Colored Ink
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miss something? check the archives about me name: n/aaliases: kit (and various iterations thereof) age: 24 location: oakland, ca hobbies: reading, writing, doodling, video games likes: reading, writing, doodling. being lazy, mushrooms, animals (especially dogs), food, laughing loudly in public, sushi, long walks in the sunshine, cycling along the San Francisco Bay. dislikes: nuts, stinging/biting insects, religious fanatics, violence, olives, teenagers that let old people stand on the bus contact: coloredink(at)gmail.com wishlist a good night's sleepmoney stress-free life hardon-kardon speakers world peace ps3 realistic wishlist transmetropolitan vol 5-6, 9-10wiifit long-term obsessions comicsslash writing reading music animals life and living current obsession(s) writing a novelcurrently reading the robots of dawn by isaac asimovcurrently playing final fantasy tactics: war of the lionscurrently watching kino's journeyparanoia agent ergo proxy m*a*s*h |
Thursday, November 12, 2009 [link] 07:03 p.m. listening to: "To Zanarkand" - Nobuo Uematsu/Aki Kuroda I don't feel depressed anymore, and it's amazing. Christ. It was so terrible I contemplated calling a suicide hotline, not because I was suicidal but because I just wanted someone to talk to that wouldn't judge or lecture me. I never understood how meaningful it could be to have a nonjudgmental ear, but I sure do now. However, today I played video games instead of writing. Oops. Tuesday, November 10, 2009 [link] 08:16 p.m. listening to: "Softly and Tenderly" - Fernando Ortega Mood: Too depressed to finish biting through a piece of toast Friday, October 30, 2009 [link] 08:14 p.m. listening to: "Sin Nombre" - The Refreshments Once upon a time, I had a lot of friends that thought they were writers. I thought they were writers too, but over time I realized that there was a fundamental difference between me and them. Their writing was a hobby; catharsis; a way to fill the spaces between. My writing was a lifestyle. Everything I did was in service of this thing that consumed me and then spat me out again, as a different person. While I cursed that I was not a disembodied hand, hovering above the page, giving form to a pure story come down from the aether, my friends grew up and drifted away to become doctors, producers, government employees, secretaries, librarians, teachers. I often envy them. Would that I were driven by something, anything, other than writing! Wouldn't my life be a lot easier? But instead I carry this burden of words, like a sack of ashes on my belt, and I can't find anyone that understands. Wednesday, October 28, 2009 [link] 07:44 p.m. listening to: "P.S. You Rock My World" - the Eels I'm all but done with my applications. I just need to find a third letter of recommendation (not the part I would have thought was the hardest, but my old adviser has decided now of all times to go on sabbatical, and can't be reached), send away for my transcripts, and take the GRE. And spend lots of money. Lots of money. Jesus Christ. Thursday, October 15, 2009 [link] 06:37 p.m. listening to: "Tear" - Red Hot Chili Peppers There's a guitar solo in this song that gets me every time. How is so much emotion packed into 15 seconds? It's a mysterious thing, emotion in music. . . how do they do it? I went on a bike ride today for the first time in over a week, certainly the first time since I'd been sick. It was harder than usual; just the push up Piedmont Ave. made me sweat and pant. I was disgruntled with myself. Normally I push myself until I run out of water (or until I feel seriously unsafe, as was the case last time), but today I turned around with half a bottle left. I was just tired, and I knew that if I went any farther I'd have difficulty turning around. I did jackknives and more leg and abdomen exercises when I got home. My triceps still hurt from pushing myself too hard three days ago, and I want to let them fully recover before I push them again. The lower body exercises don't seem to be doing it, though; my abs and legs don't hurt the next day. I'm ambivalent about graduate school for a variety of reasons. I don't know how much of it is fear of change. Certainly I don't want things to change; I like my life the way it is now. But do I need things to change? I have a lot more growing to do as a person and as a writer, and graduate school would probably be good for that. But I don't want to attend classes; I don't want to do work-study; I don't want to teach; I just want to write. While I don't mind teaching or work-study, every hour I spend in a classroom or grading papers or putting books away on a shelf is an hour I don't spend writing. Not to mention, what the hell do I do with an MFA? Teach some more? Great. Also, the admissions process makes me want to throw up in anxiety. So tired. I want to go to bed early, but I should stay up for another hour, probably. Happy birthday, Teresa! Tuesday, October 6, 2009 [link] 08:22 p.m. listening to: "Cello Suite No. 1 - Prelude" - Johann Sebastian Bach (performed by Jacqueline Du Pre) Why do the great die young? Is there something that doesn't allow them to stay? Was their birth--their very existence--a mistake that had to be remedied? Tuesday, October 6, 2009 [link] 08:15 p.m. listening to: "Cello Suite No. 1 - Prelude" - Johann Sebastian Bach (performed by Mischa Misky) Today I went down into BART during my 15 minute break and heard a violinist and a celloist performing Bach's Cello Suite No. 1, which mostly meant that the violinist was not doing anything. They were very good, and the whole experience was somehow uplifting, like a well of fresh water in the middle of the desert. They did have an audience of one: a young woman, probably younger than me, with a paper cup of coffee and her iPod buds still in her ears. I gave them five dollars, but couldn't stay to listen. Which would have been worth more, I wonder? Thursday, October 1, 2009 [link] 07:48 p.m. listening to: nothing Good Lord, has it been that long since I last blogged? Shame on me! It's officially October, which means it's officially time for me to write like a monkey attempting to bang out Shakespeare, but I still don't know what to write. This is a problem. At the very least, I should write some letters; I have been sadly remiss in that department. In many departments. Work is easier now that I know there is an end to it. I'm wavering about graduate school, which is to say, about that MFA. I've cut the list to only the ones that are fully funded. If I have to resort to student loans, then I might as well move to China and live with my father for a year or two and write. It will be fun, if it doesn't drive me crazy. At the very least, it will be instructional. I will learn a lot. It will contribute to my personal development. Or so I keep telling myself. It's tempting, anyhow. But I love it here. I really do. Today I was walking down the street to pick up my bicycle, and I thought, I love it here. But it's not as if I'm never coming back. Because I am. This I swear. Because I love it here. Thursday, September 10, 2009 [link] 07:34 p.m. listening to: "Egmont Overture" - The London Classical Players Not a bad day today. I still have not managed to weigh myself, but I feel thinner and more fit. I had a nice, filling breakfast of whole grain cereal and raw milk, lunch of an entirely too large helping of nachos (with beef!), and then didn't eat dinner until quite late, after a long, hot bike ride. Good Lord, but you don't realize how hot it is until you're staring up at 40 degree incline and wondering just how much farther you have to go, and how much water is left in your waterbottle, anyhow? (And if the answer is: one swallow, you turn around and head home like a sensible person that doesn't wish to pass out halfway up to Lake Temescal.) Tomorrow promises to be equally warm, but I think tomorrow I would like to go eat a cheeseburger. We shall see. Haven't written anything in over a week now. Feel a bit funny. Not really sure what to write, so I continue to read and hope that inspiration will strike. Unfortunately, it doesn't actually work like that, so at some point I'll have to pull something out of my ass. I wonder, sometimes, about Beethoven. What went through Beethoven's mind as he started going deaf. It must have been like the end of the world for him. And it's not as if he went deaf all at once; it was gradual, the world slowly fading out, and his livelihood, the core of his being, with it. How did he keep from going mad? How deep was the despair that gripped him? How do I keep the same thing from happening to me? Tuesday, September 8, 2009 [link] 11:28 a.m. listening to: "Butterflies" - David Garza Much needed day off. Yesterday was a long, gruesome day. I just could not keep up. Really looking forward to my vacation next week. I really need it. Just some time off. No obligations. No need to see anyone, be anywhere, do anything. I want to let other people take care of me, for once. I've started eating beef at once. It's new and tricky territory. I've always said that these things are a slippery slope. When I started eating pork again, it was only a matter of time until I started eating beef again. And now, where do I draw the line? Do I start eating Carl's Jr. again? Or do I only eat sustainably raised 100% pastured beef? At the same time, I'm sick of creating rules for myself regarding food. The whole point of this is that I'm trying to order my disordered eating. Food is not something that I should have to think about all the time. Why is it so hard to just eat food that is good? If I want to eat a goddamn Big Mac, I will just eat a goddamn Big Mac. Actually, one of the main reasons I started eating beef again was that I felt like a gigantic hypocrite. I really, intensely dislike it when people ask "What is it?" Look, unless you have a goddamn food allergy or some dietary restriction for ethical/religious/whatever reason, JUST EAT IT. DON'T ASK. IT'S FUCKING RUDE. You're allowed to ask afterward, when it turns out to be really delicious and you want to order it again in the future. And then I stopped eating beef and pork, and suddenly I was that person asking, "What is it?" And I felt like an ass. And people had to accommodate me, or they felt bad if they didn't accommodate me, and I felt like an ass. And then the other day I had a bite of a really delicious beefy lasagna at an excellent Italian restaurant, and I realized: why was I still doing this? I mean, "health reasons" doesn't really cut it anymore, now that I'm eating pork again. "Environmental reasons" doesn't really cut it either, since I can eat environmentally friend beef. Or just, you know, less beef than just about everyone else in the United States that isn't vegetarian/Hindu/a freaking hippie. I can compromise by not cooking beef at home. Or I can grill organic pasture-raised steaks on my grill, since I have one of those and it's a shame not to cook beef on it. Whatever. Why is this such a big deal? Wednesday, September 2, 2009 [link] 07:44 p.m. listening to: nothing Ah, is it September already? Where does the time go? It's still hard to get up in the mornings, but it's getting easier. Not much writing lately, just reading. I read a book of Sedaris essays, and then wrote an essay in the style of Sedaris. (This wasn't difficult, as my essay style is already like Sedaris'--so close, in fact, that it annoys me.) Every time I close my eyes, I wonder what I should write for my application. Something serious? Something funny? Genre fiction? I want to be different, but not so different that I'm not what they want. I want to be what they want, but not so much so that I just fade into the background along with everyone else. . . Friday, August 14, 2009 [link] 10:21 p.m. listening to: "Love Love Love" - the Mountain Goats I've spent a lot of time listening to the Mountain Goats lately, partly because they're good listenin' and partly because I'm just in that kind of mood, I guess. I keep listening to "This Year" and "Hast Thou Considered the Tetrapod?" i am going to make it through this year if it kills me is a great mantra for my current state of mind, as is but one of these days, i'm going to wriggle up on dry land. I'm restless. Is this Saturn returns? It seems a bit early, but. . . maybe I'm an early bloomer. But I want a change. I just don't know what I should be doing. First thing's first, I guess: write. Always write. Always the writing. Tuesday, August 11, 2009 [link] 09:48 a.m. listening to: nothing I'm doing something about it. Sunday, August 2, 2009 [link] 09:01 a.m. listening to: nothing Life without iPod continues. It was difficult, the first few days, when I only ever had the one CD in the Discman and would long to listen to something else. Finally I dug out my old CD wallets and started working my way through them, just for some variety. I listened to CDs I hadn't listened to in years and years (mostly anime soundtracks). I listened to old CD mixes that I made, ones with titles like "Truth and Beauty mix" and "While Walking" and "Traveling mix," which were full of songs I hadn't listened to in years, though I still have them, buried somewhere in the depths of my iTunes library. It was like a little time capsule. Tuesday, July 28, 2009 [link] 07:49 p.m. listening to: "Concerto for 2 Violins in D Minor - Allego" - Johann Sebastian Bach My iPod is on the fritz. A week or so ago, I suddenly lost sound in my right ear. I figured it was the headphones, which was pretty irritating because they were still pretty new--maybe less than a year old. But, well, I'm pretty hard on my headphones. So, I dug out the earbuds that came with the iPod, wondering whether I should shell out another $90 for nice headphones just to use with the desktop computer. I still didn't get any sound in my right ear, even with the earbuds. Oh, crud. Annoying enough, Apple now no longer sells anything, size/price wise, between the Nano and the 80GB iPod Classic. Even the biggest Nano doesn't have nearly enough space for all my music, but I don't need anything near 80GB, and I certainly don't want to pay $200 for it. I'm still pondering; one of my coworkers suggesting squirting the jack with some compressed air to see if that might blast out any grit or dust inside. There's also the possibility of buying a used iPod Classic online for $80, which is almost certainly worth it, even if it craps out on me in a year. In the meantime, I've started listening to CDs on my Discman. I just bought a PS3, so finances feel a little tight at the moment, especially with family coming into town next month. I want to save up money so I can take them out to eat fabulous food. A new iPod can wait. Friday, July 17, 2009 [link] 10:33 p.m. listening to: nothing I had a moment very similar to this one just now, except instead of a piece of toast, I was defeated by the walk down the hallway. I was suddenly just too depressed to complete it. I wanted to lean against the wall, perhaps forever. Eventually I mustered the will to continue on to my room, but it was difficult. I hate my job. I looked at Craigslist postings today and found several positions that I felt extremely qualified for, so I'm hopeful that I'll be able to find a job that doesn't fill me with dread and self-loathing every single day. Maybe even a job that allows me to have self-esteem. Wouldn't that be nice? Wednesday, July 8, 2009 [link] 06:43 p.m. listening to: nothing Really, really bad days at work yesterday and today. Actually thought about quitting, for the first time. Won't, of course, because that's not the rational or sensible thing to do--but instead, I will fantasize about winning the lottery. This only makes me more depressed because of course that will never happen. Today will be another day. I hope. Tuesday, July 7, 2009 [link] 05:56 p.m. listening to: "Kiss the Girl" - Other Guys It's been eventful around here lately, but in all the wrong ways. I washed my cell phone, so I had to buy a new one, and it is the most dreadful phone I have ever owned. I'll get used to it eventually, but so far it has some incredibly annoying idiosyncrasies, such as the ability to ACTUALLY OVERHEAT (although this has only happened once), a tendency to overwrite entire contacts when you change the speed dial on one entry, and less sensitive buttons than my last phone. Blarg. Also, someone has broken into the laundry room to rip the tops off the dryers again. They went through the doors instead of the windows this time, which is extremely worrying. To top it off, someone stole my grill over July 4th weekend. They returned it, but evidently still use it, as new coal has been discovered in it at least once. I am unhappy with this, but as long as they're not physically removing the grill from the courtyard, I suppose I can't complain (too much). I plan to reclaim my grill tomorrow by making a double batch of chicken satay. Sunday, June 28, 2009 [link] 10:20 p.m. listening to: nothing Sometimes I think my writing is the most well-adjusted thing about me. When it comes to my writing, I'm knowledgeable, confident, assertive, unafraid, self-aware, and possess perspective. When it comes to anything and everything else, I'm a mess. Oh well. Two out of three ain't bad. Saturday, June 20, 2009 [link] 08:15 p.m. listening to: "Prayer of St. Francis" - Sarah McLachlan Called my parents today. I bought $20 on Skype for fear of running out of credits in the middle of a conversation, only to discover that I could talk to each parent for an hour and only spend a little over a dollar. What am I going to do with all these credits? Maybe I'll call people on Skype for fun. My mother wanted me to call her again tomorrow, though, so I guess there's something. The conversation with my mother was mysteriously gratifying. She expressed how very proud she was of me. "Other people are always talking about their kids having all these problems," she said. "But I'm very proud of you. I know you will never give me those problems." Which is true, I guess; I'm not doing drugs, sleeping around, or getting pregnant at 16. Instead, I have a steady income and worry about my mother. There are worse fates. She seems to think I'll join her in whatever enterprise she's embarking on in China, though. No thanks, Mom. Sunday, June 7, 2009 [link] 08:13 p.m. listening to: nothing Today was an excellent day. Thursday, May 28, 2009 [link] 07:54 p.m. listening to: "400 Miles From Darwin" - The Whitlams Aaaaaaarrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhh Wednesday, May 20, 2009 [link] 07:08 p.m. listening to: "More Than Rain" - Tom Waits So here's the straight dope: I have a very strong sense of duty. Toward family, toward society, toward strangers on the street. I feel a responsibility. I have always felt it was my obligation to be kind and helpful to others, because isn't life hard enough? Can't we all be a little nicer to one another? Okay, maybe not always; there was probably a period when I was a teenager where I thought the thing to do was be surly and cynical. Teenagers! Can't do a thing with them. And then there came a time when I decided that I was going to be a writer, and it was probably the most selfish thing I've ever done in my life. I wasn't going to be a teacher, I wasn't going to be a journalist, I wasn't going to be a lawyer--I was going to be selfish just about this one thing. And I found a soulless corporate job that would allow me to work eight hours a day, live comfortably, and go home and write. And I'm happy, except for the parts where I'm not, but there's still that nagging voice that says: You coulda had class. You coulda been a contender. You coulda been somebody. But instead you're a bum, yeah, let's face it, a bum. And it drives me crazy. I want someone to tell me that it's okay. I want someone to tell me that I made the right choice. I want someone to tell me that I am not Jesus, and that I can't save everyone. I want someone to tell me that I don't have to shoulder the burden of others, that it's not my responsibility, and make me believe them. I want, I want, I want--I want more than that, I need. Monday, May 18, 2009 [link] 08:10 p.m. listening to: "Building A Mystery" - Sarah McLachlan Why do I still like Sarah McLachlan? I am either a 12-year-old girl or a 55-year-old woman. I can't decide. Successfully grilled Malaysian-style chicken satay today, although lighting the charcoal was quite an ordeal. But it was worth it; one bite of the finished product brought tears of joy to my eyes. I had to call my family and tell them, "I'm grilling chicken satay!" "Oh good!" they said. "When can we come visit?" Wednesday, May 13, 2009 [link] 07:35 p.m. listening to: "75 Septembers" - Cheryl Wheeler Cheryl Wheeler's playing at the Freight & Salvage in June. I had better go. New ads have shown up at BART stations lately, for law@JFKU college or some such. They say things such as, "I wanted to GIVE BACK." Every time I see one, I feel a slight pang of guilt. I want to fling up my hands and exclaim, "Look, I'm sorry! I'm sorry I didn't become a lawyer! I'm sorry I'm not actually contributing to society in any useful way! I'm sorry I'm a cog in the machine!" But there's no one to apologize to. Tuesday, May 12, 2009 [link] 07:58 p.m. listening to: nothing It's almost bedtime, and I've done nothing productive today. It's sort of nice. Tuesday, May 5, 2009 [link] 08:56 a.m. listening to: nothing Ingested cashews yesterday afternoon. Spent the rest of the evening puking. At last retired to bed, only to wake up several times during the night with a stomachache. I was still nauseous when my alarm went off this morning and ended up calling in sick to work. Blegh. Tuesday, April 28, 2009 [link] 07:46 p.m. listening to: "Whiskey" - Voxtrot The other day, I suddenly thought, what if it never gets any better than this? "Why would you think something like that?" asked my therapist. "You need to pay attention. You need to know what you were doing, what you were thinking, when you sabotaged yourself like that." Do other people not have these problems? Once, I would have thought, well, but this isn't so bad. If this is as good as it gets, well, that's okay. Maybe that was a lie. Maybe my expectations were just very low. Whatever it was, I sort of wish I had those days back. My dad told me that once, Malaysians were very happy the way they were. It wasn't until the West came and colonized them and told them that they wanted color televisions and vacuum cleaners and VCRs, that the Malaysians realized they wanted all these things. Oh yes, they said, and worked very hard so that they could have their color televisions and vacuum cleaners and VCRs. But somehow, they were never happy again. Monday, April 27, 2009 [link] 10:01 a.m. listening to: nothing I got tired of seeing my whining at the top of my blog every time I logged in. I'm not happy, but sometimes, this is all you can do. I don't wish to complain of unhappiness, but it's getting harder and harder to get out of bed in the mornings and go to work. (It doesn't help, of course, that I start work at five in the morning--and my shift is the most desirable!) But what more can I ask for? Food on the table, clothes on my back, a roof over my head--and it's good food, good clothes, and a good roof. I'm being ungrateful. Still writing. I think I'm happiest whenever I'm "subverting" something--or, as they say in Internet parlance, DOIN IT WRONG. I can't just write a straightforward boy meets girl story, or a straightforward story about battling cancer, or a straightforward swords & sorcery story. I get bored. I always have to be take a cliché and break it, or destroy someone's childhood memories, or make myself uncomfortable somehow. I have to challenge myself, but I have to make sure I'm not setting unattainable goals. Maybe one of my goals, someday, will be just to write a straightforward "boring" story. But for now, I'm taking a science fiction trope I've always found a little creepy and disgusting and. . . making it more creepy and disgusting. Some of my readers probably won't get it, but some of them will, and I look forward to the response. Sunday, April 19, 2009 [link] 09:44 p.m. listening to: "The Crane Wife 3" - The Decemberists There was this scene in Sunshine Cleaners that was like something out of my worst nightmare. (Well, not my worst nightmare, but pretty bad.) It was, in fact, something that I've enacted in my head on occasion that I call my "fictional cocktail party," although in the movie it was a baby shower. At this fictional cocktail party, people ask me, "And what do you do?" And I tell them, "I'm an editor at Business Wire." Blank stare. "And what is that?" they ask, and I have to explain, and I bore even myself. My job is meaningless. I elicit better responses with, "I'm a writer," until they ask what I write, and I have to admit that I write gay porn/fantasy/science fiction. Bill Watterson once said, "Having an enviable career is one thing; being a happy person is another." Watterson also said, "You'll be told in a hundred ways, some subtle and some not, to keep climbing, and never be satisfied with where you are, who you are, and what you're doing. There are a million ways to sell yourself out, and I guarantee you'll hear about them." He was right; he was right. I ended up crying in my therapist's office two weeks ago over how right he was. If enough people tell you that you aren't satisfied, you aren't. If enough people tell you that you aren't doing it right, that you shouldn't be satisfied until you have a house and a white picket fence and a corner office, you become dissatisfied. If a capitalistic society tells you that your skills aren't worth more than $20,000 a year, you think that maybe you aren't worth that much as a person, either. And you forget. "What's bothering you?" my therapist asked me, and she let me take as long as I needed to reach down past all the things that were just convenient targets for my anger. And finally, I said, "It bothers me that my success is predicated on other people. If I wanted to be a pharmacist, I'd take classes, take the pharmacist test, and be a pharmacist. If I wanted to be a lawyer, I'd go to law school, take the bar exam, and become a lawyer. But if I want to be a writer, all I can do is write and hope that other people like it." It makes me angry. All your life, you're told that with hard work, you can achieve anything. Immigrants come here and accomplish the American Dream. Or there's college--go to a four-year university and your success is well-nigh insured! It's all such a crock of shit. These things don't make you happy. Happiness is not guaranteed with your family and pet dog and 1300 square foot house and six-figure salary, and I don't see why it's strange that I don't want those things. Tuesday, April 14, 2009 [link] 07:16 p.m. listening to: "Better" - Jonathan Coulton Oh yeah, baby. I'm in it. I'm on it. I'm flying high, I'm on top of the world, I'm every cliche for ecstasy, jubilation, triumph that has ever existed. I haven't forgotten what this is like. I haven't forgotten what I'm here for. Saturday, April 4, 2009 [link] 10:33 p.m. listening to: some mystery track I found in iTunes, probably by Ivan Rebroff Bad, bad, bad the past few days. I spent most of Friday morning alternately fantasizing about breaking things or trying not to burst into tears. It was something I hadn't experienced since I was fifteen, when I was prone to punching walls and throwing desks, and to suddenly experience it at 24 was. . . alarming, to say the least. I had no explanation for it, either. Nothing triggered it. I was just suddenly sad and angry. It was a little better today, but only because all the anger had drained out of me, leaving me sullen and resentful, and not any less depressed. I need to start writing again. I need to remember and recapture that feeling of having an idea, of having everything go my way for once. I need to remember what's important. Thursday, April 2, 2009 [link] 05:39 p.m. listening to: "Nara" - E.S. Posthumus Oh my God, if I have to have another conversation with someone about "genre," I'm going to stab everyone in the throat. That includes you. Sunday, March 29, 2009 [link] 11:00 p.m. listening to: "St. Peter's Bones" - Girlyman I wanted to write a blog entry today, but instead I stared at the field for five minutes, then decided that I needed to go to bed. So you don't get anything. Friday, March 27, 2009 [link] 09:11 p.m. listening to: "Aimo O.C. " - Yoko Kanno Remember: always go to the funeral. Thursday, March 26, 2009 [link] 08:59 p.m. listening to: nothing My aunt still talks about my uncle in the present tense sometimes. Thomas loves. Thomas wants. Thomas is not driving this car right now. She leaves the television on in the evenings for him, tuned to the Sci-Fi Channel, because Thomas loves Star Trek. I had a very bizarre conversation with my Uncle Wong today, whom I'd never talked to before. He's the one that sponsored my dad to this country, and my dad worked for his restaurant in his early years. I owe a lot to this man, and apparently he asks about me. So I called him, although in hindsight it may have been a little late. "Hello?" he asked. "Hello? Uncle Wong? This is [my father's name] daughter." "Who?" I repeated myself, but in Mandarin. "Oh," he said, with more recognition this time. "Oh, I see. So what do you want?" "Er, I just wanted to, er, talk to you," I said, feeling a bit awkward now. I'd been expecting something more. . . effusive. "And you thank you, you know, since, um, you helped my father come to this country and all." There was more to that very brief conversation, where we determined that we should go out for lunch in September, when I next return to the Los Angeles area. My cousin assures me that Uncle Wang is in stellar health, but, well, my uncle Thomas was in stellar health too, and we all know how that went. Monday, March 23, 2009 [link] 09:43 p.m. listening to: nothing In the event of my death, an entry will be posted to my livejournal, just so you know. Flying to Los Angeles tomorrow, which is why this comes up. There've been a few aviation disasters lately. I don't expect anything to happen, but in the event that something does, I don't want anyone reading this to be left out of the loop. That's one of the disadvantages of the Internet. I'm actually looking forward to this trip. No one will be making demands of me, and I won't have to make any demands of myself. I just have to keep myself entertained, which I can do. I'm good at that. Sunday, March 15, 2009 [link] 10:52 p.m. listening to: nothing Last year, when I was waffling about going to a relative's wedding, one of my cousins told me, "It's most important to be at the sad events. . . not so necessary to be at the happy events." In other words, always go to the funeral. So I did. I went to my uncle's funeral, no hesitation; it was, at most, an inconvenience to myself, but it meant the world to the ones left behind. And in another couple of weeks, I'll be going back to spend a few nights with my aunt, who can't and shouldn't be alone right now. It's a hassle, sure, but I'm not the important one here. One of my cousins emailed me today to say, "I'm proud of you." Which, you know, is another one of those things that is an inconvenience to yourself that might mean the world to someone else: just telling them that they're doing the right thing. Wednesday, March 11, 2009 [link] 03:47 p.m. listening to: nothing :( Wednesday, March 4, 2009 [link] 05:18 p.m. listening to: "Crooked Legs" - The Acorn Three days after the funeral, I still feel tender and bruised inside. The Sunday service was a larger, more traditional affair, though there were still monks and there was still bowing. But my cousin Kelvin, Thomas' son, went up and delivered a eulogy, and afterward he played Frank Sinatra's "My Way," Thomas' favorite song. Then he broke into hoarse, braying sobs--the first time I'd seen him anything but composed during the entire affair--and everyone in the room broke down with him. My aunt was better; I think the funeral gave her some closure. Before, one of my cousins told me that she found her sitting on the floor of her house, staring at Thomas' picture and crying. She blamed herself; then she moved on to blaming the hospital; now she's talking about tidying up some of Thomas' things and making sure that his dream is realized of seeing his business in a building he actually owns, rather than rents. Progress is being made, but not by me. Uncle Thomas gave me my first job, so why hasn't the world stopped? Why hasn't anyone noticed? Saturday, February 28, 2009 [link] 08:12 p.m. listening to: nothing Funeral service today, just for members of the family. A sad affair, and rather more "heathen" than I expected. There was a table set up with offerings ranging from Uncle Thomas' favorite foods to a paper mansion complete with paper servants and a paper sports car, to be burned tomorrow. (Tomorrow is the big funeral service for friends, coworkers, employees, etc.) Today we listened to saffron-robed monks chant and folded paper money. I like this tradition of folding paper money. It gives you something to do besides grieve. You sneak looks at each others' boxes and make jokes about how the gold-foiled paper must be worth more than the silver-foiled paper in the afterlife. My aunt wept a lot, especially when she saw Thomas in the casket. "It doesn't look like him!" she complained. "It doesn't look like him!" Which was true, but I don't know if any amount of makeup or embalming would have made him look the same. Thomas wasn't home anymore. It made me glad, on reflection, that I didn't know about his accident, or I would have been tempted to visit him in the hospital, and my last memories of him would have been of him paralyzed in a hospital bed. Instead, I remember him at the Memorial Day barbeque or Jeff's wedding: loud and boisterous. So long, Uncle Thomas. Tuesday, February 24, 2009 [link] 04:57 p.m. listening to: "Mole" - the Mountain Goats I keep thinking of small, stupid things. Things like, "I have to remember to pack some nice black clothing," and "Now I know why they sell flowers at the airport." Meanwhile, I took my snake to the vet, which is another one of those things you have to do as an adult. As an adult, I listened carefully while my snake was diagnosed with scale rot, and I watched as they showed me how to inject my snake with antibiotics, which I have to do every three days. I also need to apply a topical cream twice a day that I suspect is little more than Neosporin. I will be very glad when this week is over. Sunday, February 22, 2009 [link] 08:59 p.m. listening to: "Your Belgian Things" - the Mountain Goats One of the things you have to do eventually, as an adult, is schedule a last-minute vacation because you have to attend a funeral. Fortunately, this coming Saturday is one I had off anyway because the building has no water that day, and I guess you can't force your employees to work in a building that has no running water. You can, however, force your employees to use a vacation day or work on an alternate day. Last month, while up on the roof of the new warehouse, my uncle Thomas fell--through the roof or off the roof, I'm not sure. When he woke up in the hospital, he had no feeling in any of his limbs. They did surgery, then surgery again. The second round of surgery apparently did not go so well, but my uncle refused to be put on a ventilator. His lungs failed this morning. It's shocking. I had no idea he'd even been in an accident. Uncle Thomas had always been very active and in great shape. I would have expected any other male in the family to die before him: like my uncle Jimmy, maybe, who's always smoked like a chimney; or even my own father, who's already had a history of heart trouble. But life is full of surprises. Tuesday, February 10, 2009 [link] 05:37 p.m. listening to: nothing I have a small pile of other people's socks and underwear that I keep bringing home with me when I do the laundry. I don't know what to do with them. Maybe I'll make an art project. Monday, February 9, 2009 [link] 08:29 a.m. listening to: nothing Better. Priorities have, I think, been reshuffled. Also, I now have a 42" plasma TV, which is bound to brighten anyone's life. It has an antenna and everything, which means I can now watch public television. Therapy today, which I somehow almost forgot about. I think it will be a productive session. We'll see. Wednesday, February 4, 2009 [link] 03:33 p.m. listening to: "Out Here" - Peter Mulvey Bad day today. Played with the dog for a bit before coming home. That made it better, but only until I got into my room. I don't want to go back to work. I'm not happy there. Friday, January 30, 2009 [link] 08:08 p.m. listening to: "Me and Bobby McGee" - Janis Joplin Fuck you, man. Hell with you. Wednesday, January 28, 2009 [link] 08:04 p.m. listening to: nothing I cut my finger on the bathtub the other day. I have no idea what happened; one moment I was adjusting the level of cold water in the shower, and the next I felt a queer dragging sensation along the tip of my middle finger. It didn't start bleeding right away. By now it's healed into an ugly red groove along the left side of my fingertip, caked hard on top. It's exactly where I use that finger to type. The keyboard I have at home isn't as nice as the one at work; I have to push harder. There's a little red flare of pain when I type, but I type anyway. It hurts at work, too. These past few mornings I've napped on the train to and from work. I play a soothing song on my iPod, sit back, and close my eyes. I've only missed my stop once, and that was coming home. This morning, while I dozed, I let my mind play over The Story, the one I'm supposed to be writing. I asked the main character, what do you want? She replied, I don't know what I want. I lived because other people told me to live. Actually, I don't know what I'm living for, why I went through so much trouble. I opened my eyes and sucked in a breath. These things can still take me by surprise. Tuesday, January 20, 2009 [link] 02:44 p.m. listening to: "Iowa" - Dar Williams I forced myself to think about writing today, because it had to be thought about. It kicked me into a pit of despair, mostly because I was listening to Vienna Teng at the time, and she threw away a computer programming job in the Silicon Valley to sing, and that reminded me of something Walter Farley said: "Do what you love for a living. Don't become a lawyer so that you can do what you love in your spare time." You could say, what the hell does Walter Farley know? Except Walter Farley worked as a messenger boy at a newspaper during the Great Depression and worked on The Black Stallion in every spare moment he had. Here, I have every luxury, and for some reason I'm languishing in neutral. I can't do it. I can't. Monday, January 19, 2009 [link] 07:42 p.m. listening to: "Tear" - Red Hot Chili Peppers I haven't written anything in over a month now. It feels strange, and it's starting to feel a little bit frightening. I've started asking myself, do I remember how to do it? And the answer is that it's going to be hard getting started: like anything else, writing is a habit, and once you've broken the habit, it's a long, hard slog toward making it a habit again. Do it thirty times and it's a habit; miss it even once, and the habit's broken. Why haven't I written anything? Am I afraid? What am I afraid of? What is there to be afraid of? In other news, tomorrow's the inauguration. I wait with my heart in my throat. I won't believe it's actually happened until it's over. Tuesday, January 13, 2009 [link] 07:30 p.m. listening to: "This Year" - The Mountain Goats Oh dear, a new year come and gone and nothing said? How remiss of me. New Year's Eve was not spectacular. Went with friends to see fireworks at the Embarcadero. There were drunk assholes. We drank warm beverages spiked with alcohol, watched fifteen minutes of fireworks, went home. It was fun to spend time with friends. Work has been the usual. Exciting shenanigans in my life surround my snake, generally. Last week, I nearly neglected to death a poor rat that I left in a box in the living room. It nearly died overnight from cold and dehydration, and I had to nurse it back to health with an eyedropper. It made a full recovery the next day, whereupon I promptly fed it to my snake. My snake is very full right now, having just eaten an unusually large three-dollar rat (well, now three-fifty--the price of everything has gone up lately). It was also unusually feisty and put up quite a fight; I was afraid at one point that I would have to separate them. Fortunately it didn't put up much of a fight for long, and my snake ate him without incident. He is now extremely fat in the middle, and there is a smear of dark rust on the newspaper where the rat dripped blood from its mouth as it died. It's the first time that's ever happened. It looks like a murder scene in there, which is funny because it is a murder scene. |
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