An acquaintance from the past has come back into my life, and somehow he is automatically a friend now. It's amazing how things just happen on their own. For all our lack of conversation the 3 years I knew him, I associated things with him. Things that I haven't thought about recently -- like the Milky Way, the Northern Lights, mirror-grinding, telescopes. Things that made me happy once, that I haven't seen recently because they no longer seemed important. But it is important to hold on to happy thoughts.
I just saw a video of an aurora borealis on youtube, and if there is one more thing I need to do besides finally visit Paris, it is to see the Northern Lights. Colors. Bright vivid colors of the fall foliage, of the dark winter nights. Dog sleds.
First things first though -- where can I see the powdery white stars of our galaxy again?
Friday, October 13, 2006
Friday, September 29, 2006
fashion statements
I like watching certain people. In fact, I'll admit to it. I track them. Not in a stalker-like scary manner, no. But when they are around, I can't help but look at them. One of the people I look out for is this French girl who used to stay in my dorm building. At first I liked looking at her because she was French, and she seemed really cute like Amelie Poulain. She had slightly disheveled hair and glasses, and looked every bit the romantic French scholar/artist. And you wonder why I like looking at her.
She always wore black. Street clothes, comfy clothes. Always black. I thought it was a fashion thing, a fashion statement. She was someone I sort of knew, a person who would smile at me and whom I would smile at if we happened to meet. We had a mutual friend, but I never really got to know her. But I've always thought that she was adorable.
I finally saw her again recently, after the summer. I've seen her twice since school started and the first thing that I noticed was that she no longer wore black. No, she had very smart looking clothes, very colorful, very fashionable. Perhaps she finally decided to dress the French way: stylishly. It's not an overbearing stylishness. She still sticks to the simple cuts and fabrics. But it changed everything for me.
I'm sure she's her cute usual self, and nothing traumatic happened this past summer. But why was she in black every single day for a year? Was that the normal thing, or is the colorful clothing the normal thing for her? Was she in a phase? Was she in mourning? Is she in a phase now? I have to admit, I'm currently in a black phase, but I wouldn't wear too much black because I don't want my phases to look too obvious. I mean, what will I do with a ton of black clothes when it's over? And really, there was no trigger, but what if people started asking?
I'm doing to her exactly what I don't want people to do to me if I went into an overt black phase and got out of it -- wonder if there is a deeper reason. As far as I'm concerned, there is no reason for me to go into a black phase. Perhaps this is how it is for her. No rhyme, no reason. Just a passing fascination.
With fashion, we are allowed to be fickle. I must remember to not read too much into anything.
She always wore black. Street clothes, comfy clothes. Always black. I thought it was a fashion thing, a fashion statement. She was someone I sort of knew, a person who would smile at me and whom I would smile at if we happened to meet. We had a mutual friend, but I never really got to know her. But I've always thought that she was adorable.
I finally saw her again recently, after the summer. I've seen her twice since school started and the first thing that I noticed was that she no longer wore black. No, she had very smart looking clothes, very colorful, very fashionable. Perhaps she finally decided to dress the French way: stylishly. It's not an overbearing stylishness. She still sticks to the simple cuts and fabrics. But it changed everything for me.
I'm sure she's her cute usual self, and nothing traumatic happened this past summer. But why was she in black every single day for a year? Was that the normal thing, or is the colorful clothing the normal thing for her? Was she in a phase? Was she in mourning? Is she in a phase now? I have to admit, I'm currently in a black phase, but I wouldn't wear too much black because I don't want my phases to look too obvious. I mean, what will I do with a ton of black clothes when it's over? And really, there was no trigger, but what if people started asking?
I'm doing to her exactly what I don't want people to do to me if I went into an overt black phase and got out of it -- wonder if there is a deeper reason. As far as I'm concerned, there is no reason for me to go into a black phase. Perhaps this is how it is for her. No rhyme, no reason. Just a passing fascination.
With fashion, we are allowed to be fickle. I must remember to not read too much into anything.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
The irony of life
It must be obvious and absurb that when a biologist is studying life, he often kills the organism he's working with. Yet, how much can we learn through pure observing?
On an unrelated topic, the tea bag labels have been very boring and I've pretty much grown sick of them. Ocassionally, I come across a gem and a recent one reads: Love, an ocean of emotions entirely surrounded by expenses. I disagree. But that's just me. It's not about the expenses, but how special it feels to be with someone, looking for new ways to create unique memories, only to want to erase them from your mind forever. I'm haunted by beautiful stories about heartbreak, like the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
I'm looking forward to the Science of Sleep. There is nothing quite like a man on a paper-mache horse with his sweetheart. And I'm sounding rather banal.
On an unrelated topic, the tea bag labels have been very boring and I've pretty much grown sick of them. Ocassionally, I come across a gem and a recent one reads: Love, an ocean of emotions entirely surrounded by expenses. I disagree. But that's just me. It's not about the expenses, but how special it feels to be with someone, looking for new ways to create unique memories, only to want to erase them from your mind forever. I'm haunted by beautiful stories about heartbreak, like the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
I'm looking forward to the Science of Sleep. There is nothing quite like a man on a paper-mache horse with his sweetheart. And I'm sounding rather banal.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
The power of braids
I braided my hair yesterday, and boy what a difference that made! It wasn't an experiment on the effects of braiding hair on the general public, but I made some interesting observations that may or may not be valid. I mean, I don't usually braid my hair. I just happened to have had a bad hair day waking up, and I finally decided to braid my hair sometime after lunch. The clothes I was wearing yesterday weren't special -- a black t-shirt and jeans -- so I'm totally assuming that they played no part in eliciting the response that I received from the general public. You can let me know how you feel about my observations.
Incident #1
Time: ~3:15pm; Location: on a street in a residential area just off a main road
What was I doing? I was walking home from a bbq. The weather was lovely, so some people were driving with their windows down. Along came a car with windows rolled down. It stopped at the stop sign, and the friendly driver called out to me, "Hey sexy!" What? Me?
There was no one else on that street, so I think he was talking to me.
Incident #2 & #3
Time: ~4pm; Location: at a housewarming
Upon stepping in, my friend's housemate asked me almost immediately how I braided my hair. The French braid is slightly complicated -looking, so it wasn't an out-of-the-ordinary type of question. I take a tour of the new apartment, and when I came out to join the group of people hanging out in the living room, a classmate said that she liked my hair and asked me how I did it. Another girl replied for me. "It's just a French braid."
Incident #4
Time: ~9:20pm; Location: at home
My roommate, her boyfriend, and 2 other friends were chilling in the living room. My roommate's boyfriend called out as I walked by. "I like your hair. Got a date?" "No, I woke up to a bad hair day." Everyone laughs. My roommate considered growing out her hair and getting braids as well, and her boyfriend said that he would love her despite whatever she might do to her hair.
Incident #5
Time: ~9:30pm; Location: on the street at the corner of the road I live on
There were still some people hanging out after the block party, sitting around in a circle while the children chalked the street. 1 man and about 5 women, all 30 and above. I don't know the neighbors, and I missed the block party. And I was just walking by, so I doubt they know me. I think they called out to me. I might have been mistakened. They called out something again, and I turned my head. "Yeah, we're calling out to you." Oops.
"How old are you?" They shouted at me. "Wanna guess?" "20?" "Close, I'm 23." "Too young for me," said the man. The women laughed. "Yeah, don't even think about it."
Incident #6
Time: ~4am; Location: walking home from a friend's place
It was late, it was dark. The waning moon was a beautiful crescent in the cloudless sky. A couple of cabs are prowling the street. An ocassional car drives by. A quiet night, an approaching car, a wolf-whistle, a departing car. It disrupted the peace of the night for a while. And then fled as the darkness chased it away.
I guess hair is like clothes -- they help attract attention and start conversations. Does it happen to you that often? I wonder what it might have been like if I didn't have braids yesterday. Would I look as friendly and approachable?
Frankly, I thought I looked awful in braids. I'm glad the world isn't as harsh on me.
An ode to French braids: a lengthy blog piece in many words.
Incident #1
Time: ~3:15pm; Location: on a street in a residential area just off a main road
What was I doing? I was walking home from a bbq. The weather was lovely, so some people were driving with their windows down. Along came a car with windows rolled down. It stopped at the stop sign, and the friendly driver called out to me, "Hey sexy!" What? Me?
There was no one else on that street, so I think he was talking to me.
Incident #2 & #3
Time: ~4pm; Location: at a housewarming
Upon stepping in, my friend's housemate asked me almost immediately how I braided my hair. The French braid is slightly complicated -looking, so it wasn't an out-of-the-ordinary type of question. I take a tour of the new apartment, and when I came out to join the group of people hanging out in the living room, a classmate said that she liked my hair and asked me how I did it. Another girl replied for me. "It's just a French braid."
Incident #4
Time: ~9:20pm; Location: at home
My roommate, her boyfriend, and 2 other friends were chilling in the living room. My roommate's boyfriend called out as I walked by. "I like your hair. Got a date?" "No, I woke up to a bad hair day." Everyone laughs. My roommate considered growing out her hair and getting braids as well, and her boyfriend said that he would love her despite whatever she might do to her hair.
Incident #5
Time: ~9:30pm; Location: on the street at the corner of the road I live on
There were still some people hanging out after the block party, sitting around in a circle while the children chalked the street. 1 man and about 5 women, all 30 and above. I don't know the neighbors, and I missed the block party. And I was just walking by, so I doubt they know me. I think they called out to me. I might have been mistakened. They called out something again, and I turned my head. "Yeah, we're calling out to you." Oops.
"How old are you?" They shouted at me. "Wanna guess?" "20?" "Close, I'm 23." "Too young for me," said the man. The women laughed. "Yeah, don't even think about it."
Incident #6
Time: ~4am; Location: walking home from a friend's place
It was late, it was dark. The waning moon was a beautiful crescent in the cloudless sky. A couple of cabs are prowling the street. An ocassional car drives by. A quiet night, an approaching car, a wolf-whistle, a departing car. It disrupted the peace of the night for a while. And then fled as the darkness chased it away.
I guess hair is like clothes -- they help attract attention and start conversations. Does it happen to you that often? I wonder what it might have been like if I didn't have braids yesterday. Would I look as friendly and approachable?
Frankly, I thought I looked awful in braids. I'm glad the world isn't as harsh on me.
An ode to French braids: a lengthy blog piece in many words.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Understanding Koreans
I knew that Korean people were serious about their kimchi, but did you know that they are also very serious about their red pepper powder?
I've decided to finally learn how to make Korean food, and one of my favorite dishes is Sundubu Chigae (Tofu stew). The recipe I found online called for 2 tbsp of red pepper powder, and another website warned that the New Mexico chili powder has a different level of spiciness than the Korean version. To be safe, I decided to get the Korean version.
I went to the Korean grocery store, and figured that I'll pick out the red pepper powder. I combed the aisles, and I did not see a single bottle of that powder. There were bottles of various Japanese spices, none of which were right. Plenty of black pepper, onion powder (is that a Korean or a Japanese thing?), hon-dashi. You name it. But no red pepper powder. But it's a Korean grocery store, so I must be missing something.
I went to the kimchi section, and found jars and pots of chili paste. "That could be a substitute I guess." I wondered if the shop assistants speak enough English so that I can ask them. There was a Korean girl, and a latin-looking girl at the counter, and I went straight up to the latin-looking one, thinking she might speak more English. She did understand me, but she didn't understand "red pepper powder". Was I saying it wrong? Comes the Korean girl to the rescue. She doesn't speak great English, but it was enough. She showed me to the aisle where the Japanese spices were, and found an obscure little bottle of something that was obscured by a huge label. "For udon," she said. I was disturbed. This huge Korean place sells one type of tiny bottle of wimpy red pepper powder for udon? "Is it spicy? I want to make tofu soup."
She led me to the next aisle, and pointed to the large packets at the bottom. "These are the Korean ones. We use a lot of red pepper powder, so there are no small packs." No kidding. The smallest was a 1lb pack. Most of the shelf was filled with 2-3lb packs. I saw then why I didn't find what I was looking for -- I was looking for the wrong thing. She left me to decide which brand I wanted. I decided that I wasn't going to eat 1lb of red pepper powder, so the cheapest pack would be good. It was a pack of coarse red powder. What's the difference really?
I took the pack up to the front and got ready to pay. The Korean girl beckoned to me, and she took a look at the pack of red pepper powder and shook her head. "This one is for kimchi." She flipped the pack to the back and sure enough, tons of Korean words, and 3 large pretty pictures of kimchi. I didn't see the back. I wonder if I would have understood the pictures. "You want the smaller bits." She meant to get the fine powder. Sure.
I went back and got something that said "fine" on it. I guess I didn't learn, because I didn't check the pack for instructions. I went up front and gave her the bag. "Not this one." What? I pointed to the word "fine" and she looked lost for a moment and pointed to the ton of Korean words in front. "You don't read Korean, but this one is for making chili paste. " Ah. Well. At least there were no pictures. She decided then that it was a better idea for her to help me find the right pack. So we went back to the aisle and got the right pack of red pepper powder finally.
What did I learn today? 1. There are at least 3 different types of red pepper powder. 2. Korean people eat red pepper powder by the pound. How long will my 1lb pack last me? I don't know, but I sure hope the Sundubu Chigae turns out well because that's a lot of Sundubu Chigae in that bag of red powdery wonder.
I've decided to finally learn how to make Korean food, and one of my favorite dishes is Sundubu Chigae (Tofu stew). The recipe I found online called for 2 tbsp of red pepper powder, and another website warned that the New Mexico chili powder has a different level of spiciness than the Korean version. To be safe, I decided to get the Korean version.
I went to the Korean grocery store, and figured that I'll pick out the red pepper powder. I combed the aisles, and I did not see a single bottle of that powder. There were bottles of various Japanese spices, none of which were right. Plenty of black pepper, onion powder (is that a Korean or a Japanese thing?), hon-dashi. You name it. But no red pepper powder. But it's a Korean grocery store, so I must be missing something.
I went to the kimchi section, and found jars and pots of chili paste. "That could be a substitute I guess." I wondered if the shop assistants speak enough English so that I can ask them. There was a Korean girl, and a latin-looking girl at the counter, and I went straight up to the latin-looking one, thinking she might speak more English. She did understand me, but she didn't understand "red pepper powder". Was I saying it wrong? Comes the Korean girl to the rescue. She doesn't speak great English, but it was enough. She showed me to the aisle where the Japanese spices were, and found an obscure little bottle of something that was obscured by a huge label. "For udon," she said. I was disturbed. This huge Korean place sells one type of tiny bottle of wimpy red pepper powder for udon? "Is it spicy? I want to make tofu soup."
She led me to the next aisle, and pointed to the large packets at the bottom. "These are the Korean ones. We use a lot of red pepper powder, so there are no small packs." No kidding. The smallest was a 1lb pack. Most of the shelf was filled with 2-3lb packs. I saw then why I didn't find what I was looking for -- I was looking for the wrong thing. She left me to decide which brand I wanted. I decided that I wasn't going to eat 1lb of red pepper powder, so the cheapest pack would be good. It was a pack of coarse red powder. What's the difference really?
I took the pack up to the front and got ready to pay. The Korean girl beckoned to me, and she took a look at the pack of red pepper powder and shook her head. "This one is for kimchi." She flipped the pack to the back and sure enough, tons of Korean words, and 3 large pretty pictures of kimchi. I didn't see the back. I wonder if I would have understood the pictures. "You want the smaller bits." She meant to get the fine powder. Sure.
I went back and got something that said "fine" on it. I guess I didn't learn, because I didn't check the pack for instructions. I went up front and gave her the bag. "Not this one." What? I pointed to the word "fine" and she looked lost for a moment and pointed to the ton of Korean words in front. "You don't read Korean, but this one is for making chili paste. " Ah. Well. At least there were no pictures. She decided then that it was a better idea for her to help me find the right pack. So we went back to the aisle and got the right pack of red pepper powder finally.
What did I learn today? 1. There are at least 3 different types of red pepper powder. 2. Korean people eat red pepper powder by the pound. How long will my 1lb pack last me? I don't know, but I sure hope the Sundubu Chigae turns out well because that's a lot of Sundubu Chigae in that bag of red powdery wonder.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
fortune cookies
There is something uncanny about the fortune cookies I get at Changsho. The most recent one said "Heroism is endurance for one moment more." I should have kept the last one that I got because that one was right on the money. I've been insomniac the past 2 months or so, and last month, the slip in the cookie said something about fear causing one to toss and turn at night, while faith makes a good pillow.
Oh, and they use chocolate-flavored fortune cookies.
"My “I” is puny, cautious, too sane. Good writers are roaring egotists, even to the point of fatuity. Sane men, critics, correct them — but their sanity is parasitic on the creative fatuity of genius." -- On Self, NY Times Magazine, Sept 10, 2006
I've never been a great performer on stage. That's why I quit dance years ago...that and because I wasn't good enough anyway. I don't know. I feel like it might have been psychological, feeling that I wasn't good enough. Most of the time, arrogance plays no part in distinguishing me from the rest of the crowd because I was more competent anyway (yes, I did say that. I am capable of being politically incorrect you know). Except when it came to dance. Perhaps I would be a better writer if I were a roaring egoist.
*Roar*
Oh, and they use chocolate-flavored fortune cookies.
"My “I” is puny, cautious, too sane. Good writers are roaring egotists, even to the point of fatuity. Sane men, critics, correct them — but their sanity is parasitic on the creative fatuity of genius." -- On Self, NY Times Magazine, Sept 10, 2006
I've never been a great performer on stage. That's why I quit dance years ago...that and because I wasn't good enough anyway. I don't know. I feel like it might have been psychological, feeling that I wasn't good enough. Most of the time, arrogance plays no part in distinguishing me from the rest of the crowd because I was more competent anyway (yes, I did say that. I am capable of being politically incorrect you know). Except when it came to dance. Perhaps I would be a better writer if I were a roaring egoist.
*Roar*
Saturday, September 09, 2006
A New Beginning....
Or so I thought. For a few days after I got back my computer, I was able to resist the temptation of carrying it around, and spending all night with it. I'm back to the old ways again...almost. I'm trying to read more these days. It's not really happening, but I'll try. I don't know how I used to read non-stop when I was a kid. It was good though.I seemed to have had plenty of time back in those days. These days, I wonder where my time's gone.
This next new book I have seems promising though. I should have opened it weeks ago. The foreword of Brave New World starts like this.
"Chronic remorse, as all the moralists are agreed, is a most undesirable sentiment. If you have behaved badly, repent, make what amends you can and address yourself to the task of behaving better next time. On no account brood over your wrongdoing. Rolling in the muck is not the best way of getting clean."
I have 5 days till the book is due back at the library. I hope that the rest of it is as fun.
This next new book I have seems promising though. I should have opened it weeks ago. The foreword of Brave New World starts like this.
"Chronic remorse, as all the moralists are agreed, is a most undesirable sentiment. If you have behaved badly, repent, make what amends you can and address yourself to the task of behaving better next time. On no account brood over your wrongdoing. Rolling in the muck is not the best way of getting clean."
I have 5 days till the book is due back at the library. I hope that the rest of it is as fun.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
she is happy
I haven't seen her in 4 years. The last time we met, we sort of knew that it'll be a long time before we would meet again. Back then, I didn't know that I'll be away from home for so long. She sort of knew that she wasn't going to be home often, if at all. And many things have happened these past 4 years.
I've known her for almost 10 years now. I don't know if I've ever seen her happy. There was always something going on in her life. Happiness, if it at all existed, was something nebulous and transient. I don't know how she held on, but she did. And she prevailed. She seems happy now.
I haven't heard her voice in 3 years. I usually IM her. They say that it's hard to really interact via IM properly. You can't see facial expressions, or hear the tone of the voice. But you can tell when someone's happy, happier than you've ever seen or heard her before. She'll talk about silly mundane, banal stuff that would be incredibly boring ordinarily, but somehow sound incredibly interesting because it's special to her. And because she has infused her words with feelings, you can feel them too. It's contagious.
When I think of her, I hear this song, This Melody by Julien Clerc.
This melody
Is a melody for you
Cette mélodie (this melody)
C'est l'océan entre nous (it's the ocean between us)
Cette mélodie (this melody)
D'eau salée et de mélancolie (of salty water and melancholy)
Dans ton pays (In your country)
Elle te revient parfois (she returns to you sometimes)
Comme ça, voilà, comme ça (just like that, voila, just like that)
Le vent d'ici (the wind of this place)
Fait voler tous nos oiseaux (steals all our birds)
Les champs d'ici (the fields of this place)
Font ce qu'ils peuvent pour les troupeaux (do all they can for our herds)
Les gens d'ici (the people of this place)
Qui ne connaîtront pas d'autre vie (don't know of any other life)
Dans ce pays (in this country)
Dont les fruits sont si beaux (where the fruits are so beautiful)
Qu'on se contente des noyaux (that we are placated by their seeds)
This melody
Is a melody for you
Les gens d'ici ne sont pas plus grands (the people here aren't bigger)
Plus fiers ou plus beaux (prouder or more beautiful)
Seulement, ils sont d'ici, les gens d'ici, (it's just they are from here, the people from here)
Comme cette mélodie (like this melody)
Les gens d'ici ne sont pas plus grands
Plus fiers ou plus beaux
Seulement, ils sont d'ici, les gens d'ici,
Comme cette mélodie
Tu est partie (you're gone)
Mais ton rève reste au chaud (but your dream remains warm)
Ce vieux soleil(this old sun)
Etait trop fort pour ta peau (is too strong for your skin)
Cette mélodie (this melody)
Qui reviendra parfois dans ta vie (that returns sometimes into your life)
Cette mélodie (this melody)
Dans ta ville s'est transformée en pluie, en pluie... (in your town is transformed into rain, into rain)
That's why
This melody is a melody for you
I don't know if the song makes sense to you, but that's this melody for me. Something that returns at times, whose memory in our old paradise remains a warm fuzzy feeling, but is no longer with me. Do I say "au revoir" or "adieu"?
I've known her for almost 10 years now. I don't know if I've ever seen her happy. There was always something going on in her life. Happiness, if it at all existed, was something nebulous and transient. I don't know how she held on, but she did. And she prevailed. She seems happy now.
I haven't heard her voice in 3 years. I usually IM her. They say that it's hard to really interact via IM properly. You can't see facial expressions, or hear the tone of the voice. But you can tell when someone's happy, happier than you've ever seen or heard her before. She'll talk about silly mundane, banal stuff that would be incredibly boring ordinarily, but somehow sound incredibly interesting because it's special to her. And because she has infused her words with feelings, you can feel them too. It's contagious.
When I think of her, I hear this song, This Melody by Julien Clerc.
This melody
Is a melody for you
Cette mélodie (this melody)
C'est l'océan entre nous (it's the ocean between us)
Cette mélodie (this melody)
D'eau salée et de mélancolie (of salty water and melancholy)
Dans ton pays (In your country)
Elle te revient parfois (she returns to you sometimes)
Comme ça, voilà, comme ça (just like that, voila, just like that)
Le vent d'ici (the wind of this place)
Fait voler tous nos oiseaux (steals all our birds)
Les champs d'ici (the fields of this place)
Font ce qu'ils peuvent pour les troupeaux (do all they can for our herds)
Les gens d'ici (the people of this place)
Qui ne connaîtront pas d'autre vie (don't know of any other life)
Dans ce pays (in this country)
Dont les fruits sont si beaux (where the fruits are so beautiful)
Qu'on se contente des noyaux (that we are placated by their seeds)
This melody
Is a melody for you
Les gens d'ici ne sont pas plus grands (the people here aren't bigger)
Plus fiers ou plus beaux (prouder or more beautiful)
Seulement, ils sont d'ici, les gens d'ici, (it's just they are from here, the people from here)
Comme cette mélodie (like this melody)
Les gens d'ici ne sont pas plus grands
Plus fiers ou plus beaux
Seulement, ils sont d'ici, les gens d'ici,
Comme cette mélodie
Tu est partie (you're gone)
Mais ton rève reste au chaud (but your dream remains warm)
Ce vieux soleil(this old sun)
Etait trop fort pour ta peau (is too strong for your skin)
Cette mélodie (this melody)
Qui reviendra parfois dans ta vie (that returns sometimes into your life)
Cette mélodie (this melody)
Dans ta ville s'est transformée en pluie, en pluie... (in your town is transformed into rain, into rain)
That's why
This melody is a melody for you
I don't know if the song makes sense to you, but that's this melody for me. Something that returns at times, whose memory in our old paradise remains a warm fuzzy feeling, but is no longer with me. Do I say "au revoir" or "adieu"?
Monday, August 28, 2006
circumstances and free will
I was going to write about how habits can change so easily -- I'm talking about how I have somehow adapted to not having a computer at home this past 3 weeks, and how I'm trying to minimize my use of the computer when I'm home these days. I find that I actually have more time to do things if I didn't try to multitask, like surf while reading. Then I distracted myself for a bit reading the New York Times, and came across this little line about love. "Love is always a combination of need, desire, compatibility and convenience that converge at any given moment." (Dust to Dust: An Affair Post 9/11, Aug 27, 2006, Nikki Stern) I think it's one of the best definitions of love I've ever seen. If you take away the part about compatibility, we could be talking about habits.
It might be a futile exercise, trying to break down my habits and past loves and try to understand them as parts of their more elemental components (I'm not sure if those 4 headings fully capture the most basic elements). But it's important to recognize that there is a part of the equation that takes into account convenience. Yes, I think that is what struck me. The admission that love, great as it is, is also circumstantial. To me, that means that love isn't really as great as it is.
It's what I've always been afraid of -- what if I had a say in picking my parents? Would I choose the same people? Do I truly love my family, or is it all circumstantial? And exactly what is so bad about a love being made up of, at least in part, by circumstances? I hate the idea that free will isn't enough. I can't explain why it is important that choices were made, and not thrust upon us. I like to think that we are free and responsible people. That we are not certainly troubles me. Because we are human, not animals, to paraphrase Dune.
I admire it when a person is able to walk away from temptation. It is then that circumstances don't matter. He can then say that he's above it, that he is one step closer to God.
It might be a futile exercise, trying to break down my habits and past loves and try to understand them as parts of their more elemental components (I'm not sure if those 4 headings fully capture the most basic elements). But it's important to recognize that there is a part of the equation that takes into account convenience. Yes, I think that is what struck me. The admission that love, great as it is, is also circumstantial. To me, that means that love isn't really as great as it is.
It's what I've always been afraid of -- what if I had a say in picking my parents? Would I choose the same people? Do I truly love my family, or is it all circumstantial? And exactly what is so bad about a love being made up of, at least in part, by circumstances? I hate the idea that free will isn't enough. I can't explain why it is important that choices were made, and not thrust upon us. I like to think that we are free and responsible people. That we are not certainly troubles me. Because we are human, not animals, to paraphrase Dune.
I admire it when a person is able to walk away from temptation. It is then that circumstances don't matter. He can then say that he's above it, that he is one step closer to God.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Who is Dani California?
I stumbled upon a mystery yesterday -- who is Dani California? Yes, I know that you know the answer: she's the girl in the song by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I only just realized that yesterday. For about a week, I kept hearing the song over the radio, and the only words I really heard were "California rest in peace". I thought it was political. You know, like the great state of California. I had to see the lyrics but typing in "Dani California" into Google, I saw that there was a wikipedia page on it. So I read it.
It seems that Ms. Dani California has a history. She was maybe twice referred to, by name in "By the Way", and possibly an indirect reference in "Californication" as the "teenage bride with the baby inside". According to Wikipedia, the lyricist Kiedis has explained that Dani "embodies all the women from his past relationships". I don't follow the Chili Peppers music too religiously, so I don't know if Dani has existed before 2002, or even 1999. Her sudden appearance is interesting. People don't just appear, if you know what I mean. I don't know if she really was a "teenage bride" -- Kiedis dates high profile women. If he did keep picking "teenage brides", I must say that he has some strange taste.
Ah yes, the things I wonder about when I don't have a computer to keep me company at night.
While we are on the subject of music still, have you ever heard of Intelligent Dance music? I really like the genre, and it's not because it's called Intelligent Dance music. I must say that it's a great-sounding name though. I'm putting in a plug for the latest single from Death Cab for Cutie, "I'll follow you into the dark". You know the song will be a hit when it starts off with "Love of mine, someday you will die..." It's the sweetest song ever. The other group that I really like in this genre is the Postal Service, but let's listen to Death Cab for Cutie for now.
I can't wait to get my computer back so that I can start blogging in the comfort of my own room. You must have seen videos about how the internet is for porn. I think blogging is like porn - best enjoyed privately. How is your week coming along?
It seems that Ms. Dani California has a history. She was maybe twice referred to, by name in "By the Way", and possibly an indirect reference in "Californication" as the "teenage bride with the baby inside". According to Wikipedia, the lyricist Kiedis has explained that Dani "embodies all the women from his past relationships". I don't follow the Chili Peppers music too religiously, so I don't know if Dani has existed before 2002, or even 1999. Her sudden appearance is interesting. People don't just appear, if you know what I mean. I don't know if she really was a "teenage bride" -- Kiedis dates high profile women. If he did keep picking "teenage brides", I must say that he has some strange taste.
Ah yes, the things I wonder about when I don't have a computer to keep me company at night.
While we are on the subject of music still, have you ever heard of Intelligent Dance music? I really like the genre, and it's not because it's called Intelligent Dance music. I must say that it's a great-sounding name though. I'm putting in a plug for the latest single from Death Cab for Cutie, "I'll follow you into the dark". You know the song will be a hit when it starts off with "Love of mine, someday you will die..." It's the sweetest song ever. The other group that I really like in this genre is the Postal Service, but let's listen to Death Cab for Cutie for now.
I can't wait to get my computer back so that I can start blogging in the comfort of my own room. You must have seen videos about how the internet is for porn. I think blogging is like porn - best enjoyed privately. How is your week coming along?
Sunday, August 06, 2006
all I want from Berkeley
Things haven't exactly been great the past 2 weeks, what's with my hand injury and my hard disk crashing. The one silver lining in the dark dark clouds is that the only radio station I like in the world (for now at least) is finally streaming online. Here's a link to their website: Live105. They are an alternative radio station based in San Francisco and it's slightly nostalgic listening to them. I am reminded of the times I was driving around on lazy weekends back in Berkeley. These days, they seem to mock me -- It's a blazing 76F in San Francisco. Temperatures were hitting triple digits here last week. It's nice to know that there is a cooler place on earth to be in. My consolation is that I am at least keeping current with the latest music after being out of the scene for a year.
If you do listen to Live105, listen out for the ad by the Shane Company. You'll recognize it easily by the signature monotonous male voice, Mr John (I think) Shane. The company is in Cupertino, San Mateo, Novato and Walnut Creek. They don't play that ad often, but if you do hear it, you'll understand why it's such a great ad. So now like me, you too will have a friend in the diamond business.
The one rock station I listen to here in Boston is incredibly rude to their listeners. "I wonder how fat people cope with the heat." Live105 does rude stuff as well, but in a much more refined and constructive way. This weekend, they are giving out tickets to a performance by a Jewish performer. The ad for the give-away recommends that Mel Gibson calls in for his free ticket to get to know Jewish people better. Since Mel Gibson is probably too busy to call in for his ticket, other listeners can call in after 5 minutes to claim the unclaimed ticket. There we go, public service!
I don't remember any other special weekend (even though they have something pretty often) except for the Pride parade of 2004. Live105 was "all gay all day" that weekend, and they played a lot of Madonna. Ah...nothing like a community-based radio station in touch with their listeners. How that Boston radio station survives making fun of every single type of listener beats me. I'm not quite getting the East Coast humor.
Next on the list of things I want from Berkeley -- the Berkeley Bowl.
If you do listen to Live105, listen out for the ad by the Shane Company. You'll recognize it easily by the signature monotonous male voice, Mr John (I think) Shane. The company is in Cupertino, San Mateo, Novato and Walnut Creek. They don't play that ad often, but if you do hear it, you'll understand why it's such a great ad. So now like me, you too will have a friend in the diamond business.
The one rock station I listen to here in Boston is incredibly rude to their listeners. "I wonder how fat people cope with the heat." Live105 does rude stuff as well, but in a much more refined and constructive way. This weekend, they are giving out tickets to a performance by a Jewish performer. The ad for the give-away recommends that Mel Gibson calls in for his free ticket to get to know Jewish people better. Since Mel Gibson is probably too busy to call in for his ticket, other listeners can call in after 5 minutes to claim the unclaimed ticket. There we go, public service!
I don't remember any other special weekend (even though they have something pretty often) except for the Pride parade of 2004. Live105 was "all gay all day" that weekend, and they played a lot of Madonna. Ah...nothing like a community-based radio station in touch with their listeners. How that Boston radio station survives making fun of every single type of listener beats me. I'm not quite getting the East Coast humor.
Next on the list of things I want from Berkeley -- the Berkeley Bowl.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
choices in life
There are promises. There are promises that you will keep, and there are promises that you won't keep. And then there are promises that you don't know how to keep. What do we do with those? It's no longer about remembering. It's about finding a way, and no way am I going to put these unfulfilled promises with the ones that were forgotten. They haunt the mind. Why did you agree? Why did you offer? Because.
Because you want it to happen very badly, and perhaps if you hope hard enough and try, there will be a way. Because you want to give hope, and perhaps the other person will find a way. Don't give up. And we try, and we fail. And then what? I did my best. You did your best. I shouldn't have made that promise, and you shouldn't have held me to it.
Sunday mornings should be reserved for happy cartoons. I made a bad choice this morning, but it's still a beautiful day.
Because you want it to happen very badly, and perhaps if you hope hard enough and try, there will be a way. Because you want to give hope, and perhaps the other person will find a way. Don't give up. And we try, and we fail. And then what? I did my best. You did your best. I shouldn't have made that promise, and you shouldn't have held me to it.
Sunday mornings should be reserved for happy cartoons. I made a bad choice this morning, but it's still a beautiful day.
Friday, July 28, 2006
cycles of adaptation
It started off innocently enough. She told me that she would have to start cooking. And I asked how she survived in the past without cooking, wanting to know what made someone who never used to cook, much if at all, want to start. She whispered, "My boyfriend...and Trader Joe's frozen dinners." It wasn't hard trying to figure out which part was missing. We shifted the conversation topic to Trader Joe's frozen dinners.
It has been often said that you don't know what you're missing until you lose it. Maybe it's been said too often. I am afraid of losing everything in case I miss something. I'm thankfully not a packrat. I didn't think of the possibility of losing the function of a thumb for a week, but it's happened to me recently, and life has been very different for better or worse. Hopefully for the better of course. And then we adapt and everything becomes a blur again.
I don't like habits. But I have them. I couldn't survive without them, yet with them I am more vulnerable. We can hope that adapting means changing for the better, since you wouldn't want to change to make things worse. But having a new addiction just means a shift of reliance. Ah yes, life is one huge vicious cycle of shifting reliance. That is what you think I am driving at. Maybe. I don't really have an end in mind.
All I wanted to do is write.
It has been often said that you don't know what you're missing until you lose it. Maybe it's been said too often. I am afraid of losing everything in case I miss something. I'm thankfully not a packrat. I didn't think of the possibility of losing the function of a thumb for a week, but it's happened to me recently, and life has been very different for better or worse. Hopefully for the better of course. And then we adapt and everything becomes a blur again.
I don't like habits. But I have them. I couldn't survive without them, yet with them I am more vulnerable. We can hope that adapting means changing for the better, since you wouldn't want to change to make things worse. But having a new addiction just means a shift of reliance. Ah yes, life is one huge vicious cycle of shifting reliance. That is what you think I am driving at. Maybe. I don't really have an end in mind.
All I wanted to do is write.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
incoherent thoughts
You look like someone who has lunched poorly and who has no expectations of dinner.
That is one of the better lines I've seen over at the Surrealist Compliment Generator. Exactly how is it a compliment? I don't know.
I don't know when I started deliberately trying to be show that I'm different and special. From not liking the fact that I was the odd one out, I've become so used to not fitting in that being part of anything coherent just makes me feel awful. It's one of those nights when I'm just moody I guess. I don't really believe that I'm that special, but I just need to feel that way.
I fell in love with the word "misanthrope" when I first saw it. Should I have been surprised to find out that my thoughts are not unique, that a long time ago someone figured out that such a malaise of the mind existed and gave it a name? I was relieved somewhat to know that I was normal in the grander scheme of life. I am not alone; I am with other tortured minds that have made good.
Growing up, my dad taught me a few things about friends. Always keep a group of people around you that you can trust. And what you see of them in 10 years, it is what you will become. I have failed to generate a good group, although I'm getting there. But there is no way we will be on the same path in 10 years. Promises of the present rarely carry forward to the future. The past shouldn't be the only thing keeping us together. It often fails to anyway.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
thoughts while sewing
Sewing cushion covers tonight, I recalled the last few months of junior college, and the general pessimism that prevailed. When will it all be over? I was very worried at that point in time because some of the girls were joking about giving up and marrying someone. It was a pretty bad joke repeated too many times. If those girls I knew were failures, the rest of the world didn't have a chance. Or so I thought.
But it seems that the rest of the world is more resilient. Many awful things have happened, and will continue to happen, and humans go on living.
Did I mention that I was sewing cushion covers? The world continues to amaze me, and I continue to amaze myself, seeing the person I am becoming. I cook, I sew, and I can still be a feminist. We live in fortunate times.
But it seems that the rest of the world is more resilient. Many awful things have happened, and will continue to happen, and humans go on living.
Did I mention that I was sewing cushion covers? The world continues to amaze me, and I continue to amaze myself, seeing the person I am becoming. I cook, I sew, and I can still be a feminist. We live in fortunate times.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Le battement d'ailes du papillon
I recalled while brushing my teeth just now the moment when I discovered the butterfly effect. It was a very romantic notion, the idea that the flapping of a butterfly's wings can cause a storm across the Atlantic. I was watching a movie, and the opening scene had a butterfly I think, and there I heard described the romantic idea that little things can have very big effects. In case you want to see the movie, the English title is Happenstance, starring Audrey Tautou.
I checked up on the butterfly effect for a fuller understanding of it, and I kind of gave up at that point. The real and deeper meaning of the butterfly effect has its roots in Chaos Theory, which I am proud to say that like 99% of the world, I am unable to fathom. Fine, I didn't try, but I was never under the impression that I was particularly gifted in certain aspects.
Let's go back to romantic version of the butterfly effect -- the idea that something very small and seemingly inconsequential has a profound effect on life. The idea that we are all linked, interconnected. That everything we do is of consequence, which by extrapolation means that we are all important players in determining the direction this world is taking. Take a deep breath and ponder on your importance. Now take a pin and deflate that bubble.
Reading further into that statement, I can also say that we are not important at all. Our absence will cause a reaction perhaps, and the world will go down another path. The point is, the world will change anyway and no one path is necessarily better than another. We don't know the unrealized path. It is not relevant. The world will go on.
Zidane's headbutt may have its origins in the Algerian war. The reason I am in my present location may have to do with a class I took years ago, or with a person I met years ago, or a more recent event. I don't know which was the butterfly's wings, and which was the contribution of the flapping of the hummingbird feeding one bright morning.
I'm not a person for what-if's. Not that I don't care about the butterfly effect, but beauty is not exactly always useful. I like beautiful things anyway.
I checked up on the butterfly effect for a fuller understanding of it, and I kind of gave up at that point. The real and deeper meaning of the butterfly effect has its roots in Chaos Theory, which I am proud to say that like 99% of the world, I am unable to fathom. Fine, I didn't try, but I was never under the impression that I was particularly gifted in certain aspects.
Let's go back to romantic version of the butterfly effect -- the idea that something very small and seemingly inconsequential has a profound effect on life. The idea that we are all linked, interconnected. That everything we do is of consequence, which by extrapolation means that we are all important players in determining the direction this world is taking. Take a deep breath and ponder on your importance. Now take a pin and deflate that bubble.
Reading further into that statement, I can also say that we are not important at all. Our absence will cause a reaction perhaps, and the world will go down another path. The point is, the world will change anyway and no one path is necessarily better than another. We don't know the unrealized path. It is not relevant. The world will go on.
Zidane's headbutt may have its origins in the Algerian war. The reason I am in my present location may have to do with a class I took years ago, or with a person I met years ago, or a more recent event. I don't know which was the butterfly's wings, and which was the contribution of the flapping of the hummingbird feeding one bright morning.
I'm not a person for what-if's. Not that I don't care about the butterfly effect, but beauty is not exactly always useful. I like beautiful things anyway.
Monday, July 10, 2006
I'm still alive
You probably know that, but I thought to be considerate and let you know anyway.
I was supposed to be in California last week, but I cancelled that trip and it wasn't a bad decision. I got to see the 4th of July fireworks in Boston -- which are the best I have ever seen if I may add -- and I got to attend a wedding. I didn't cancel my trip to do those things, but they happened.
Growing up, I've always thought that weddings were huge formal events with no hint of romance to them. It was probably impossible to feel anything for people you don't know. I liked attending weddings though because there was always a feast. Oh, the innocent joys of childhood.
The wedding I was at on Friday was a simple civil ceremony. There was no rehearsal, and the City Hall official presiding over the affair couldn't get my friend's name right, so he stumbled while repeating the words because he couldn't figure out what she was saying. My friend looked dashing and nervous, and when someone made a mistake, we all giggled. And the ceremony continued.
There was no official photographer -- I brought my camera along so I tried my best. I didn't know where the boundaries were, or if I was going to disturb the ceremony, but the kind City Hall official told me to go ahead. When the couple finally exchanged rings, she turned around and said that there will be a slight pause while she rearranges the couple so that people with cameras can get that important picture with the couple, the bouquet and the rings on their fingers. It was all unplanned, but very real. There was more goodwill towards the couple in that room of 20 people than in the huge ballroom of 200 people of my childhood. I think. Maybe I think wrongly.
Outside the City Hall, the bride tossed her bouquet and hit me squarely in my right shoulder. I wasn't paying attention and I flinched and the bouquet fell to the ground. Peter said that he had never seen that reaction before. Thus the bride had to throw her bouquet again, and this time, I didn't get it. Whew.
Not that I don't want to get married mind you. Seeing the people around me getting married and having children these past few years has made me realize my own mortality. My cousin once confessed that he didn't think that I was quite human. Dear cousin is quite wrong. I feel too. Tired, happy, sad, alive.
I was supposed to be in California last week, but I cancelled that trip and it wasn't a bad decision. I got to see the 4th of July fireworks in Boston -- which are the best I have ever seen if I may add -- and I got to attend a wedding. I didn't cancel my trip to do those things, but they happened.
Growing up, I've always thought that weddings were huge formal events with no hint of romance to them. It was probably impossible to feel anything for people you don't know. I liked attending weddings though because there was always a feast. Oh, the innocent joys of childhood.
The wedding I was at on Friday was a simple civil ceremony. There was no rehearsal, and the City Hall official presiding over the affair couldn't get my friend's name right, so he stumbled while repeating the words because he couldn't figure out what she was saying. My friend looked dashing and nervous, and when someone made a mistake, we all giggled. And the ceremony continued.
There was no official photographer -- I brought my camera along so I tried my best. I didn't know where the boundaries were, or if I was going to disturb the ceremony, but the kind City Hall official told me to go ahead. When the couple finally exchanged rings, she turned around and said that there will be a slight pause while she rearranges the couple so that people with cameras can get that important picture with the couple, the bouquet and the rings on their fingers. It was all unplanned, but very real. There was more goodwill towards the couple in that room of 20 people than in the huge ballroom of 200 people of my childhood. I think. Maybe I think wrongly.
Outside the City Hall, the bride tossed her bouquet and hit me squarely in my right shoulder. I wasn't paying attention and I flinched and the bouquet fell to the ground. Peter said that he had never seen that reaction before. Thus the bride had to throw her bouquet again, and this time, I didn't get it. Whew.
Not that I don't want to get married mind you. Seeing the people around me getting married and having children these past few years has made me realize my own mortality. My cousin once confessed that he didn't think that I was quite human. Dear cousin is quite wrong. I feel too. Tired, happy, sad, alive.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
the way the world used to look
Remember that advertising slogan "I'm a Toys R Us kid"? I used to have one of those T-shirts, but I was never a Toys R Us kid. In fact, I was deeply disappointed and never found out why anyone would want to go to Toys R Us. And Toys R Us had no one else to blame except themselves.
Growing up, there was this advertisement on tv with children singing "I don't want to grow up..." and you see happy children running around this furry, child-friendly amusement park-like place with a giant giraffe. I don't think I had ever been to an amusement park then, but I really wanted to go to Toys R Us. I bugged my parents and finally they brought me there. I have no memory of going there unfortunately. The next memory I have with relation to Toys R Us is seeing the ad again on tv and asking my parents if we could go. They looked at me and said, "But we've been there and you didn't like it."
Since I have no memory of ever going to Toys R Us, I shall have to imagine what my impression of Toys R Us was. My guess is that I saw rows and rows and shelves and shelves of boxes, colorful boxes but nonetheless boxes. Maybe there were a few toys out for kids to play with, but there was definitely no giant giraffe prancing around, or rides, or gardens of fluffy giant animals. You can see how an impressionable child of 5 was scarred for life. Why would she ever be a Toys R Us kid? Clearly, Toys R Us had a lot to learn from MacDonald's with regards to marketing and children, bringing up hopes and dashing them.
I don't watch tv too much these days, if at all. I wonder how many other children out there get disappointed like I did when I was much younger. Monkeys don't hop out of cereal boxes (Cocoa Crunch used to have that) and swing around the kitchen. You don't get a strange tiger(?) on an adventure with children looking for hidden treasure (Paddle Pop ice cream) being chased around by a pirate. Having been taken in by one advertisement, I learnt to ignore those false advertisements, and consequently the products to prevent further disappointment. Paddle Pop ice cream will never taste good to me, and I didn't enjoy Cocoa Crunch. I'll forever be confused about why I don't get a swinging monkey in my kitchen, or a treasure hunt for ice cream.
Some childhood memories are strange, but they are the way I have seen the world. Silly as I may have been, I still make sense to myself.
Growing up, there was this advertisement on tv with children singing "I don't want to grow up..." and you see happy children running around this furry, child-friendly amusement park-like place with a giant giraffe. I don't think I had ever been to an amusement park then, but I really wanted to go to Toys R Us. I bugged my parents and finally they brought me there. I have no memory of going there unfortunately. The next memory I have with relation to Toys R Us is seeing the ad again on tv and asking my parents if we could go. They looked at me and said, "But we've been there and you didn't like it."
Since I have no memory of ever going to Toys R Us, I shall have to imagine what my impression of Toys R Us was. My guess is that I saw rows and rows and shelves and shelves of boxes, colorful boxes but nonetheless boxes. Maybe there were a few toys out for kids to play with, but there was definitely no giant giraffe prancing around, or rides, or gardens of fluffy giant animals. You can see how an impressionable child of 5 was scarred for life. Why would she ever be a Toys R Us kid? Clearly, Toys R Us had a lot to learn from MacDonald's with regards to marketing and children, bringing up hopes and dashing them.
I don't watch tv too much these days, if at all. I wonder how many other children out there get disappointed like I did when I was much younger. Monkeys don't hop out of cereal boxes (Cocoa Crunch used to have that) and swing around the kitchen. You don't get a strange tiger(?) on an adventure with children looking for hidden treasure (Paddle Pop ice cream) being chased around by a pirate. Having been taken in by one advertisement, I learnt to ignore those false advertisements, and consequently the products to prevent further disappointment. Paddle Pop ice cream will never taste good to me, and I didn't enjoy Cocoa Crunch. I'll forever be confused about why I don't get a swinging monkey in my kitchen, or a treasure hunt for ice cream.
Some childhood memories are strange, but they are the way I have seen the world. Silly as I may have been, I still make sense to myself.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
written in 30 seconds
They are all my voices
And again, I shall speak
Of the past, the present, the future
Of thoughts, of emotions
Of hope and dreams
Of darkness and gloom
All part of one voice
A body, an existence
Repeating
Voices of the old have already spoken
Personal criteria for writing -- if it doesn't come out in as much as time as needed to type it all out, it's not ready to be written.
And again, I shall speak
Of the past, the present, the future
Of thoughts, of emotions
Of hope and dreams
Of darkness and gloom
All part of one voice
A body, an existence
Repeating
Voices of the old have already spoken
Personal criteria for writing -- if it doesn't come out in as much as time as needed to type it all out, it's not ready to be written.
On a road
I know that I said that I would write regularly, but it's not going to happen these few weeks. I'm busy, and I will be busy. No, this is not some attempt to make myself sound important. There is nothing to be proud of being busy with the mundane things in life. I wouldn't dismiss my activities altogether though. Being busy with frivolous mundane things can be rather fulfilling -- there is a specific goal, and you know you can finish the task. It makes you feel good about yourself, and maybe there will be a virtuous cycle that spirals into larger things. Being busy keeps me from those existential thoughts that plague me, which is both a relief and a source of discomfort. Falling asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow, instead of staying awake and reflecting on recent events -- would it be absurd to claim that it's times like this that distinguishes the worker bees from the individuals? Maybe. For all we know, worker bees do think. We sort of follow these time progressions with regards to our responsibilities in life anyway. Maybe we are worker bees.
You know that rebeling is futile when the rebel follows a set of motions exhibited by (an)other rebel(s). If "On the Road" is the bible for the rebel, isn't that still following some sort of a guideline? A stereotype defined by society albeit different from another society stereotype that you are trying to get out of.
I walked past a poster for a play that had the word "Kerouac" on it. It was like the sign saying "for madmen only", and like Harry Haller, I had to walk in. Because, maybe.
You know that rebeling is futile when the rebel follows a set of motions exhibited by (an)other rebel(s). If "On the Road" is the bible for the rebel, isn't that still following some sort of a guideline? A stereotype defined by society albeit different from another society stereotype that you are trying to get out of.
I walked past a poster for a play that had the word "Kerouac" on it. It was like the sign saying "for madmen only", and like Harry Haller, I had to walk in. Because, maybe.
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