have decided that the most radical change I could make is to actually change my surroundings.

At the news of my impending relocation various friends have been all shades of helpful in offering advice on where I should go. Some have even suggested that maybe I could room with them. The only problem with this idea is that I'm far too cantankerous and set in my ways to ever live with someone again. The last time I tried that ended in disaster. That's when I discovered that I possibly have too many eccentric habits and inexplicable patterns of doing things that I'm a very huge pain in the arse to live with. What's worse, Ever since that arrangement sunk to the bottom of the ocean, I think I've only grown ever stranger. People always say that you can never know how you're going to live together with someone until you've actually attempted it. My only quibble with that is that I am fairly confident that I already am going to deplore every second of living with someone else. I am as confident of that as I am confident that something is seriously wrong with me.

It's true that I've made many strides with my current job to open up to more people and not take it so personally when whatever I'm doing at the current moment isn't exactly what I'd like to be doing at the current moment. I've seen what fate awaits the mojo that remains inflexible as there is a guy at work who is as unyielding as steel. Everyday we try to invite him in all the fun reindeer games--dinners, drinking, partying, and all the usual bouts of merriment--but every time he produces a new excuse why he can't join us. He's a good guy and all, but there is a secret sense of pity for the guy because he'll never know what it's like to open up to anyone.

I don't want to be that guy.

However, with the living situation I think I'm already am that guy. He lives alone in this huge house that his parents left him and sometimes I envy him. I don't envy him for the fact that he doesn't have to pay rent. I envy him because he has such a huge place to himself. It's almost like I'd rather live alone for the rest of my life. Even when picturing my future with that special someone, I still more see her having her place and my having my place. Maybe it's just being scared at producing a re-run of my last live-in relationship or maybe it's just that I really am better at living by myself than living with someone. Maybe I'm just that guy.

I can tell you one thing. It sure would take a hell of a woman to want to live with me because I'm a walking disaster.

While I won't give up hope just yet that such a perfect companion exists, I don't think I shall hold out much hope either. I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

I got returned a paper today and the professor had written on the back, David, I think you're being brilliant here, but this is so turgidly written it's hard to tell. Haha, it came off as a peculiarly un-qualified compliment to me--at the time; now I'm reconsidering. I've become sort of a believer in 'brut' writing when it comes to being technical or maximally forceful. Maybe it's so that the reader will have no illusions as to what they're agreeing to: They understand truly or have no clue; read on or walk away. Probably it's just unstylishness as trend. Writing style is a perpetual humbug to me and sometimes rockets to the status of bugbear. I can't help imitating, however feebly, whomever I read. Even when it's some perfectly dogmatic, syntactically monotone theory--I wanna be that voice. I'm not too worried though. I was in love with someone who was mildly autistic, and sometimes I fancy that while my ego was projected into her it got infused with some of that hypersensitivity and defensive detachment that makes my writing exhibit A) shameless apeing of other's styles B) stammering turgidity. That is such a flighty thing to think: that would be like the premise of the movie The Other Sister with autism as the gimmick/human cause adorning the plot.

Jeez, I feel like a loser.

I actually didn't post this in my blogger. It's acutally from my LJ, but since we're posting about how things are going in our lives, I figured this would okay. I touched up the rambling and what not.

Aite. Here's a blow by blow account of my weekend (friday included). Sorry if I ramble, I just want to get this out of the way.

My friend Varun and I were jubiliant at getting through midterms, so we just wanted to get drunk.

I stayed up all night on thursday/friday morning to make it to my theatre class at 8am. I do, and then I head to Bio. It's 10am, and I head back to the dorms and knock out. I wake up at 5pm or so, and chill for a little bit. Around 9pm, Varun and I walk to Taco Bell. I had eaten dinner already, so I just got two supreme chalupas. We then head to Rite Aid, where I get shampoo and a pack of Titan Phillies (the most ghetto, cheap-ass cigars money can buy). I head back to the dorms. It's around 10 or 11pm. I chill, watching my hallmate Josh owning Zelda 64 Ocarina Of Time. Crystal (my hallmate, who was a total "twinkie" and I took it upon myself to "Asian-ize," like getting her into anime, manga and J and K music) really needed to smoke something so I gave her one of my cigars. Then Crystal, Kenta and I head down to the smoking area. Crystal can't really handle the cigar, and it doesn't have any nicotine, so she gives hers to me. We all finish up and head back to the hall.

Now, it's saturday morning 1:00am, So we head into Lex's room and I drink 12 shots of vodka in a very short amount of time.I was floored, but I stayed up until 6 or 7 am doing various things all while very intoxicated, like drunk dialing a bunch of people, browsing myspace, chilling in Crystal's room watching Gackt videos of all things, then I pass out on my bed.

I wake up at 3:00pm, with no hangover and hang out in my hall. Now it's saturday night, 9pm or so, and I promised Varun I'd try and get some alky, so I go on a beer run with Lex and Caroline, who just came back from the beach. They owed Kenta a 40oz of mickeys, but I offered to cover it. So I get three 40oz Mickey's and a 12 pack of Newcastle Brown Ale. Lex and Caroline owe me 10 bucks. I shove 2 Mickey's and a 12 pack of newcastle into my backpack. I knew it looked really obvious. We then head back to the dorms. The other Mickeys 40 and the other 12 pack went into a bag in the trunk of Caroline's car.

We brought that all up into the hall, and I headed into my room, putting makeshift padding in my backpack to keep the bottles from clinking, picking up my ipod, my lighter and the three cigars that were left. I then walked over all the way to Stonehaven Apartments(a good 30 minute walk), past a cop, with my obvious rectangular backpack, and head over to Varun's place to get drunk and rewatch all of Live Action Great Teacher Onizuka.

One Mickeys 40 and 4 Newcastles later(each), having drunk dialed some people again, and eaten all of Shiv's chips, Varun and I went and smoke two of those Titan Phillies. He had his own pack, which I had made him purchase when we went to Rite Aid on Friday, because he kept mooching off of my during our previous drunk adventures. So anyway, we came back, polished off the leftover Newcastles, and walked to Denny's (A good 45 mins away). Stupid, aren't we? We got kicked out for being drunk and disorderly and they threatened to call the cops, hahaha. We headed back to the apartment and Varun crashed. I listened to some Filter on my ipod, then I knocked out too.

I woke up at 11:00, no hangover, and watched tv for a while. Varun gets a call from Shiv saying that his Mom is going to come in when he arrives at 2:15 or 2:30, and so we should clean the place up. I took out the trash, and then around 2:00, we headed to Jack In The Crack...I mean, Jack In The Box. I got two regular tacos and the spicy chicken combo. Mmmm. We headed back, and Shiv had come back from home. I then chilled and watched Varun and his guild make some big breakthroughs in World Of Warcraft. My Dad called and I talked to him for 50 minutes, and I headed back to the dorms around 7pm. I checked on my downloads, hung out with hallmates, and now in 30 minutes I have to walk to the foxhole at Pentland to rehearse the play with people from my theatre class. I think when I come back I should pick the times for my classes because I need to register tommorrow. Bio5c is waitlisted. From a class size of 300 for 5b, 5c has a maximum of 200, so they expect 1/3 of us to fail.

Anyway that was my weekend.

I think I'll leave this out of my blogger.

Creepy

I felt so weird at work today. One of the guys was asking about my friend (since he saw us together last week): how old she is, if we went to high school together, what kind of car she drives, etc. I think he even asked if she has a dog, but I thought he asked me if I had a dog.

And I dunno, haha, for a moment I felt ugly because this friend seems to get a lot of guys asking her out. But they tend to come off as stalkers. XD So I guess that's "x" less problem(s) for me to deal with.