Read this

"But I listen a little closer, and I also hear a song of sorrow, of an epic battle in which I will fight mostly in defense. I do not think of death as an enemy; it is part of life. But the sadness comes from its approach, and the ways that I will see it advance, inexorable and inevitable. I will dance with death -- with those of others, and later of my own. But it is the suffering that I will see that will be hard to bear, and the knowledge of small steps that later became bigger leaps towards that dance of death, that will sing sadly to me as I lean over the bed of a Type II diabetic, overweight and dying of sugar, or try to placate the desperate heroin addict with methadone (which only partially abates the longing -- the craving never quite goes away), or try to calm the frenzy of the man in alcohol-induced delirium tremens as he shakes and moans to the shadows in his head. Sorrow. Regret. I can hear those minor chords now as I imagine that fight for delay, that fight for time. The medicines can only do so much, likewise the technology. But who am I to say what is the right dance through life? One of the loveliest piano pieces I ever played was named the Tarantella -- representing the mad whirl of a woman dancing uncontrollably, faster and faster, as the venom of a tarantula bite sped to her brain, until she collapsed to the floor, dead. "

This is the kind of humanistic free association that makes me very tender. I have the biggest crush on its author now solely through Xanga. But it is a love that makes me sad, mostly on account of my major.

Different peoples' advice all tornadoes around me. Maybe I should be trying to get to med school, if only to learn that vocabulary for life. Maybe I'm failing to divorce admiration from emulation. Rilke says you should either do art or something not art at all. Let it never be journalism or criticism or normal literature, whose "artistic" posturings are so invidious.

I don't notice a culture gap between myself and med students. They never seem less articulate or cultivated or sensitive. I have no edge. I haven't learned anything that might be of acute, college-level consequence to them, as they have surely learned things about me. I have arms and legs. They have arms, legs and wings. I'm destined to be the groundskeeper who knows some fun things about the ground, maybe. I'm going to be the janitor, who only has so many keys because he's stuck at the school.

Once before this happened to a lesser extent before but then she was very catty. This one is that one's good, impeccably good twin. The entries which end with her shouting out her boyfriend are discouraging, though.

So Hard To Find My Way, Now That I'm All On My Own, I Saw You Just The Other Day, My How You Have Grown

--"Brown-Eyed Girl", Van Morrison

From tonight...

Hey there,

So first off, I have no idea if I have the right guy. Mostly because of my crazy ignorance. Basically I googled "Patrick Taroc," I got what looked like a blog, I clicked on what looked like a profile, and then I wound up in this bizarre alternate universe called MySpace... Don't get me wrong. I know this is the new thing for the cool kids; I read the bad feature articles on "the new IT thing," too. But I've never been one of the cool kids, and I'm lost.

Anyway, the point is, having read nothing of said blog (I don't really do blogs) but putting the name and the state (Oh, California) together, I'm thinking maybe I found the guy who has like hundreds of pages penned in my youth...

Which is actually the point of my having googled you and all. I was recently home for the first time in a long time, packing up some stuff I want to keep and trashing other stuff, and found a huge stack of letters from you--none of them dated, mind you (damn you, in fact). It was so much fun to read them again... (Do you still have the ones I sent? It's been awhile, I know. If you do, I'd love to find a way to get copies or something, so I could read them, and I'd be happy to copy the old ones for you...could be fun.) I'm wondering what in the world you are doing now, and what in the world I was like then...and all the stuff in between.

Remember that I'm a dunce at all this MySpace stuff, so if I've got the right person, and if you're not totally freaked out, might you email me in the standard way? ---------.com That goes to my inbox, which is a technology I can handle.

Okay, so... I hope I found you, I hope you're well, and I hope you'll tell me what you've been up to in these, what, ten years?

In other words, I look forward to your next correspondence.
-jina

I honestly don't know what to think right now. Gracious Halifax, I don't even know if I can think right now.

I am utterly surprised at this very moment... and kind of happy.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

People Take What They Need, Then They Tell You "Get Lost", Kindly Leading You On, While They're Ripping You Off

--"Out Here All Night", Damone

Normally, this would be the space where I describe what a fantastic show Paramore puts on since it's my usual m.o. to give a report of every concert I go to. While Hayley and the boys did put on a tight, albeit too short, set at The House of Blues tonight, something substantially more far-reaching occurred earlier this morning.

I met someone who, if all signs are correct, could be my future roommate.

And, wouldn't you know it, she's actually a decent individual.

I don't know if it says more of the company I keep or more about me, but I meet few people that I am not immediately suspicious of. Usually, when I'm first introduced to someone I'm trying to figure out their angle or trying to decipher what their agenda is. Most people I come across, fair or unfair, I can normally peg into easily defined stereotypes that then assists me in how I deal with them. Rule number one in interpersonal relationships is to ascertain someone's motivations. Once you understand that, you can understand how to get what you want or how to stifle that other person.

As recent as Sunday, people have told me that I'm suspicious by nature. I'm always curious as to why people ask me questions about myself. I'm always trying to know how they plan to use said information against me. I think that's why it's harder for me than most to get really close with people, because I don't see most of them as capable of unselfish behavior.

That's why it's refreshing when, from the very inception, I meet a person that doesn't seem to be only interested in themselves. When somebody doesn't immediately raise my guard by asking seemingly intrusive questions and/or overriding my sense of propriety, and instead puts me at ease, it is a cause for celebration. That's what this potential roomie did. From the outset, I thought she sounded very coherent, very assertive, and very personable. It's startling to think that we share a common taste for films, shows, and, apparently, sense of humor. Not only does it appear we shall get along swimmingly, but it seems that, verily, I couldn't ask for a better set of conditions under which to live. This really does seem like the best of all possibilities I could have picked out in terms of moving--perfection location, perfect roommate, for a good price.

I don't want to jinx it so I shan't count on anything, but, knock on wood, I look forward to starting this new chapter in my life with, hopefully, a new supporting character in it.

Hmmm... maybe the wacky sidekick.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

i'm quiet, you know.

hahaha, man, earlier a friend asked, "So, what's your theme song?" Theme song? It's too early to have a theme song. XD it's scary. hahaha, i'm too scared to even mention. it's full of cheese and prolly a former top 40 hit last year. was it last year? hmm, yeah.

damn you, howie day! the skeleton is out of the closet.

so, what is new with me? hmm, finished my 2nd year of college. what an extremely stressful year, at my school's standards dunno about stateside. =\ everything feels too fast. i'll probably be done in another two years. i think that's scary too. getting into the job force, having to live on my own terms, waiting in lines, getting old. living on a small island with a population of roughly 150,000... it's hard to go unnoticed once you're in the limelight or something like it. i was telling a couple of friends earlier that once i start working, i can't even step into a lingerie shop with the peace of mind that the people i'm working with won't think of me that way. it's like.. i have to play some part--see prude. in a way, i think that'd be fun too. (^ ^)

tomorrow is summer school. prolly last time i go to summer school, too.

i hope this summer turns out to be interesting. =D

But God, Didn't We Have Some Fun? When We Made Love In The Van, And I Drove With Your Hand On My Lap

--"It Was Love", The Elected

Emily once wrote that "Happiness is found in the frozen food section where they keep the ice cream." While that might very well put a smile on my face, I think another visceral experience leaps to mind when I think of where I might find happiness. I think for me happiness is found next to the person I know that loves me. I don't know if I've ever written before about what I miss the most whenever a relationship can't seem to work itself out, but it's the feeling of waking up next to someone. That sensation, that particular moment in time, is when I feel the most connected to another human being. Sharing a bed is pretty much the pinnacle for me when it comes to solidifying my feelings about a person. So while ice cream may, indeed, bring about momentary satisfaction, that touch of human skin next to mine is a pleasure that transcends joy. It is a sensation unlike no other.

----

I awoke in the hotel room with the memory of what it was like inside of you still imprinted upon me. It was like waking up from a dream only to find out the dream is miraculously real. I recalled all of it--the impetuous drive down to San Diego, the talking to dawn while we laid next to each other on the bed, and, finally, the blissful release from guilt and over-thinking any consequences that may arise. You said that sometimes there are experiences worth getting in trouble for. And that's all that it took. We fell into the familiar playfulness of the couple we were always meant to be. It wasn't like the other times--the fumbling, the nervousness--this time we explored the dynamic of what we were like together like seasoned guides, making sure to hit every hidden spot, every summit, that we had missed before or, possibly, hadn't even known to look for.

I must say it was beautiful. You were beautiful. And you were made all the more beautiful with the knowledge that we made love with full intent and permission.

When I awoke, I didn't immediately think of how I'd done wrong by you and how that night should have never happened. I didn't think about all that I would be losing. All that sprung to mind was the foolish indulgence of it all. All I could think about was how you were still there and how I should be celebrating that fact. There would be plenty of time to contemplate whether or not this "one last time" was going to kill me as soon as you left again. All I wanted to do at that moment is run my hand up your lily-white skin. I spooned in behind you, felt the warmth of a body that was both intimate and familiar. I draped my arm around you and left my fingers across the flat of your stomach. Deciding to let you sleep, I carefully placed my head just behind your chestnut brown hair. Not daring to breathe even a decibel too loudly, I just watched the back of your head, feeling you sleep more than hearing it. I wanted to have you awake, to tell you how lovely you were, and how special the whole evening was to me.

We laid like that for awhile, clothed in our affection for one another above our nakedness. I couldn't fall asleep. Inside of me were expressions of thought and emotion that just being there was evoking in me. Outside the bed, the room, the hotel, the world may have been stock-still, but inside my head were racing a dozen threads of how I was coming to grips with all of it. It's one thing to have fooled around with you, going into each time as if they were fortunate accidents that beared never repeating. But this time was different. We both knew this would probably be it for us, "one last time" as they say. Armed with that knowledge, the whole night took on far-reaching implications. It became not only a celebration of our friendship, our relationship with one another. It became a celebration of the miracle it is to find someone in this world when everybody else seems so hidden away. That's what I wanted to tell you that day. That, and maybe to say how very much I treasured you.

That's when I felt you waken with a start. I felt you turn your body over to face. I looked into those great oceanic eyes of yours. I saw into your smile. That's when I decided that maybe the experience was best captured without words. What I was feeling and what you were feeling didn't need any long, drawn-out explanations. It was what it was. I was still me and you were still little 'ole you. That hadn't changed between us. We were different people and I don't think anything of how we felt about one another changed. That night wasn't something we did out of lust or hormones or impulsiveness. I liked to think we had sex again that night out of the respect we felt for one another. There's only so much you can do with a person to show them how much you care about them before it turns to physically showing them. It may not have originated from amorous feelings of wanted to get married and settling down that the first few times had. It may not have been born out of that type of love, but it was born out of love nonetheless.

You kissed me and wrapped your arms around me. I reciprocated your motions, brushed the bangs out of your eyes, and gave you a knowing wink. Then you closed your eyes again to fall asleep. And I held you, wanting to never let you go, not for anything.

That's what I think of when I think of happiness.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Life Accustomed

Alright, so it's not so bad. Maybe I was prejudice towards the environment. The crowd here isn't what I'm used to. The things to do and see are different as well.

Yeah, there's all kinds of traffic like how it is in H-town but it's a different kind. Here, there's more drivers hence more traffic. There, it's less drivers but they're the annoying asian bad drivers which if I could, I'd certainly let road rage take over and blast a few shells their way. But I'm not that disgruntle yet so that hasn't been done. Or at least it can't be proven...

But living out by the beach isn't so bad. In fact, I'm really starting to enjoy it. Life here is something I can adapt to.

It has it's obvious pluses. The most obvious being the weather. Although it's been shitty throughout So Cal lately, I know in the coming months when summer takes over and the sun throws up on us, it'll pay to be close to the beach feeling that cool sea breeze.

But I don't think it's necessarily the setting. More a change in mindset. Usually come the weekend I head back to the Heights to go hang out with my family and see my fobby and ghetto friends. They're all out there and I know they're too damn lazy to drive 40 minutes to come see my ass unless there's a big party or I'm on my death bed.

Fob: *cough* ".... Hey... aaaaa.... you guys want to come over?"
Fob's friend: "Like now? Is there chicks there? You throwing a party?"
Fob: *heart stops* "No... But I think I'm dying..."
Fob's friend: "Oh... well maybe. I don't know. I think there's traffic on the 60."
Fob: "...."

So to keep my social life going, I'd head back home to hang out and do things. And now I've realized it's not that there's nothing to do out here and that I've got no one to hang out with. It's more because I wasn't truly accepting of living out here. I didn't really give it a chance. And that way of thinking is changing.

I know this now because come the weekend, I really don't feel like heading back. I'd much rather stay and shoot the shit with my roommates or call up some friends around here and head down to the pier to drink myself under the table.

Who knows... maybe it's temporary. But in either case, I feel like I'm finally getting used to living here.

And You'll Teach Me About Tomorrow, And All The Pain And Sorrow Running Free?, 'Cause Tomorrow's Just Another Day, And I Don't Believe In Time

"Time", Hootie and the Blowfish

As long as I've lived I've had a fairly unique connection to the beach. I hate the sun, I hate huge crowds most of the time, and trying to find parking at the beach can often stresses me out. Yet, despite all that, it's still one of my favorite places to go, especially at night. Some of my most memorable times have taken place when most of the people have gone and the moon is the only light one can see out over the water. It's very serene and I have found lends itself to moments of startling contemplation and discourse. I believe that's why the opportunity to somehow closeby one is more than tempting; it's, of late, become an obsession of mine.

For someone who hates small talk, I sure love discussions with people with something actually to say. It's weird, but people who normally are very reserved and introverted out in the "real" world I've seen open up remarkably once they've sat down and just stared out into the deep blue. Chalk it up to the lack of distractions or the "getting back to nature" vibe, but the talk usually turns to weightier issues. When it comes to getting down to the nitty-gritty, the ocean is the first place I think of taking someone.

Or, I guess, where somebody thinks of taking me.

----

"Don't apologize," Jennifer said as the two of us sat down on the coarse sand.

I had had one job to do. Bring the roll, she had said, referring to the green and white camel-imprinted rug that I had used as a beach blanket for as long as I can remember. As soon as she had said that over the phone, I knew where we were headed, but still managed to forget it anyway. Let it never be said after I die that I wasn't absent-minded at times.

The sand didn't bother me as much as I thought it would. It would have been very hard to complain since it was a perfectly lovely night out, filled with unyielding draw of the thrumming waves. I would've settled back and stared out at the horizon all night if I didn't know better than to allow myself to relax. There's only one reason Jennifer came out to the ocean with anyone at night and that was to discuss something that had been troubling her. She too had a particular fondness for the sea, but, unlike me, she dared tempt the lion's den during the daylight hours and had more than ample opportunity to do so since she lived mere miles from Huntington. Nope, whenever she called one of her friends to come meet her where the spray met the sand it was to take and give advice. That's what bothered me the most, not knowing to what I owed the occasion.

"Suppose you only had one night to live, where would you spend it?" she asked me after we'd been lazily staring at the sky's reflection in the water.

"Anywhere?"

"Anywhere."

"Here's kind of nice."

"You haven't ever wanted to travel the world, see things you can't see here?"

"Not really. It's kind of nice going back East once a year, but I don't think I was built for international travel."

"Not me, I think my problem's always been that I've wanted to do it all, see it all, be it all."

She was always like that. She always dreamed enough for two people and it wasn't some fanciful quest of world domination, insane fame, or disgusting riches. It was always something practical, but nonetheless spectacular. If she said she wanted to travel the world, it wouldn't be to merely brag about her experiences to everyone she knew to make them jealous. Indeed, it'd be a miracle if she ever brought it up to anyone. Hers was a private soul with a public heart. She didn't want to necessarily give away all her secrets to you, but did want you to know that was a somewhat good person.

"Not me. Call me an idiot, but I like what I like. If I don't know something is going to be better than I'd rather never know. Disappointing, huh?"

"Nah, I always knew being a man of the world wasn't going to be a source of pride for you, Patrick."

"What can I say? I'm a Californian, born and bred."

"I'm probably the same. Try as I might to deny it, I don't think I'm ever going to go anywhere fantastic. I'm simply going to have to make due with what's before me."

People get shattered in many ways. Sometimes it's the all-or-nothing crash of tragedy, where you're left speechless, breathless, and damaged beyond all repair. And sometimes it's like a slow fade, where you realize the opportunities you had were all that you were ever going to get. It doesn't mean you don't have bright times ahead, but there comes a point where you realize they'll never be as bright as they once were. I think that's what she was going through that day.

I'd like to think that it had to do with her finding out she was sick and not because she felt herself slowly dying. In the case of the former, it would have been a kind of blessing to have that certainty at your disposal. If a doctor had said to her that she was only getting worse and that there was no hope of recovery, she could at least make some sort of peace with herself. She wouldn't have to fight because someone else would have basically given her escape route. In the case of the latter, if she could feel her days winding down, it almost would have been worse. There's something to be said of having too much hope in a tenuous situation. One almost would rather not be able to fight if it only leads to tears.

Then again, I don't know if she knew anything about what was wracking her body at the time. She may have just been experiencing a crisis of faith or responsibility. Whatever it was, it led her to a pretty startling announcement from her.

It'd been after we'd allowed a lull in the conversation to develop. Suddenly she said the following very simply.

"You hear it. You feel it. And you can't rise above it. There's something about tomorrow that catches us all. Even just sitting here it feels like I'm being chased around and around some table, playing keep away with some invisible monster. I never get anywhere and yet he never seems able to catch me. But there comes a point when you're running around the table, when you realize you're at a stalemate with that monster, that you start to question why you're even still playing. It's a game you can never win. It's then you realize that maybe losing is the only you'll ever get to stop playing, to stop being so tired and mentally fatigued out of your skull. You don't want to give up, but you question how you're ever going to sustain enough energy to keep playing. And you wonder, if you were to ever leave the little circle you've made around the table, if you could ever truly get away from the demon chasing you."

I watched as she buried her head in her chest, more from the cold than the actual sting of her words. I inched in closer to her. I debated whether this was an instant where a physical response was called for. In the end, I decided she wasn't really asking for that type of comfort and that the tact I had to take was more verbal in substance.

"I know what you mean, Jennifer. Sometimes I feel I'm barely getting by and other times I feel like I haven't progressed at all. We're not moving forward at all. We're just standing still while it's the world that's moving so quickly around us."


now only lasts for one second, one second

"Maybe the question isn't how how empty or how full our life is. Maybe it's just a question of whether we're all like that glass of water, stagnant but serene, or if we should even attempt to be like a wave, thrashing in constant motion. Water all the same, but which one should we strive to emulate?"

"Silence is golden, as they say."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Fire away."

"It's kind of similar to the last question. If you could stop, just stop, at any one age in your life, when would you stop?"

"Here's kind of nice."

"Exactly. People always talk about going back in time to some better time and place or talk about going in the future to see what it's like. I don't see what's so bad about wanting to be where you are, being content with all that you already have, and why, given the option, you'd ever think there was a better time for you than the one you're already in."

I looked at her in a type of aimless confusion. Wasn't she the same person who sat lamenting that she didn't have enough time to see it all, to do it all? I placed my arm around her in a meek attempt at support, keenly aware that something more than spiritual angst was bothering my friend. I asked her about the discrepancy between what she had just said and her earlier statement.

"So I'm not sure I get it. Do you want to do it all and see it all, or do you want to stay here?"

She looked at me with a sheepish grin. There are many people I could tell you had a definitiveness about them. They came painted either black or white in certain areas of their life. Not Jennifer. She is the only one I have ever known who could argue both sides of an argument and still leave you wondering which she truly believed in. She was very mercurial like that. It was part of her seemingly secretive nature. People that didn't know her always attributed it as a guarded personality. They said that she never quite stuck to her guns because she didn't want you to know how she really felt about anything. I always thought that was the most intimate aspect about her, that she was so unsure of how she felt from moment and moment, and was generous enough to allow people to see this insecurity about her.

"Don't mind me. I want some type of the blending of the two. I want to have done everything I set out to do already so that I can feel like where I am now is some type of milestone. I'm feeling like I'm getting to old to still be dreaming about somewhere else, sometime else, you know?"

"It is a type of milestone. It's not like you've ever reached this point before in your life, have you? This same day, this same set of circumstances?"

"No, but I've had similar experiences to this."

"What you're asking for is impossible, I think. You want the big sign planted on the sand saying this day is going to be special for you. All you see is what apparently you've seen before. But perhaps you reached where you were meant to be long ago, long before most of us even knew where we were going. Maybe this is the pinnacle of your trek."

"Here? Now?"

"Here and now. Maybe this is all there is to this happiness thing. Sitting by the beach at night with close friends."

"If it were only that simple, Patrick."

"It is simple if you believe, Jennifer."

She gave me a look to see if I was putting her on. When she saw that I quite possibly believed what I was saying, she turned back to the sea.

"I don't believe yet, but in time... maybe."

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

I wish I had really expensive speakers with all platinum connections that gave perfect sound. Sometimes I worry that shiny pop music that was produced with million dollar equipment can't ever be reproduced truly without the equivalent rig, basically like there's a sixth sense that I don't have any comprehension of, which would make perfect the listening experience. I cannot even get the equalizer anywhere to crystallize acoustic and electric guitar sounds with the same setting.

When Explanations Make No Sense, When Every Answer's Wrong, You're Fighting With Less Confidence, All Expectations Gone

--"Breakout", Swing Out Sister



Sometimes I feel like I'm less on a journey along a winding road as much as travelling through some city where I'm passing intersection after intersection. It isn't a matter of not knowing where the road I'm travelling is going as much as it is a matter of being presented so many opportunities to know what to do with. Sometimes, yes, it ia a little much to take, this life where I'm supposed to be well on my way towards something. It's akin to the time I was a freshman in college, still undecided as to what I want to major in, what I want to be. Damn it all, I've been alive for over three decades now. I'm supposed to have at least a bit of my life figured out already. Yet most of the time I still feel like I'm just winging it.

I don't so much live my life as let life happen to me. About the only assertive thing I do is travel. That's possibly the only arena in my life where I display a carefree attitude. I don't ask earthly questions like if I can afford it, is there something else I could use the money for, or do I really need to go on yet another trip. I just go. If I could only transfer such courage and confidence to other aspects of my life, I'd be all set.

For instance, career-wise I am so far removed from where I thought I would be at this point in my life. Not only am I not doing what I went to school for, what I dreamed of, and what everybody thought I was going to be; I'm working in a completely different field. If writing was Boston, I wouldn't say I was in New York or Los Angeles. I'd say I was in Bangkok job-wise. And it isn't like I want to complain about what I do. Especially with my new position, it's been mentally and financially rewarding working in the field that I do. I simply know that it's always going to be one of those dreams that I felt I quit on too soon. Like everything else that once was important to me, I didn't put in the hard work to see it through. I assumed wanting something was the same thing as going out and getting it. I let way too many opportunities pass me by.

The same could go for personal relationships and friendships. I look back on the people in my life and I realize every so often that there were many people I could have taken the time to know better and there were many people I should have cut loose sooner. It's like I'm Ryoga Hibiki when it comes to picking out and keeping quality people. I just don't have the sense God gave geese as a wise person once said.

I think the main reason I'm writing this tonight is that tomorrow I begin in earnest to look for a new residence to coincide with my new employment. I should have been combing the classifieds, calling everyone I know, and researching the best route to getting that perfect place to rent or lease. Yet I have the nagging feeling that in this area I have slacked off and left it, once again, to the vagaries of fate to decide what's best for me. I don't have a plan as to where and when I'm going to visit tomorrow. I have basically two ads that I'm going to check out, but no real clue as to the kinds of questions I want to ask, what kind of amenities I require, or any real sense as to how go about switching locales. The last time I had to move came on the heels of a crushing blow life-wise and I was in no shape to be picky. This time, however, I have both the opportunity and the wherewithal to root out exactly the cream of the crop. I have no compelling need to settle for anything less than perfect. I have no desire to be stuck in a place that is in the least bit annoying or unsatisfactory. But, just because I can afford to wait for the perfect wave, doesn't mean I won't take the first ride in that comes my way. It's just my nature to be impulsive, undisciplined, and, most of all, lazy. The truth is I just want to be moved out as soon as possible. I just want all the stress and agony of lugging all my stuff to be done with. I want all the pangs of being surrounded by unfamiliar surroundings to be behind me already. I just want to be able to establish a new routine wherever it is I've relocated.

That means the following will come to pass. I'll committ myself to the first decent place that comes my way and be always the least bit miffed about the particulars I never bothered to ascertain beforehand. It'll pass muster, may be be above average, but it won't be perfect. I just know it.

Such is my curse in life, to be nitpicky about the aspects of life most people can decide in an instant and to be blase about the life-and-death issues. I know I have screwed-up priorities, but today is an eye-opener as to the degree I go into major situations ill-prepared to handle them.

Oh 'twell! We shall see how tomorrow unfolds and where I stand once I come to the other side of it.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

The Chick Magnet

Usually I don't mind the competition. In fact I tend to admire the physical qualities of an attractive male. But this guy! Standing next to him, I'll be lucky to even get noticed. And so it happens he's become my new roommate.


Watch out bitches! (And you female dogs too) Because Raider is out on the prowl! This cute little bastard automatically draws women to him. So what if his name is Raider and he's playing with a soccer ball? Pele was taken...

So the good and bad news. The good news is the owner, my roommate, has a woman. A very nice woman who helps me with my motherly duties around the house. So he can't use Raider to his full potential when it comes picking up the ladies. A skill I may call upon soon.

Hot girl: "Oh he's so cute!!!"
Fob: "Thanks, he is isn't he? I just shaved him."
Hot girl: "What's his name?"
Fob: "The little general..."
Hot girl: "That's kind of a weird name for the dog."
Fob: "Oh... you meant the dog!"

But the bad news, I'm Filipino. Which means you hand me some barbecue sauce and some wet naps and I got myself a tasty treat with this little guy. I know, I know. You're not suppose to eat dogs here in this country. But come on! Look at him. He probably taste like veal...

Watched By Empty Silhouettes, Who Close Their Eyes, But Still Can See, No One Taught Them Etiquette, I Will Show Another Me

--"Solsbury Hill", Peter Gabriel

When I was in fourth grade I made a conscious decision to be weird.

I didn't exactly have a firm definition of what weird meant, but, due to the fact that that was a label which seemed to follow me around from grade to grade, I decided to go with it. I lacked the mental acuity then to put it into terms which I could understand, but I think I've reached a point where I can at last take a stab at it. When I say I'm weird I don't mean to say that I choose my action to intentionally creep people out or piss them off or to do a half dozen other things. I think my "weirdness" stems from that basic human desire to differentiate myself from everyone else. No one wants to be a carbon copy of everyone else and I am no different. However, whereas most people find small ways to assert their uniqueness, I am prone to grand gestures and acts. I think this personality choice comes into play on more than just average run-of-the-mill decisions; I think it comes into play into the bigger moral decisions as well. Oft times I and other people have noticed that I don't weigh my options between right and wrong as much as what everyone else would do and what everyone else wouldn't do. For instance, when I used to walk home from school I often chose routes that had nothing to do with being the fastest or the most scenic, or even what would get me close to stores where I could browse. Most times I chose routes that I had never taken before which often meant taking the most roundabout route imaginable.

To be fair, I think a little piece of this choice may have to do with getting a reaction. It is rather funny to me to see people's face glaze over in perplexity when I spout a non-sequitir or relay a story of something that I did that no one else would ever do. I think I'm easily amused by how easy it is to throw off somebody's sense of balance by going against the grain. I think that's how the twin waterfalls story and the dinosaur vegetable story got their starts. I think it's also part and parcel of having reputation that you start acting like you have to live up to it. In the beginning it may have been a sore spot not fitting in, what with the pressures of growing up and being in school, but, the more I've grown, the more I've realized that one's identity is something to be flaunted and not flagged.

This brings me to the big reveal that prompted this whole post. Possibly the weirdest thing I do is that I have a habit that even I cannot explain. It all started about the time I began dating DeAnn. Around that time I chanced upon a new concoction at the confectionary stand by the name of Peanut Butter Twix. From the moment I put chocolate to lips I was enamored with them. I couldn't buy enough of them. That in itself would be weird, but it's the supplementary quirk that really draws attention.

I can't see myself ever throwing a wrapper away.

It started out as my attempt at tallying just how many bars I eat in a month. I used to place them all in a drawer in my apartment and amaze myself (and others) at the quantity of bars consumed in a given period. But soon it mutated into another beast altogether. I then began hiding the wrappers around the house just to get a reaction out of her. Soon DeAnn was finding wrappers in the strangest places. Dishwashers, coffee cans, and pillow cases were all fair game. I freely confess I was just trying to be cute and playful when I initiated this habit. However, when it migrated to my other friends' and family members' houses I knew it was almost bordering on an obsession. To me the fun comes in sneaking them into the most unlikely of places and seeing the reaction when someone I know comes across them.

I think it's the fact that no one "gets" why I do it that I persist. It'd be different if it caught on like some phase and all the neighborhood kids started doing it, but because, to the best of my knowledge, I am the sole individual on the planet to do it, I continue. Again, this is a choice that transcends right or wrong, but instead hinges on what would Patrick do and what would everyone else do?


i'll tell them what the smile on my face meant

Yes, I'm weird. But the way I look at it is that I'm normal, it's the whole world that's weird.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

A Taste of Freedom

I guess that's how it goes. You get old. You work a lot. You hang out with the family. Go to dinners with your friends. Play cards with the boys. And every now and then... When the stars are aligned and the Gods are being kind to you, you get to go out and party like you used to.

Well sort of. I mean come on, I'm in my late 20's now. I'm not saying stuff doesn't work anymore. It just doesn't work as good as it used to. And I'm not talking about the piping down there. That works fine. Do I use it as much as I'd like to? Probably not unless you count the times I nut on my roommates pillow for being loud and obnoxious all night long.

But I'm referring to the overall ability of my body to function properly. Drinking or being up late takes a toll on my ability to think straight. Or think at all the next day.

Fob: *still drunk* "Hey Moms! Happy birthday you hot son of a bitch!"
Fob's mom: "You mean Happy Mother's day right?"
Fob: "Yeah that too! Look, I'm really thirsty. Can you get me another beer?"
Fob's mom: "Are you drunk?"
Fob: "No, are you?!?!"
Fob's mom: "No!"
Fob: "Well then..."

Regardless of the following stupidity the next day, this past weekend was surprisingly fun. I was able to go out and party it up like I used to. Drinking, dancing, and not having to worry about my finances or other 'grown-up' type problems. It was a nice getaway.

Will I do it again in the near future? Well the best I can say is hopefully not. My body can't handle it anymore on a consistent basis. But I know the next time an opportunity comes up, partying will be just like how I treat my women. No means yes...

Prison huh? We'll see about that...

So far the research for my so-called thesis-about-Hou is all just about Japanese directors. Got Ozu books, got Kurosawa books today and I know Mizoguchi books must be coming because of the three he's surely the closest in style.

What is going on?

1) Almost all the the NTC (New Taiwan Cinema) history I've found has been about the movement's politics.
2) Japan has a longer and more continuous industry, is bigger than Taiwan, wasn't in the shadow of HK and wasn't a dictatorship after WW2.
3) Maybe related to 2 but my crackpot assessment is that there is this weird longing in Hou's films for Japan, at least in MM and Cafe Lumiere. Associate that ad lib: Japan is really my utopia; Japanese colonialism is what was in Taiwan before humanity lost its mind in WW2; no one can make movies like Ozu's anymore (not so much a Taiwanese thing as what some critics and directors nowadays think); Japan is the alternative to becoming like PRC... Even when I first talked with Ban Wang about this he mentioned how Japan seems to have done a better job in preserving country life versus modern cities.

~

Incidentally Netflix sucks bad if you pay for it. I said earlier it's like in Audition--as long as you're exploiting her it's copacetic--but once you marry her get ready for a hypodermic in the cornea.

When I was doing a trial last summer everything shipped fast and slick as virgin olive oil but when I actually pay the Net-man money for his flix they take like 3-4 days longer to arrive, or if someone else has the film I want, rather than send me the next thing in my queue they just run the clock on my subscription taking my too-scarce money.

I was hoping to get my whole wish-list watched this month but now I'm not sure that's now possible. I subscribed like a week and a half ago and so far I've only seen two movies (Tokyo Story and Ugetsu--both fantastic and in re: the former after finding her annoying in No Regrets for Our Youth and plain in Late Spring I've got a crush on Setsuko Hara, who according to IMDB by the way is still alive).

I Go To School, I Write Exams, If I Pass, If I Fail, If I Drop Out, Does Anyone Give A Damn?

--"What A Good Boy", Barenaked Ladies

There was a time I could have actually made Boston my permanent residence and not just the city I tend to visit annually. The circumstances surrounding that tidbit are made all the more startling for two different reasons. One, I didn't even like the Red Sox that much at the time it could've happened and, two, it would have put me closer to someone I never thought I would see again.

It would have been in the third year at college. I was taking a full load of classes, working full-time at the bookstore, as well as trying to maintain what was a fairly new relationship with someone I had just met the previous summer. It was during this first semester for one of my hardest classes, a history class I believe, that I exercised poor judgment and fell back on one of my classic high school tricks.

I've always thought of myself as a fairly decent writer, even picking up recognition from classmates and friends about how my style lends itself to sounding intelligent even when lacking real intelligence. In high school I believe I got carried away with this attitude of invincibility when it came to my composition skills and started employing certain techniques that, while perfectly "legal", were not exactly kosher. I started utilizing longer words and phrases where simple phrases would have been just as effective. I never believed in the whole "KISS" philosophy, trusting in the notion that given the impression of sounding coherent and studied is half the battle in actually being coherent and studied. The minute you start becoming lacksadaisical in how you express yourself you start losing the trust of the audience that you actually know what you're talking about. If one were to look at my high school papers you would see a definite jump from how I wrote in my beginning years to how I finished off my high school career. Whereas I may have written something like, "I like to learn" in my freshman year, I started hurling away phrases like, "I have a voracious appetite for the academic process." I blame Avonlea and L.M. Montgomery. That one show is responsible for awakening my enamoration for wordplay and vocabulary. Thusly, because I so desperately wanted to give off the aura of being knowledgeable, I started utilizing the same quirks in my writing. I started to shy away from saying "you" and replacing it with "one" as in "one would be remiss if one were to merely glance over the curriculum" instead of "you would be wise to study harder." I started to NEVER use contractions. I started to write elliptically, whereas whatever I started a paper with, I was always sure to end something that called it to mind.

And, most dangerously, I started quoting myself. Whenever I got stuck for something witty and quote-like to start off a point I was trying to make, I'd fall back on starting off the sentence with the killer phrase, "a wise man once said, '....'" What only a select few knew was that I was that wise person and that I probably had made up whatever it was I was quoting at that instance.

That was all well and good in high school, but in college I got into trouble for doing just that in that one class. I suppose had over-utilized the technique by not only quoting myself but writing a majority of the paper on my own database of facts and figures and not necessarily from my research materials. However, my professor thought something was fishy about my paper and asked to see a complete bibliography, citing page numbers and such, rather than the title and author short-form he'd let the rest of the class get away with. If I could not provide a sensible and intelligent correlation between what I'd written and the materials I'd researched, he was fully intending me to be put up for expulsion, as plagarism and all its ilk was and still is severely frowned upon. Granted, my case would have been a case of anti-plagarism as I was far too little of other people's work and too much of my own, but it still felt like cheating to me too.

With that manner of stress hanging over me and while I was trying to mount a defense of my writing process, actually having to find books that backed up what I wrote as truth, I began to look at transferring to other schools "just in case." I was sure that I was going to be expelled because I'd been caught red-handed at basically writing an opinion piece and disguising it as a research paper.

That's how I began to look at Boston University. I fell in love with the school without ever having ventured into the city. I liked the way the classes were set up and taught. I liked the choice of majors. But I think what sold me on that being my new school was the fact it would have afforded me a much-needed change of scenery. I filled out the application and had it all ready to send out.

Had I gone to Boston two things would have probably happened, as hinted at in the opening to my post.

I probably would have fallen hard for the Red Sox sooner.

I probably would have bumped into Jina, my Jina, since, in a crazy, funky twist of fate, she started attending that school in the last years of my college career. How scary would that have been? To accidentally bump into "the girl," truly the one that got away. Don't get me wrong, I love Breanne to bits and pieces, and the fact that we never ended up married with kids does bother me, but I can't bemoan her as this huge regret. We probably make better friends than lovers, and the fact the way things ended up as they did, with us staying friends longer than some countries have been in existence, makes me think that I must have done something right. Jina, however, was honestly the girl I fucked everything up with. Not only did I tell her off... by letter... but I took up seventy pages to do it. Not only did I basically call her a waste of time, but I paid special attention to calling her entire family as well. And, just in case she harbored any thoughts of ever forgiving me, I burned almost everything she gave me and mailed it back to her, including birthday presents, video tapes, and pictures. The letters I kept, though, since that would have been like giving away a collection of Da Vinci's. I screwed her royally.

I never got my chance to patch things up with her. My professor saw my paper for what it was, a well-researched paper that was merely annotated incorrectly. I received full-credit for my paper on my way to passing the class on my way to graduating.

However, a piece of me always wonders what I lost by staying in school.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

If You Think That I Don't Love You, You're Just Wrong, That Don't Matter Now Anyway, I Couldn't Bear To See You Up There, With A White Dress On

--"I Do", Jude

As I sat by the gate at LAX, waiting for my flight to board, I thought I was going to be sick. There was a feeling of nausea mixed with fear in the bottom of my stomach that I had never felt before. I'm sure to the passerbys I must have looked a sight. Hunched over, head down--they must have thought I was a first-time flyer anticipating the dwindling moments. I'm surprised nobody came by to offer my consolation, letting me know that I was going to make it through my flight fine. At least then I wouldn't have been alone in the airport. However, the truth was that it wasn't my first flight nor my second. While I was nervous about the flight as I always am whenever I'm on a plane that is going to be in the air for more than thirty minutes, that wasn't the reason I was experiencing bouts of absolute wretchedness. The truth was that there was no easy fix, no pills I could take for what I had.

There is no cure for the choking mist of love.

I had been dreading this trip the whole month leading up to my flight. I couldn't tell her that, though. What kind of friend would I be to say that to her? It was supposed to be the happiest day of her life and I was afraid that I was going to ruin it with my negative attitude as I have a penchant for doing just that. But this wasn't going to be the usual case of me feeling out of place or being bored; this was going to be a case of me actually being heartsick. I couldn't explain how I felt any more succinctly than that. I felt like my heart was dissolving inside my chest, eating away through my skin, the closer I came to getting on that plane. All I could think of was if I felt like this at the airport, a full two weeks before she actually got married, how was I going to handle spending the next few days being around her? I knew I wouldn't be able to abide having her talk about him every second of every day I spent with her, beam about how happy she was going to be, or tell me how glad she was that I was able to come. I didn't want to meet the lucky bastard and I definitely did not want to gain the confirmation that all her dreams were going to be coming true without me.

That's why I wanted to throw up. All of it was moving so quickly. One second it seemed we had been discussing how we were so perfect for one another and the next she had fell in love with somebody that wasn't me. I know it's very petty of me, but I couldn't help but take it to heart that something precious was being taken from me, something that I never even thought it was conceivable I could lose.

I sat in the airport going over my options.

I could be the bastard and just not go. I could chicken out and give her some excuse that I was feeling well. She would have never bought that, though. She wasn't anything if not perceptive. She'd want to know what was the matter and I'd have to eventually tell her that I just couldn't see her go through with it.

Or I could just get on the plane, land with a smile on my face, and then let it slowly dwindle away as I celebrated with her over the next few weeks. I could do that until I felt myself completely die inside. I could pretend that it didn't bother me in the least and try to be happy for her. That's what was expected of me. That's what I was supposed to do. That's what she wanted from me.

But all I wanted was her.

All I could think about was that time we parked on that hill and we talked the sun up from its hiding place. She made promises. I made promises. It's funny how we both were so sure everything was going to go smoothly from that point on.

"You're everything I'm looking for," she had said.

"I feel the same. It's like--I don't know--saying it aloud to you makes it feel real, like I'm putting my handprints in cement for you."

"It's about time you came around. It's what I've always said, these were never just words for me. I care about you fiercely."

"I needed to do my best to stay away from you, but you talked me into it."

"Good."

And then we just stayed up on that hill, sharing that moment of revelation for the few hours we had before her parents would start to worry. I thought there was a deal sealed that day, one that would never be broken as long as the two of us should live. I thought the way she felt about would never change. Fuck, I thought the way I felt about her would never change. But that wasn't true. It wasn't so much that I stopped caring about her as much as I stopped remembering just how much I did. It's sad to say that I took it for granted the two of us would just end up together and I never took the proper steps to get the ball rolling. It was like she was the army and I'd already signed off on my enlistment papers when the truth was that I should have taken it as the first of many steps to ensuring the future I wanted was the one I would end up with. That should have kicked my butt into gear. It reminded me of that scene in Swingers where Lorraine tells Mikey that she'll come him sometime after they meet. He tells her then and there that that wasn't good enough, that he wanted to make plans with her. That should have been have me. I shouldn't have been like "yeah, I've got her locked up." I should have started making plans and never stopped until it was she and I walking down that aisle.

The thing about not having definite plans that I've always been perturbed by is the fact that, without definite plans, distractions always seem to creep up. It's one thing to be able to tell someone that you couldn't go out with them because you already had a girlfriend you were saving up to move out with. It's another thing to say that you couldn't go out with someone because you were kind of seeing somebody. Even I felt foolish that we hadn't defined exactly what was going to happen from that point forward. We left it to fate to iron out the kinks and ended up without a goal in sight. I got cocky that a future with her forever was my destiny, when all I had to do was put one foot in front of the other to get us there. That way, when the distractions came, like other boyfriends and girlfriends, like school, like family and friends, we could have made it through somehow, lending each other strength.

My not appreciating what I could have had was my worst mistake and it cost me her.

I started seeing someone else, assuring her that it was only a temporary relationship. I even convinced her that it would be good for us because that way I could get it out of my system. I told her that I would never be tempted by anyone else if I had a semi-serious relationship with someone else. She didn't believe me, at first, but the nagging sense she and I were inevitable pushed aside any doubts either one of us may have had. I seriously went into that relationship that I would be in and out within the year. That one year turned into six years--six years of telling her that it wasn't going to last, then I'm pretty sure it wasn't going to last, then I'm not so sure anymore. Until finally I called her up one night, ironically inviting her to come out to see me in California, to celebrate the fact I was going to ask the "temporary" girl to marry me. The sadness in her voice reached a crescendo that night. I knew it was coming. Every step I got closer with the temp, the more the one I really wanted must have felt like I was pushing her away. I didn't care at that point was the bitter aspect of what developed. In my mind I was trading up. I thought the promises I made with her were spoken in a moment of youthful infatuation. I thought what I was getting myself into was the "real" thing. I thought three years of seeing somebody in person trumped knowing someone inside and out for eight years. I thought I had made the right choice.

And then, when that relationship tanked, it was my turn to discover she had moved on without me. The only difference was the two of them took actual steps to getting to that happily ever after that was supposed to be mine. From first date to marriage in less than 2 1/2 years. I told her it was some kind of land-speed record. I told her that I was happy for her. I told her that I'd taken my swing and struck out, but what I really wanted to tell her was that I desperately wanted another crack at her.

I was too late.

That's how I found myself in that airport awaiting the nightmare of watching my best friend in whole wide world marrying someone else. That's how I had worked myself up into the state I was in, on the verge of throwing up all over the airport. Yet nauseousness and vomit was the least of my worries. What concerned me the most was the idea that I would actually ruin her wedding. I pictured myself standing up in the middle of the ceremony and announcing to the wedding party that I objected to the wedding. I wanted that Hollywood ending where she would realize that she was supposed to end up with me and ditch her groom at the altar. I wanted that and I knew if I got on the plane that there was a good chance that that would be exactly what I would do. The only difference would be that she would be mortified in embarrassment and I really would lose her forever. That was my rationale. I knew I would never be capable of standing idly by and watching her go.

I went into the bathroom with my bags not truly believing I was contemplating giving up the rare opportunity to go and see her one more time. I looked in the mirror after throwing up in the toilet and saw the kind of person I'd become. I saw I was the kind of person that put his own well-being before that of those he considered closest to him. I felt kind of ashamed for myself. This was always the pattern with me. Any time I got the least bit uncomfortable I started to come up with a new way to extricate myself from the situation. Instead of just dealing with my fears or insecurities, instead of facing my jealousy and envy head-on, I was contemplating setting it aside for another time. I just couldn't deal.

On one hand she would be very upset that I didn't show up for the wedding. On the other hand I would never see her again. I had no choice really. It was either disappoint my best friend horribly or lose her entirely.

I walked out of the bathroom, playing around with the quarter in my pocket. I gave a moment's thought to flipping for it--heads I go, tails I stay. Then I realized that would be even too callous for me to do. The least I could do if I was going to take the coward's way out would be to own up to making the decision. She deserved that much consideration. I wouldn't excuse away the fact that the friend that had known her for half her life wasn't going to be at her wedding. I wasn't going to tell her many years down the line that the reason I didn't go was the fact that the coin had landed on the wrong side. I wanted to be able to tell her, when it came time for confessions, that I'd been the big boy and thought of this crappy idea myself.

Yes, it was selfish in a way. It was definitely immature of me. The thought that I couldn't keep my thoughts to myself for two weeks spoke little of my self-control. But I truly thought I was doing because I loved her so much. I loved her enough to stay away.

I picked up my cel phone, dialed her number, and started walking back to the parking lot.

"I've got bad news, my Breannie..."

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

USUALLY on this island

It didn't occur to me until watching a video for a class that roosters crow a lot here. Not just to say, "WAKE UP, BRO!" but whenever they want to. I dunno where all these birds come from.... Maybe they're related to these baby chicks my cousins bought years ago during some Easter special.. Like, if you have a receipt saying you spent $25 at a certain store, you get a baby chick for Easter.

So, anyway, about that video I watched... it was for a class... Had an interview with some fisherman who had tan lines from a "sando" (hahaha, undershirt/wife-beater, whatever the hell you call it on your side of the world), and sheesh, almost every minute a rooster would just crow. I kept laughing whenever that happened.

I used to think someone lived in an "affluent" part of the island, too--until I called him. And during the convo, a rooster crowed. This was late afternoon. I laughed about it when the phone call ended.

So, really, I think if I ever leave this place, I may miss the sound of a rooster crowing at whatever time of the day it feels like. It's an island thing... XD

One of the films on my new queue. Incidentally Midnight Eye is a fantastic site, very thoughtful reviews (and book reviews!) and a breadth I've not seen before in books or sites, most of which just deal with the canonical or the cult.

The visual design of the Cutie Honey review alone makes me want to see that movie =O. God she is smoldering! That'll be the steak after yesterday's 40-minute Blade III salad--naturally. Yes my taste is bombing, though I still know Blade III is no Blade (I).

"Tony Takitani plays out with the ersatz sophistication of a glossy commercial for cars or perfume, composed of delicate images, slow-motion sequences, and a muted greyish colour palette." But isn't that how film should be? Perfume commercials are innovative. Seldom is "ersatz" needed to understand "sophistication" properly, but maybe I'm ascribing to the film in prospect the tone quality of Murakami's writing, how carefully he dances with the trite.


Watch live video from ALI* on Justin.tv

So long mid 20's

Ah... the good ol' days. Having money to drink myself stupid all night long and wake up just fine for work the next day. And... well... the only other thing I can think of being in my mid 20's that's good is getting a break on a rental car. But yeah, the drunk one is nice.

Anyway, as of the past week I am now officially in my late 20's. Supposedly, my goals are suppose to change from here on. The former need of drinking myself into oblivion and waking up next to a she-beast are suppose to be replaced with making money to support my gold digging wife who's cheating on me with my neighbor's gardener. Damn cheatin' ho!!! I knew something was up when she said we needed to get our bushes whacked!

So that's my life. Career and family. And I won't lie about it. At this moment, the only thing that really matters is making a decent amount to support myself and possible a family of my own in the future. Who knows, maybe my first wife won't be such a bitch and leave me with nothing to give my second.

Fob: "Don't take the dog! You don't even like dogs!"
Mrs. Fob: "What are you talking about? He'll make an excellent taxidermy in front of our... I mean my couch."
Fob: "You bitch!!! Well... um... you were never good in bed!!!"
Mrs. Fob: "That's because I was better in other beds..."
Fob: "Son of a..." *wipes feet on couch* "Man, fuck yo couch!!!"