:0145 — 1 out of 10
• Judy Garland was left-handed. So are Kori and Anamarie. I think Christiana is, too. Dinah can write backwards with her left. And yes, Mom is a lefty.
Damned if I understand it...all the important women in my life, sinister.
20021006:2330 — Quiz Scandal!
• Heh. According to Merriam-Webster, I did create the word "fallacial", likely from an improper adjectification of "fallacy". For those of you who took my quiz, this was question #2, which concerned words I (hadn't) made up. The "right" answer was supposed to be "fallacial"—"verdance" was the other questionable one, as "verdancy" is the proper noun form of "verdant".
"What is this a-muse–bouche?"
• Went to see Red Dragon with the girls. Frightening, but entertaining for us all. (Now I have to see Silence of the Lambs and maybe Hannibal.) I wasn't so easy to scare tonight—someone had to be strong, I guess. But still, I wonder what sort of nightmares I could conjure up in my staggered sleep tonight.
• The Pizza Hut guy came to the door just as Original Sin was getting entertaining. The front door was wide open to ventilate the room, but it also allowed easy viewing of Antonio Banderas shaking up Angelina Jolie. Again, the girls got skittish, and bolted for the pause buttons and power switches. I do believe I would have invited the pizza guy in for a humorously awkward moment. There will be more chances for that.
p.s. that tasty morsel was a flute player
20021008:2305 — The Tragedy 'Man'
• It took me one good night to adapt Ambrose Bierce's John Mortensen's Funeral for Acting earlier today. Perhaps I should have spent another night actually practicing it in character. I gave one of the worst performances of my class, despite getting through the script without major fault. The judging was questionable, but I can accept when my classmates outdo me. What I can't accept is that despite all of my study, all of my effort, I can't put out when the time comes.
I hate this about myself.
I am capable of so much better. It is unthinkable that I could suck like I did this morning. Is this seriously how I'm going to be remembered? How I'm going to be graded? Will I continue to fail each attempt to prove my worth to my classmates? These are people I'm eventually going to be working with. They're seeing me early in my career, and dutifully noting that I suck. I don't want this.
I don't want this.
Magic Topic Change!
• Have you ever studied someone else's handwriting?
Scott put up the sign-up sheets for the SoCal trip. I helped out by putting up a message on the chalkboard. Shortly afterward, I thought it would be more effective if I tried to emulate Scott's handwriting.
He seems to me an impatient man. No-nonsense. His strokes are hurried, but deliberate—nothing wasted. Justified, which indicates a sense of order. The desire to spell out the message wins over, though, explaining his tendency to "chicken scratch". And even this is subverted by his efficiency, his ways of finding shortcuts in his work. Numbering the list from one to four, he forgot to account for the few threesome rooms since band membership is rarely divisible by four. Whiting out the four (on yellow legal paper) he skipped a line to start the next set of roommates, like other times, but forgetting that another needed to be added to align the list visually.
While I was at it, I messed around with a to-do list dropped on the floor. I could tell it was Christiana's from the style of the a's and the large number of items listed. Adding a humorous comment, I noticed how proud she is of herself. Her letters take up more than the space suggested back in grade school. Taller lowercase letters, and they're much more square and round than others. But they're often scrunched together, indicating a claustrophobic feeling, of having too many things to deal with. They have flow, seen in the occasional cursives. Her letters sit neatly upon the line, like Scott's, a similar hint of idealism or lawfulness. But she doesn't obey the margin well, keeping a distance and wavering about—rebelliousness. She'll do things right, but in her own way.
Mitch's scribbles in his soapbox come in capitals. Usually a sign of confidence in what you're writing. They go all over the place, due to some unrestrained impulse, often creativity. Erik Torres does this as well. (His textbook handwriting demonstrates an underlying innocence.) The disorder could also hint at improper development or attention paid to other pursuits, the latter of which I would ascribe to Mitch. They use more strokes in their letters; writing is more of a task for them. The idea and the letter do not share so strong a bond.
And my own? That depends on the time spent on my handwriting. My drafts, which I labor over, tend to be vertical. Not cursive, but I flow between letters, sloppily sometimes. Capital As, lowercase ts and fs usually get crossed together. My notes demonstrate more of that "sloppy" flow. They're more horizontal, keeping away from the blue rules. I'm rushing to copy down information so fast that the individual letters lose definition—I see things below the superficial. I see systems in places unexpected. It certainly helps because I have to study the patterns of rounds, straights, ascenders and descenders to make out what I scrawled in haste. If you want to see an extreme example, ask me about the note I wrote concerning Isis. You will be amazed at what I can pull out of a scribble, or perhaps what I can put into one.
20021009:2240 — Casablanca
• Damn...
[update] We saw this in Film, and now I know why everyone loves this movie so much. It's a fascinating story, and the setting must have been both inspiring and unnerving for those watching it in initial release. The interplay between Blaine (Bogart) and Renault the French Prefect (Rains) is especially crisp and rewarding.
Trivia-wise, Dooley Wilson (as Sam) was the only cast member who had been to Casablanca. He was a backup choice for the role, as he couldn't play piano. Wilson used his professional drumming experience as best he could, which is much more than could be said for the drummer in the film (who never actually plays his set due to recording limitations). In fact, none of the musicians did a good job looking like they were actually playing. And the only live performer (since skillful overdubbing and suitable microphones hadn't been developed yet) was a recording of Elliot Carpenter's piano part, played off-camera.
Repurposed Nursery Rhyme
• The Itsy Bitsy Spider moved in my neighborhood Down came the Pain to learn that Spider good The Sun doesn't shine where spiders are concerned 'cause the fuel in my Lighter makes for one frantic Burn
No offense, Adam...
20021010:2310 — Red and Blue
• I'm drinking Pepsi Blue right now. I'm drinking Robitussin flavored soda. DM. I question its viability in the modern soda market. That and Red Fusion. Did the cola manufacturers get envious of the success of orange-colored products? The orange ones are cool, because they taste like oranges, kinda. This Blue stuff is supposed to be a berry beverage, and Red is supposed to taste like fusion. Who are they to judge? I admit that the typically million-degree heat makes for a difficult estimation of taste. But why not white? White Fusion? A little redundant, but I figure truth in advertising is welcome right about now. Unless the minority groups have a problem with "White Fusion". Always gotta be a white guy. Aren't the red folk a little irked about "Red Fusion"? Does fusion have no right to be associated with their traditions?
Geez, and what about the poor thirsty kids around the world? Who's looking out for them? Will they ever know the joy/pain of Blue?
Noah's Arc
• Sometime between now and last week, Noah learned how to say "bye-bye". Guess he's learning to accept the fact that people have to leave sometimes, unlike two weeks ago when he bawled by the screen door.
We can now have little conversations while I'm feeding him dinner. He'll savor a bite with a contented "mmm!," and comment on its flavor, pointing at the ceiling occasionally. I don't know what the pointing's all about just yet. He's also aware of soup dripping down his chin, which he'll wipe away when it bothers him. Before, he would let all manner of liquids and other matter saturate his chin and clothing. This pleasant bit of civility almost makes up for the fact that he farts now. The kid's learning.
Stanislavsky
• I should have figured we would get a chance to vent about our performances in Acting. That's how we learn, right? So instead of quietly fuming about my less-than-stellar performance, we all took some time to discuss how we sucked, and what we can improve upon next time. To remind myself, my problem concerns the choppy way I recite things, especially things I wrote down the night before and rehearsed an hour before class. It just isn't as smooth as I'd like it. I could easily fix that by practicing in front of a mirror, which means I'll never get around to it. >:p
e-Money
• To further enamor me to the simplicity of electronic transactions, my workplace (or our paycheck handling agency)finally doled out for Direct Deposit. For me, that's $5.50 more a month to spend on more productive things! It also makes for a nice compliment to the electronic bill payment service my bank provides.
I love Electronic Banking on the Internet. And e-Banking loves me too. That's a lot more than I can say for certain people... *guilt*
20021012:1745 — Let's Make A Deal
• Paul across the street is having a garage sale. Though I'm not comfortably liquid in my finances, I decided I could part with a few dollars. And since Paul's cool with me, those Five Dollars traded for some sweet glass salad bowls, some wine goblets, and a school-quality whiteboard. Knowing Paul, the whiteboard is probably school-quality because it was from some school. I'd ask questions if he didn't let me have it for a dollar. The glassware is much more legitimate, though I spent some time wiping out some corrosion on the silver rims.
I was helping myself to his collection of CDs when his girlfriend Kierstin noted that they weren't for sale. "...to help him part with his belongings," she explained. Of all the things he possessed, the CDs mattered to him most. Paul is a man who has his priorities straight.
20021013:2200 — Fun With Spam
• "New Scent" Makes You Simply Irresistable to ANY Man OR Woman...Guaranteed!
If I was bisexual, I wouldn't have deleted this one so quickly.
The Online Inexperience
• For such an abundant wealth of information, the Internet doesn't have many suitable resources for beginning dancers. I was hoping to find a guide online to help me choreograph my Latin Dance midterm. What little there was to find explained only the most basic fundamentals, and offered nothing more interesting than histories of the dances. I'm all for history, but a lack of the present state of the dance is my problem. How am I going to inject feeling and passion into my dance if no influential examples are available?
• Having the weekend free meant I had two whole days to worry about my upcoming Dance and Acting group activities, since my partners didn't have any time to collaborate. This is why I hate having to work while attending school. Work experience is a good thing to have, but each hour devoted to employment is one stolen from education. Failing classes because "flipping burgers" took up too much study time is an outrage. But somehow, millions of college students get by, part-time or not.
20021014:2150 — Productivity
• I liked today. Got lots done. Met up with Sonia and Rosanna from Latin Dance and worked out over half the choreography to our midterm. It has lots of fun exchanges (a 2nd position break where I ditch Sonia for Rosanna, for example), some moves we made up ourselves (a reverse turn out of parellel break), and an innovative trio section. All set to "Perfidia" as sung by Linda Ronstadt. Major fun.
Meanwhile, Clarissa and I planned out our Open Scene for Acting. Using the same dialogue, we were able to come up with a breakup scene and a cooking episode. The versatility of a script, in talented hands. We can choose to be melodramatic and violent, or stuck up and silly.
Cheating Death 4
• At the corner of Skyway—foreshadow—the bus driver had crept up to follow a passing car on the way to Snell. We were slightly ahead of schedule, but I look kindly on such trespasses. The 66 had barely begun to take off when the crossing gates came down. Bells clanged, and so did the corner gate as it bisected the bus. We were way ahead of the line.
Looking down Monterey, I could see a lone light approaching from the distance, quickly. The light at the end of my tunnel vision belonged to Caltrain—one of its shuttles (on schedule) was racing down the cold rails of doom. I was plotting my escape, considering who I would call one last time, too busy to notice the driver had scuttled back in Reverse.
Fatal tons of American steel charged through the intersection. Cleanly so. I could read each and every letter, number, and symbol; I could have figured out which gangs had tagged which cars if graffiti was my thing. Faces inside stared back through random windows. And every time each one did, I could see the spark in their eyes as they realized that we had escaped them. The 66 withdrew itself from the collision, the collision that could have been.
I need a car.
:0300 — Longer Night
• They came knocking around 2:30. I had settled in much earlier than usual (I'm usually just falling asleep right now). Not quite remembering that they had been out for the night, I was wondering whether to arm myself. I decided to take a friendly chance with the incoherent babble outside the door, and in walk Charlette, Tonette, Janice, and their companion Anthony. The girls had been out drinking, for reasons I'll find out tomorrow. Anthony had luckily gotten by without either one of them undrinking. Despite some more locked doors, they all made their evacuations fine.
I seem to be especially crispy right now. All of my joints had their own crackle to add to my now sore muscles. What would have this felt like later in the morning? I always wonder why my sleep here is so unrefreshing. I got the new mattress in a somewhat confused switch-around last year. I bought new pillows over the summer. What more am I supposed to do?
20021015:2245 — Omen
• The grinding sound in an upper corner of my room says that it's time. It sounds like someone/something trying to scratch their way inside, but not doing a good job of it. A rodent would have made its way inside long ago, since my window is rarely closed. The only imaginable culprit is the poorly situated palm at the side of the house entryway. The way it sways in the wind might cause it to rub against the roof just above me.
There isn't any wind blowing tonight...
A venture outside the window onto the garage roof didn't reveal anything. The noises ceased when I poked out to inspect. Pounding on the wall also stops the noise, I just found out. It's just a matter of time when the noises stop bothering me.
I is for Irritant
• I've been wearing contacts on and off for five years. In all that time, I've been very fortunate to avoid ruining my remaining eyesight. I've worn contacts overnight; I've skipped a wash or two; I've worn them swimming in the Pacific.
Well, a small mistake was all it took to change things. An ill-advised finger brought contamination onto my delicate white. I got some antibiotic to treat the infection, but getting comfort will be much harder knowing that such a trifling carries great consequences. I won't be losing eyesight soon, but the potential for that or worse is there.
In other health news, the ringing in my ears was not wax, but lingering damage from a dozen years of drums. I was hoping for wax, because my last cleaning was very refreshing. Here, a slight change in swabbing technique has proven to be effective in reducing earwax buildup.
I figured drumming would take its toll, but I'd like back some of the hearing I've lost. I wonder if this could instead be a problem of differentiation, telling one sound/voice from another. Some people need to speak up, yes. But other worthy voices are proving just as difficult to hear. I'm not too worried, since I can still hear when it counts. It's something I'll keep in mind, though.
20021017:0050 — I'm Gonna Be A Hot Dancer!
• Big Latin Dance midterm coming up, and naturally, I can't sleep. It would be nice to have a decent night of sleep for once. My racing mind has plans for otherwise. Everything's set up: the choreography was improved and finalized, the music remastered and cued up, the outfit ready. There is nothing for me to worry about. Well, my worries don't have to be limited to classes...
The Thirties
• In all the excitement, I forgot that my older brother Allan turned 30 over the weekend. Would've helped if he wasn't across the country. Made it easier to remember, I mean. Things are probably working out for him, though we haven't talked in a while. I'm still not the vocal one in the family. That and Mom probably blew all the long-distance minutes for us collectively.
Happy Birthday, brother—don't kill me. Yet. (That's what 200+ lb. older brothers do on occasion.)
20021018:0000 — The Exterior Factor
• Things were going so well with Latin Dance. We had the perfect routine to the perfect song. The girls were nervous, but ready to shine. I took all kinds of precautions to ensure that our performance would please.
Then I let another group borrow our music. They went on before us, did their thing, and stepped out to rewind our music. I recorded the track off the CD because of cueing issues—the intro was way too long. The important 2-minute segment of music at the beginning was the only thing on my 90-minute cassette. I knew something was up when it took them a while to rewind the tape.
It stalled our performance a moment until they came back with the wound tape. But they had fully wound it in the other direction. It is near-impossible to confuse the winding of a 2-minute segment with an 88-minute segment; they did it anyway. So we had to postpone our performance while the tape was wound the correct way. We didn't lose any points for the mistake, but we were totally thrown by the delay. Rosanna started on the wrong side of the floor, which ruined the first exchange. Both of them had trouble keeping in tempo. I missed a move and dropped the rhythm for a measure. We got through the routine, but not nearly as polished and flawless as we had it in practice.
The couple who borrowed our tape didn't even have a decent performance. Our music was just a background for their boring routine—they had no timing. My little spurt of generosity cost us the certainty of a first-rate performance. I'd be much more accepting of this if the failing was entirely my own. We suffered from someone else's mistake.
People have died for less. This is probably why I'm so intent on taking control over my world. If anything is going to go wrong, it had better be my fault.
The Moving Game
• I don't know why I didn't think of it earlier. When Dave Leon moved out of "The SMB Bachelor Pad", his room became open game. Chris, Jon, and Andrew are asking a decent price for a room somewhat like my current one. I've been there many times before—it's a good neighborhood. Most everything's in working order, and it's stocked with anything a guy could ask for. The only problem is the distance from campus, and the 64/22 to 70 transfer I'd have to make. I don't know how easily I could hitch a ride from the guys.
[update] I looked at a map. The place is actually closer to campus than this place is. The transfer might be a pain, but there are two options for those, as well as a direct line further down the street. It would be easier to get to, compared to the walk to Light Rail from here. Less stores and food places, though. :(
At this point, any room is starting to sound nice. The guys would be glad to have someone picking up the loose corner of their lease. I don't know what kind of progress Charlette is making in her search for a house. I do know that she's cosigning a loan with Chuck, who has bulletproof credit right now. (I need to check my own credit report to make sure it's as high as it's supposed to be.)
Dirty Up The Girl
• With some help from Chuck, we taught Alice some new words. She's fond of using them, but I'm not sure she completely understands their meaning. Her way of doing cute things might not help much where language is involved. Cunning lingua, but fallacial.
20021020:2130 — Resolution
• I think I've made up my mind on where I'll be living in November. I just have to let all the interested parties know about my decision. What bothers me isn't so much the "where" of it as it is the "why". The dynamic, the atmosphere are different when you compare a house full of girls (and Chuck) to a house full of guys. I have yet to see in what ways, but I'm sure I'll get as much out of it as I did living here. The very experience of living in this household was what convinced me to move here in the first place. Also, moving in with the guys offers more certainty than waiting for Charlette and company to settle.
I have a few negative reasons as well. They're not vicious or anything, just things that I could do without right now. I'm not entirely comfortable with the crowd that the girls attract. Janice's current fling is an okay guy, but I don't quite have the right to tell him to leave if it would suit me. None of the guys who have been by here seem like anyone I could make even casual friendships with. It's mostly from not seeing them as often as I do my own friends. These guys also have different priorities in mind, and I feel like an unexpected obstacle. Fortunately, they've all been pleasant, in my presence at least, and haven't questioned where I fit into everything.
I don't belong here. The girls don't mind me, but I feel like they don't appreciate my intrusion, either. I've been made to feel less important than their friends, so much so that I've wanted to jump out the window and spend the night at Dinah's. The failing is probably my own, but no one's offering to step out of their way to make me feel welcome.
The mood around here is often duplicitous. I suppose everyone doesn't always speak with their truest intentions. Every conversation is loaded around here, though. It wouldn't hurt the girls to speak their mind once, without resorting to acts of desperation. If they desire, I could offer these very reasons unto them. I don't believe it would help them in any way, so I'll probably end up keeping them to myself rather than speaking them in mask.
I just hope this doesn't cause a lot of trouble. I'm just making a life decision. If I'm not brave enough to face up to something as simple as this, then I'm surely fucked. All it involves is removing my influence from one social sphere to another. I'm not stealing anyone's stuff. I'm leaving the place slightly better than it was before. No one's going to stay here, and I feel that my place is to be with a different crowd. Nothing more.
20021021:2240 — Tunnel Vision
• In my self-important ramblings, I tend to forget that the world does not abide to my will alone. You will recall from above that I intend to move into a new place. The astute will note that along with my well intention, the other party must have a favorable opportunity. Andrew, who would be the senior member of their household, informs me that I'm not the only one interested in the room. This knowledge wouldn't necessarily be available to either Jon or Chris, whom I had discussed the matter with earlier.
Whatever happens, of this I am sure: it will be much easier to find a room for next semester, whether it be my then-current one, or something else available around that time. I can put up with any (non-hazardous) situation for two months. If things don't work out right now, I can regroup by that time.
Mouse Trap
• Weeks ago, a mouse or two made Roberts their home. I would be the first to discover this, evidence in the form of droppings by the spray cans. Then the mice got hungry, and pillaged the snack rack. Before you worry, their taste was limited to honey-roasted peanuts which are now in a mouse-proof place.
The fun started when the managers decided to ditch the passive pest controls for the deadlier kind. Only one mouse was caught in a spring trap, a vast improvement over the adhesive traps and sonic deterrents. Unfortunately, that one mouse was the mother of a family. Over the past week, customers and employees alike have been freaked out by venturesome rodent spawn, hungry and stressed from being rendered motherless. They've been plodding about during the day. The fortunate ones have been caught and sent across the street. I've been kept busy tending to the unlucky ones.
A disturbing example was one that made it to the front door, only to be stepped on by an unwary customer. It lay there, rent open by the crushing force of something thousands of times more massive than itself. Appropriately bloody. What few vital organs it had were made available to display. For once, I was glad to have not eaten breakfast; I would have sent up my own innards as well.
Not my idea of a productive workday. What bothers me more than freshly dead vermin is the fact that they're popping up in a bookstore, and a copy shop before that! I cannot comprehend the mouse's interest in paper products. I didn't have to deal with it at Marine World or at Togo's. If not for the food sources (honey-roasted peanuts / the cafeteria next to A. S. Print Shop), such behavior would be unexplainable, dizzying too.
If I ever come to school sloshed, I have my reasons.
Safe No-Sex
• So far in my lifetime, I have not had occasion to use a condom for its intended purpose. I've tried one on to familiarize myself with the mechanics of it all—it performed as expected. As for its contraceptive qualities, I have yet to observe such. Let's face it—SJSU isn't a sexy college, and I'm not among those sought out for their bedroom performance. Yes, I'm eager to prove people wrong, but I don't look at sex as the ultimate goal in a relationship.
It's one of the fun, pleasant parts, and therapeutic I've heard. There are other ways to unite with loved ones, though. It's important to connect not only physically, but spiritually and mentally too; they complement each other. Synergy. When was the last time you made love with someone you didn't care for? Besides, setting up a night of passionate lovemaking is much harder to do for some people than to share dreams or reach an intimate level of understanding. Of the latter two, I haven't quite accomplished that with others. I've come close at times, all of which I'm thankful for.
I wonder at what point in a relationship I would consider sharing myself physically. I can respect the "true love waits" stance, which I still lightly adhere to. As a society, we've explored many ways to have contact without being patently sexual. It's kind of a shame that not everyone realizes that, but for those in the know, we're that much better for it.
20021022:1930 — Who's Laughing Now?
• Spirit—the Halloween Superstore down the street. Has all kinds of Halloween crap for your parties, haunted houses, trick or treats, and such. They don't carry mime outfits, though. The one time I actually put some thought into a Halloween costume, and I'm rewarded with this. I didn't even bother getting face paint. If they don't have the shirt, one of the defining elements of the street mime, they don't have a customer. I'm tempted to go to the mall and wander around until I'm convinced they don't carry mime-looking shirts either.
I didn't believe Chris when he said that mime outfits were impossible to find, though a project of his involves mimes. It seemed unthinkable; are mimes really despised so? Should I even bother dressing up for Halloween?
20021023:2330 — The Terminator
• The first official piece of legal papery regarding my residence here just arrived: my termination notice. This could either be interpreted as a vicious end to a misguided venture, or the beginning of a peer's maturity. I don't think I can call Carina a friend; then again, keeping things here civil is probably the only thing she feels she can do. No use whining about it. I welcome this bit of definition, even if I'm having trouble finding someplace to follow up.
20021024:2310 — Giants vs. Angels V
• The Giants are up 6-0 at the 5th.
> Turn on the TV to watch the game at Dinah's.
The Angels score four runs and hold down any resistance.
> Shit. Change the channel to Nickelodeon. (Spongebob's on!)
Watch your mouth, bitch. The Giants start scoring again. 8-4
> Change the channel back, and sit Noah in view.
Giants rally! 12-4
> Leave game on and watch Will & Grace in another room.
Four more! Giants win 16-4.
> Thank you Debra Messing.
[Thank you] is not a valid command.
[Debra Messing] is an invalid reference. Like you had a chance, chump.
> Suck mine, imaginary interface.
20021027:0150 — Giants vs. Angels VI
• I claim no responsibility for any supernatural influence my mere game watching had. You saw the huge errors in the Giants' outfield. You knew grounders were the way to go the rest of the night. I was just a curious party in an accomodating situation. The TV was there, on, and tuned. The demographics may reflect my 18-34 Asian/Pacific Islander male upper-low income status. Nothing more.
Debra Messing showed up again in spots hyping Will & Grace's syndication during the Simpsons Halloween-a-thon-thing.
— Once a Member, Always an Alumnus
• Finally, I was able to watch a full Spartan halftime show from the audience. Alumni Band was a refreshing experience, even if I had to play snare drum for the first time in seven years. Using certain joints in ways they had grown out of will be regretted tomorrow, depending on the faultiness of my form. I never got into traditional drumstick grip, which hits the fingers differently from matched grip and should spawn appropriate new callus growth.
It was also great to enjoy (overpriced) food while in uniform again, a practice that Scott ended with the arrival of the current uniforms. I didn't go so far as to tease the "junior band" with beer and bratwurst—Dean was pretty vicious when Virginia came upon a Churro.
If the team had competed better, we all would have enjoyed cheering them on more than we did; something I don't recall liking about our performances. I'm also not a fan of waking up early, nor of those slow times in between practice and tailgating (other than lunching, obviously). They never grew on me—I suppose they're things I would enjoy more if I did them with the right people.
Overall, what this experience gave me was a sense of progression, an almost legendary feeling, and one damned sexy polo shirt.
:0120 — Fall Back
• The astute will notice that I am among the few elite that take care of their Daylight Savings business at the appropriate time. It's a dignity that I've enjoyed since my first years in college, away from zero period and closer to the nocturnal beast I've become.
20021029:2000 — Too Much Knowledge!
• I've been playing this game for a few days now—one game. I'm at level 23 (1,815,700 pts), with no end in sight. I clear with ease all the dangerous red tiles that sometimes appear. I make huge 8-word letters (it doesn't seem to have larger ones in its dictionary). I have this strange feeling that I'm going to break the game.
Dilemna
• Since my hours got cut at Roberts, I've had lots of free time. I've spent it wisely: sleeping, studying for exams, chatting with good friends. I need the fat paychecks, though. They keep this sham of mine going on. I'm still not sure how I'm going to make up for the loss—there's no room for advancement at my current job. Flexible, paying jobs near SJSU are probably scarce, or require experience I currently lack.
More importantly, how much time am I willing to devote to work, time that will be taken away from the things that are keeping me happy right now?
:1050 — An End
• Vowels on one side. Consonants on the other. Instead of scrambling the board, I decided to hack it out. The only (high-scoring) move left to make was "STAGERS", whereupon the "J" at the bottom ended the game. Well, some good came out of this:
It is now safe to turn off your computer.
I also came up with some Scrabble-worthy words, and found lots of uses for "URINE". *gleam*
20021030:2300 — Got Mime?
• Not a single shirt to be found. The closest I came was an Abercrombie & Fitch chenille(?) or something sweater—fuzzy, not quite black and white, and overpriced at $80. I suppose I could have made off with something in the women's department, where horizontal B&W stripes haven't yet gone out of fashion. What I did make off with was a gothy red/black striped shirt with mesh sleeves, courtesy of Hot Topic. Such a wonderful little store. I need to go back there when I have real money to spend there. Accentuate the wardrobe, so to say.
Also missing from the lineup are white athletic gloves. Weightlifting gloves only come in black for men. The (cute) clerk noted that, "white would stain very easily," which makes clear sense. Not that I know the average exerciser to be a fashion prince... Batting and golfing gloves were out of the question, since they're only sold in one hand, and individually more expensive than a good pair of lifting gloves.
In good news, the nylon/rubber pants I'm going to use have been successfully hemmed. And I did it blind—without markings or guide pins. The sewing needle broke, which evened things out.
Altogether, my "mime" costume mroe resembles a clubber or Gap-type dancer. I don't know how much the makeup will change things, or if I'll even use it. If I trade the top for a muscle shirt or something kimono-looking, I could borrow Chuck's wooden sword and be a modernized samurai. I wouldn't have to shave, either.
Making Up For Misused Catchphrases
• My brother(s) have discovered soy milk. I don't trust the stuff. Yeah, it's probably better for us as Asians (almost 100% of which become intolerant by adulthood), but using soy for anything other than soy sauce, tofu, soybean oil, edamame to accompany sushi, and replacement protein in fast food is just strange to me. Soy milk isn't milk, no matter how close you come. The stuff is never going to touch my lips.
Of course, the juice people had us convinced for a few decades that flavored sugar water made a suitable substitute for the real, fresh-squeezed deal. Moot.
:2330 — 8.0
• Some trippy new stuff in this version of AOL. It has more of a Netscape look to it, though it retains its IE portions.
You're right...I don't know how to describe it. I give up...
20021102:2230 — Halloween
• An exceptional turnout, especially considering last year's miserable turnout. Well, last year's "Halloween party" here at the house wasn't even advertised as such. It was intended to be a small gathering, since the girls (especially Carina) were't hip to the idea of big parties that they themselves weren't throwing. They don't mind when dozens of drunken partygoers are making a mess of things, just as long as they are their friends. That's the main reason why Chuck and I never took advantage of the accomodations here. Truth be told, it hasn't been all that accomodating.
Anyway, evidence from last night will be here...Monday, since Walgreens on Snell is tweaking with their machine.
Munch's Odyssey
• "Munch". I bought the kid his dinner once. Seemed like a nice kid. A little opinionated, but I'd expect that of anyone. Munch with beer, now that's something else. Mostly unsympathetic, slightly vicious, but definitely confrontational. It took an outside observer to notice that he was challenging me, something I hadn't noticed immediately. I almost ended his night, just because he thought I couldn't.
I didn't have anything stronger than cold Sprite (man that stuff's crisp). Is an awkward moment all it takes to get me riled? I thought I had tempered myself better than that.
Applied Learning
• I'm watching Pretty Woman on 36. This is an example of "stunting"—programming of an exceptional variety (sports events, feature movies, "special presentations", crossovers, etc.), counter to that of other stations, which are likely airing series or news. Stations such as 36 can make over half their revenue on stunting alone.
• The "final day" scene is interesting to watch in this age of Corporate Accountability. He's basically offered to support her with company funds: apartment, credit, status.
"Now, Mr. Lewis, your expense reports for the early 90's include charges for women's clothing, rent, and jewelry..."
• Molly Ringwald was handpicked to be the title lead. She turned it down, for personal reasons I suppose. Not every actor is willing to do certain roles or appear in certain situations. In Molly's case, being cast as a prostitute was probably more than she preferred. Fortunately, Julia Roberts was less discriminating. It's a little hard to imagine anyone with that much personality and charm working Johns. Despite that, she establishes herself as a (comedic) romantic lead, and now gets paid millions for sticking to similar roles. (Are actors successful because they are versatile, or because they are typecast?)
If I were to continue on as an actor, how far would I go to sell a role? I admit to becoming much more liberal over the years, but I feel there are still things that I could not do, pretend or not. I also wonder just how photogenic I am; I'm not the cleanest person out there.
:0010 — On Revelations
• Why do we all get such a kick out of seeing our repressions—the deepest of our desires, locked down in forbidden slumber—seeing them brought to light like they were some cosmic truth? As a society, we practically cheer on those who relish in the things we don't allow ourselves to have. Vanity often replaces curiosity as we grow; we need to appear a certain way. So what do we do when our self-image stifles? Who will stay content with their structured self, forgoing experiences that conflict with their character? And who will slip out of their restraints to trade the security of refinement for freedom of self?
20021105:0025 — Technical Difficulty
• Got home real late since Production ran over time. Didn't matter much; we were having fun running the TV studio for the evening. We're in the video half of the semester, so everyone's rotating between jobs on the floor and in the control room. Tonight I got to be the Audio Technician, Assistant Director (clock-watcher), and the VTR operator (for master recording and commercial playback). We did fairly decently considering we all were shown what to do only a few minutes beforehand.
As we take our rotations, we all have to show the next person how to operate their "new" machinery or what role they would be playing. Immediately following me is Lena, who is enthusiastic about the labs, but tends to struggle with the controls. Though she gets excited and confused easily, she's not impossible to teach.
Following her, however, is Matthieu, the class "know-it-all" and goof. Granted, I know a few things myself, but I don't abuse the fact. Matthieu is one of those people who will fiddle with things before he tries to use them properly. As the caption/CG artist, we had all kinds of inane comments popping up in the middle of the production. And as the Technical Director/Switcher, he would work the console without listening to the Director—unprepared cuts would be made, commercials would air early, etc.
Back in my band days, I understood the importance of getting the job done. We had to memorize our music, rehearse drill, blend in with the horns, anything that a good drum line did. Only after we had our contributions down did we have a chance to mess around with the established order: marching half-time, visuals, tweaking bass licks, and some "dicking around with Scott" moments. I'm sure Kris remembers when we omitted releases in Procession, spun like gears in some "follow the leader" set, and ditched warm-ups for hot dogs.
The point is that there's a time and a place for jokes. If you don't know how to do your job, you're not allowed to fuck around. I intend to alert Matthieu to this if he keeps being selfish about his role in the labs.
Invest in America
• Buy a Politician. er...I mean...
I don't know exactly what I'm going to vote for tomorrow. People-wise, I figure I can stick with the Democrats, or at least non-carnie looking people. The measures are going to be a little tougher, require a little more research. I don't know if I can wake up early enough to catch the morning vote, so I might have to bus it back here in between the standard Band Lobby Tuesday Afternoon™ and a required extracurricular Rumba lesson by the SJSU Dance Club.
Ooh, I also need to watch the rest of last week's Smallville before I tape over it with this week's. And I'm sure I'll have to set up the VCR, since it's mine, and I'm the only one who knows how to set any of the timers/clocks around here.
Public Disservice Announced
• My PSA sorta bombed. I actually scored lower than everyone else in Production for a change, and soon you'll hear why. First off, my recorded voice sounds like crap, something I could not have known without listening to the recording (which I didn't before turning it in). There's no emotion, no passion, and not a lot of intelligibility. Second, my PSA goes hot in a few spots, due to bad leveling. These were easy mistakes I should never have made. Thirdly, I knew my assignment was going to be a little sub-standard. Instead of redoing it when I was more experienced with the controls, I just turned it in, pleased with the paltry results.
That's just straight dumbass right there.
In my next assignment, a digital remastering of the PSA, I'll have much more control over my recording. Consequently, my digital recording is going to be much better than the original analog.
Spy Train
• VTA is testing some new, swank light rail trains. They're kinda like the new buses running around the county in that the deck is lower to the ground, the signs are much easier to read, and they just have a sleek, clean look to them. If I didn't hate riding public transportation so much, I'd be proud of this new development.
20021106:0030 — Brain Fart
• Do you know what reading voter pamphlets does to your brain? To me, they're like finance textbooks. Everything costs billions of dollars, the rebuttals are the exact opposite of what the arguments are about, and the responses doubly so. After a few pages of this, your mind is in a fairly weakened state, unable to conversate properly, and easily distracted by frilly, flowery things. I think I voted "yes" on everything. Wouldn't surprise me if we're suddenly trillions in debt by 2010.
...damn, she looks fine in that shirt.
Social Dance
• Met up with Yahoska again, who did guard for a year. And in a Rumba lesson of all places. I wasn't sure she recognized me; neither of us were eager to 'mote ourselves. From our few non-dance interactions, she seems to be doing fine. That's all.
Capricorn
• Wise use of power starts from within. Respect your enemies and turn them into worthy allies. Your schedule may be incredibly full, but somehow everything gets done.
Yeah, that was about right. But I don't remember having "enemies"...
20021106:2245 — Sympathies
• Please offer yours to Brad. No decent person should ever have to go through what he is right now.
Lifestyles
• You'll understand if I feel stupid for complaining about my own unease. I could do without this 14-hour schedule of mine—I'll be glad to be rid of it come Winter Break. There's something comforting about the dinners I used to cook myself, and the lack of nausea from riding down Monterey. Yeah, I'm moving out mid-month, but it looks to be a ride down towards Mitty instead, where Dinah lives.
Plug
• Get some Cinnamon ice cream down at Ben & Jerry's. It's kind of amazing that no one thought of this before. With all the powdered toast, graham crackers, and churros out there, inspiration found its way into the creamery. And on good nights, you can score some sage advice from the crew along with your cone/cup.
Capricorn
• Back away from petty issues before they come to dominate your life. Certain events help you define and isolate what's really important. Hurry as much as you can without breaking your disciplined stride.
Studying the surface of the situation won't tell you what you want to know, Capricorn. It's important to dwell on deeper, integral knowledge to get you past a disappointment. Your master plan allows for so many contingencies that you're still on track. If you want to show off, be sure that someone is watching. Otherwise, performing at this level all of the time is simply a waste of your precious energy and talent.
20021108:0100 — Weather Report
• The clouds knew what was coming. Still they pressed on in their pride, grey, only to break down crying in the darkness. The tears came in waves, each following another in procession. Curious moments of silence found their way in between violent fits of arboreal carnage and freeway washing. Shrieks of pain pierced the night sky, white hot on ear and eye. All moments of anguish come to their end, though. Deep breathing, solemn sighs of relief replaced the agony prior, until the dreams finally found their blue dreamer.
Plug Again
• Enjoy your favorite pearl drinks at Tapioca Express, right next to Subway on San Carlos. Their beverage selection is as wide as it is delicious, and their food and snack menu is equally appetizing.
Watch out for Sarah. She's the slightly out-of-place blonde. Sarah has a naughty little habit of making you do strange things for your Pepper Chicken Bites. She has trouble keeping busy behind the counter. To keep her amused, I've had to make like a chicken and an ape. Trifling things I'd balk at if she wasn't so cute, appreciative, and possibly unattached. Tread with care.
• For such a moist day, I think it turned out pretty well. Improv work in Acting is catching on with me. I managed to stay awake through Broadcast Comm and somehow come off as charming in Latin Dance. Seemed like I could do no wrong. And what had gone wrong earlier in the week is on its way to resolution. Still a ways to go, but I'm pretty sure I'm learning well.
20021108:2350 — A Slight Change
• I likely won't be able to take any of the RTVF classes I'm supposed to take next. Seems they all need either WST clearance or prerequisites, neither of which I have. So Spring semester for me is going to be a catch-up of sorts.
Humanities 2B was a class I should have been through with five years ago, but due to various fuck-ups, I finally had to drop in 2000. Without it, the bulk of my GE is unaccounted for, and I'm unable to take the WST. I'm still a little tender from those damned years, and I still wonder if I'm student enough to handle the workload. I also have to check to make sure they're just as willing to have me back after numerous poor showings. And the last I remember of the class, the dozen or so literature and textbooks were in the $200-300 range.
Photo 40 was a class I considered taking this semester but decided against. It's a 3-hour monster that will chew at my wallet twice a week. However, I'm armed with a good deal of experience, some smarts, and The Eye. I think I'm going to fill one of my B-category voids with Meteorology 10, that seemingly deceptive GE class some expect to breeze through. It's supposed to be a lot tougher, but I can probably handle it. The other options didn't seem interesting—I figure I can also apply the weather knowledge to film work I might take up. Similarly, Philosophy 12 is the E-category class I'm taking for it's possible cinematic applications. Besides, I like studying people, finding out why they do what they do, what they think about in their critical moments.
Looking at my chart, it seems I can take classes all the way through Tuesday and Thursday, with ample breaks for lunch and dinner. I don't think anyone has the stamina to go to class almost continually from 9am to 10pm. Another option resembles my current schedule, TR morning classes and MW night classes, with an additional Thursday night class. I miss dinner, though. It's also the kind of schedule that doesn't lend itself well to travel (I'm away from the house from 8am to 10pm most of the week). But moving classes nightwards means I have the day hours to fill with work. Well, such was the intention this semester. However, I currently work less than 20 hours a week instead of the 35 I had set aside. A third option would be to block all my classes into the morning/early afternoon, and find something to do in the evenings.
Downtown
• A relatively cheap rooming option could take me back near my old apartment on 11th Street. It's quite attractive, probably one of those Victorian houses around the apartment complexes. I don't know about the quality of the premises; it could be like something out of Full House, or something like what Anna and Lane live in. Yeah, it has it's own charm, but it's also dumpy and miserably positioned. A friend of my sister's has a decent place further up 11th. I'll have a look at it tomorrow.
20021109:2120 — Showtime
• November 15th will see the premiere of two important theater events. The first is the sequel Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Unlike the first one, I took some time to read through the book. Now I'll have foreknowledge of the plot, so I can compare the movie to the book. I remember reading through Sorceror's Stone and thinking, "hmm...that got cut out," and having a generally good idea why. I expect Chamber of Secrets to run a little long like the first, attempting to match the balance of fidelity and engaging presentation.
Premiering on the stage is the questionable musical comedy Bye, Bye, Bin Laden, authored by my film professor/MFA in Screenwriting Scott Sublett. Followers of SJSU Theater might remember his previous offering, Die, Die, Diana, for which he provided liberetto and lyrics.
Drive
• I was in one of Chuck's dreams recently. He was in the passenger seat—I drove. Stuff happened, I got mad, and relinquished to him the wheel. Analytically, this doesn't make sense. It implies that I had some sort of control over his life, which either has or soon will come to an end (like when I move out?). I can't think of any ways that Chuck would have to depend on me. He asks to print stuff on my printer, but I doubt that's what made the dream. I can recall a number of times when my path was under his control, especially those times he had to drive me.
Oh, yeah, there were those times he designated me his driver. You can't get mad at someone for allowing them a chance to have fun, even if it interferes with your own enjoyment and scheduling and...
Ah.
20021110:1740 — Downhill
• With about a week left in the rental agreement, the roomies have been finding ways to fuck around. Some know about the party "we're" having this weekend. I might not be here around then, so I don't care much about it. But what of Sandy and her guy friend, a 300+ lb. pot smoker? Mean-looking, misshaven, and still a smoker. His stash and Zig Zags are next to Carina's mail and whatever else is down there.
It's been a while since I've been hesitant to leave my room. Memories of the rear washroom are kicking up all over again. One of the other rentals in my old residence downtown was a distribution point of some sort for a local gang; the washroom—and the carports behind the building—was their hangout. I caught them back there every once in a while, checking if the water heater was set to "warm". Lots of cars kept stopping by; guys on bicycles, strangers in general.
I wanted nothing to do with it. I still don't. Naturally, no one around here is concerned with what I want. I'm just expected to accept every dumbass and lamer that steps in here. It would be so easy to walk downstairs, grab the macheté stored with my belongings, and set things right. Instead, I think I'll just use what I'm feeling right now and apply it to my Acting final as I play Monty Python's "Homicidal Barber".
:1940 — Are You a Gilmore Girl?
• Remind me to pay extra attention to the ad spots on Tuesday's Gilmore Girls. Tonight's rerun seems to be targeting teenagers and mothers, the teenagers more so. My TV watching has changed dramatically since Broadcast Comm.
20021111:2310 — Hello, Hello, Bin Laden
• KNTV 11 just showed a segment about Bye, Bye, Bin Laden, featuring preview clips of the actors in rehearsal, and an interview with Mr. Sublett. It looks to be great, attracting major entertainment names from all over. And I'll be there along with them.
"We'll get back to you..."
• Someone finally replied to my many requests for room info. The current resident of one of my downtown prospects gave me some starters on the room she's leaving. However, her manager should have gotten my machined message by now. I don't know if the manager is just being ignorant or otherwise.
Advance Notice
• My neck has been giving me trouble since the weekend. Before I get it X-rayed and crap, I just want you all to know that I've been trying to find personal ways to fix it. It feels like there's a bulge inside, perhaps a slipped disc or something I can pop back in myself. For about a year or three, my neck has been crispy whenever I bend it to the left. I didn't notice a similar reaction when bending in the other direction, but now there's some pain and resistance. In my stupidity, I've probably been laying the way for a disc to slip or a nucleosus pulposus to extrude. It's difficult to resist the temptation to just whip my head and force something to happen. If it takes, then all the better. If it results in something else, know that I love you all, some more than others. Most everyone I know has been accounted for, though.
20021112:2245 — Just Another Pretty Face
• If my Production teacher can get the recording equipment working right, I'll get to see the first studio-quality video of myself. During lab rotations in the studio, I got bumped up from observation to floor manager and on-camera positions since half the class ditched after lecture. Doing my thing in front of the camera, an ugly face appeared in the monitor: me. I'm one dark character. And compared to the rest of the class, I'm also dirty. While the other hosts/guests were goofing around, I got into some strange, demeaning, prurient act. Have years of hanging out in the Lobby made me indecent? It seems fine when a bunch of people are laughing about it, but to see yourself—mugging the camera, saying and implying things no one else is demented enough to try—it's a disturbing experience.
I will question anyone who even suggests that I belong in front of the camera.
Musical Rentals
• I'm getting my first real replies to my requests. These are from the actual people in charge of finding renters for their rooms. One guy emailed me saying his room was already taken. That's the power of the Internet—his offer had barely been online for a day. However, the manager of the place I rambled about yesterday has invited me for a visit tomorrow. If all goes well, I'll be moving back downtown within the week.
I'd prefer to stay in Blossom Hill/Edenvale if I can. The sky really opens up at night. It's not something you could see from downtown. If the power lines, high rises, and traffic lights don't obstruct your view enough, the glow of the city will. It's one of the things I miss about home as well; looking up at night and seeing Orion in celestial repose is something not a lot of people admire, much less see. Sometimes, it gets so crisp that I swear I can see nebulae and intergalactic contrails. By next week, the moon will be full on, something I might not get to see clearly as well.
I suppose once I have reliable transportation, I could seek out a place around here. Someplace away from the clamor of the city at night. A few convenient stores a (real) short walk away. Perhaps some familiar faces inviting me over for dinner or more.
Finding parking around campus would suck. Supreme. Is the comfort of suburbia enough to counter the frustration of the parking permit?
20021114:2245 — Ominous Oldies
• So driving to the house after visiting Dinah and family, Downtown plays on the radio. Just thought I'd throw that in, 'cause that's where I'm moving over the weekend. The approval—the whole process went real quickly. I found the ad online and replied to it one day, got a callback and a visit another, and got approved for it today. I just need to pay down to claim a room in a house with 10 other students or whatever they do. It's a large home, so my room is actually a decent size. It has a hallway entrance, which unfortunately cuts into the available floor space. It's enough to work with though. From my window, I have a lovely view of a roof and three standpipes. It gets lots of light (somehow) , so I won't complain too much. I do have yet to meet these other roommates of mine. I know they're polite, but dirty. (I found out a lot from their cupboards alone.) But yeah, Sunday (and Tuesday) will be spent getting things together and porting over whatever fits.
Is It Something to Celebrate?
• Yeah, I'll stick around for the moving out party on Saturday. Figured it would somehow suck of me not to attend. You're all invited, so long as you can get directions from me or Chuck.
• Otherwise, I've just been slightly giddy the whole day. I'm not sure why; sleep wasn't as refreshing as it had been since we timed the heater to kick in during the mornings. I haven't eaten too well in the past month. Regardless, the day went well, everyone was fun to be around, and I even had one of those strange silent moments with a loved one. Maybe it's just the feeling of progress, stuff getting done, a feeling that's only recently returning to my life.
Drama Class
• Whod've thought that Acting class would be such a challenge? Since my scene partner's car got thrashed in last week's (awesome) storms, I've been having trouble getting some practice time with her. Now another partnership is dissolving for personal reasons, and we're taking up the slack. Over the next few days, Ian, Lynn, and I have to find a suitable three-person scene and set it up for practice and all. On top of this, I have to prepare my other Latin Dance midterm, this time with Letha, whom I shall make Salsa with. I also have to prepare my Digital PSA outside of class and watch a few plays for critiques. Lots of fun the rest of this semester is going to be. If I can handle this, I surely have a chance at the Hell that will be Spring 2003.
20021116:0030 — Star War
• I'm not quite sure what the phenomenon is all about. The one thing it seems to do well is war. Comedy, unintentional more so than intentional, subtle more than overt, has its moments. It's no love story. Sometimes, it seems Lucas is so obsessed with his product that he fails to see the weak moments. The scope of the story is realized visually, but the difference in magnitude is ocassionally forgotten. It sometimes seems as if the Jedi are much more resilient than they should be, freefalling through stratotraffic, deflecting only infantry fire (because the artillery doesn't figure into the personal scenes), inconsistent with their freedom of movement. The "fake" characters seem much more lifelike than the "real" ones, probably 'cause more people and care went into their creation. Anakin and Amidala got married.
Episode II happens to be only the first Star Wars movie I remember seeing the whole way through. I'm not sure that I saw any of the others, or if I want to do so. As soon as I can, I'd like to watch Spaceballs again. There's a classic sci-fi.
Picking Up The Pace
• In a day, my roommates have managed to pass me up in getting their stuff packed. It was something I had been doing steadily for a month or so, but hadn't fully commited to. The day's approaching, and I have somewhere fitting to go, so I should be caught up tomorrow. I also have to meet Monica the manager again for the keys and the paperwork.
Getting stuff done earlier today was much more of a task than it should have been. I think I've been so spoiled by the Internet that I've forgotten what standing in lines is like. I'm not privileged enough to forget that other people still rely on personal encounters for their business. Momentarily pleased wage-earners come to the bank every other Friday to cash their paychecks. I had to pop in to get some cashier's checks and make a large withdrawal for my down.
Incomology
• It cost me $20 for the rental managers to eventually find out that I can be trusted with check transactions. An amused Monica relayed to me how the credit information I paid someone to release won't be available to me. A sort of "it's my information, but it isn't" situation. I have to take the deal up personally with the bureaus to find out valuable information that companies keep from me. My skepticism tells me that these credit reports get very detailed. I expect to see things like graphs of "geographic cashflow velocity" and how my spending habits vary with my mood, with what time I wake up in the morning, or with the daily contents of my blog. Do my payments come in earlier when I make fun of Scott? Does my financial plasticity depend on whether I spend more lobby time with Sara, Christiana, Jini, or Jojo? Which Jamba Juice precedes a change in my APR? Just what does my check number say about my love life?
This would all be so much easier if I could just receive e-Bills for my rent.
20021117:0100 — Going Away
• Around 7:00, I thought to myself, "who would actually show up right around now? I hope it isn't Munch..." Ten minutes later, he's on the couch, watching Jeopardy. Ten minutes ago, he was sitting on the floor, eating half-cooked chicken, and begging me for another drink despite everyone else's insistence. Throughout the night, I've had to babysit him, making sure he doesn't do things like insult Charlette again, spill drinks, and make more of an ass of himself than he already has. I haven't been doing a good job.
What has gone well is the turnout for our "Housebreaking" party. If Carina wasn't so tight up about other people in her bedroom (which she hasn't seen in months herself), we would have had many more parties here, band ones especially. Everyone's having fun drinking up, savoring the remaining meats in the freezer, and chatting by the fire. It's a simple joy I may never know again, peeing in the hot tub, making happy faces out of flaming Doritos, other random things you wouldn't think of doing with a standard lease. I disavow all knowledge, of course.
Hiatus
• Unless I get some sort of remote update thing going, this will be the last post until I get phone service started at the new place. Or DSL/Cable. Or some sort of psychokinetic communique with loose server ports. Whatever.
...damn it all...
20021119:0100 — Zip-a-dee Zip Drive
• My Zip drive and my floppy drive haven't been the best of friends. I had bays for both, but only had drive rails for one. Each grew jealous of the other as one saw gainful employment while the other dusted away, forgotten.
Then I opened up the computer one moving day and found another set of rails clipped to the front of the inner metal case. The designers of the tower case had the foresight to include these in case the aspiring computer user wanted to install another 3.5″ drive. What they failed to account for was the ability of the user to find the rails—for even when placed conspicuously upon the case front, the lack of identifying elements made it easy to miss.
The Zip disk and the floppy drive now coexist happily, instead of time-sharing the rails. This also implies that I can write updates for the site, synchronize the files to the Zip disk, port them to a computer lab on campus, and remote update. Yay!
Deportation
• The move went unreasonably smooth. Everything packed made it here okay, and a minimal amount of items were left behind at the house. In the span of a day, the room has taken form, and it looks like I have a lot of play. I'm looking to get back my dresser (out of action for a year and a half) and have fun with my personal refrigerator. A kitchen sized fridge wasn't part of the agreement, so no ice is to be had. I have the fridge set to partial freeze to care for the sizable remains from the freezer.
It's been a while since I've bought toiletries for myself. Sharing the old bathroom with Janice, I was welcome to whatever was in there (that applied to my lifestyle). I got replacements every once in a while, but spending an entire shopping trip on paper products and bathroom items had almost become a reminder of a forgotten time. It's easy to understand why: they take up space. I can only carry so much walking down 11th; I've lost some of my apartment-living ways.
The few roommates I've come across have been pleasant so far. I've shared dinner with two of them, and a few more have told me some things I didn't know about the place. There's a cost to this camaraderie that isn't covered in the rent or explained in the lease. But I'm looking to stick around until at least next summer. I hope these ants wandering around don't feel the same way.
Welcome Back to TV Land
• I've been through enough studio sessions to realize now what goes on behind the cameras at Late Night with Conan O'Brien, which I'm watching with regularity again. I got some camera experience with tonight's rotations, and found out a lot more than anyone probably intended me to learn. With drum corps-inspired precision, I can do slow, arcing zooms on moving objects, keeping the target in proper framing and focus. I can pick out small blemishes on someone's face, and tweak the camera enough to hide them. I can explain how to do this stuff to my classmates better than the teacher can. This after a few minutes getting accustomed to the controls. I also fixed a few problems that must have been left behind by other classes. I love figuring out how it all works.
• Victoria with the Secret (I call it Vicky's) asks me, "what is sexy?" I figure now that it's probably what makes comedy comedic: perceived intention. Earlier, I came to the conclusion that anything, expressed in the right context, is funny. So it seems with sexiness. Everything from a certain manner of looking around to wading naked in a pool of crimson petals are sexy in some way, honey on the side.
The important thing is not how one presents themself, but how another (or even the same person) receives the presentation. It may take an overt attitude to affect someone ignorant of subtleties, or just proper timing. And occasionally, all it takes is a mischievous thought to turn a lover hot. Of course, it helps if the intention is geared towards attraction and the response is allowed. That would make things easy, though...
20021123:2200 — One Week
• In this span, my kitchen and nutrition habits have improved, my sleeping pattern has relapsed to pre-heater days, and I've spent 98% less time on the Internet. Not like I work wonders with it; all I seem to do is browse funny/useful things online, delete spam, journalize, and check everyone's away messages.
It's going to be a few days until I can log on from my computer again. Pacific Bell patched a phone line all the way to the side of the house. I have to get someone to wire it the rest of the way. I could have done it myself, if I could find out where the rest of my phone line is. The jack was in obvious sight before I put the computer hutch in front of it. A wire passes outside and down the side of the house, disappearing in the crawl space underneath. On the other side are the junction boxes, and all kinds of wiring. I've identified eleven of the lines; ten of them go to the other rooms, and the eleventh goes to . . . the attic.
I don't live in the attic.
The wire from my room is mysteriously missing, and it's hard to tell what other wires pop out of the house with DSL and cable lines in the way. The one thing I know is that I'm not going to pay to have the job finished. It is my belief that the phone company should bow down completely to my wiring demands with a minimum of cost. Last time I had phone work done, I had to pay $120. However, that $120 bought a jack, a fresh, airtight hole drilled in the wall, a wire to run through it, and the proper connections. When I came home that day, I had service right away. Without that $120, I only get service up to the MPOE (main point of entry) and I have to wait around for the managers to do their duty, or at least lie to me about needing something more to finish the job.
20021124:1225 — ... And A Day
• While I visited my dance partner for a brainstorming session, Joyce—the other apartment manager—came by and finished setting up the room. The phone line's complete, as evidenced by today's local update. I also have a fresh cable TV line waiting to be connected. The ants have been taken care of, and a space heater should make the nights a little easier to rise out of.
Joyce seems to be the take-action, kick-ass sort of person. Compared to Monica, who sort of lumbers around, I think I'll take up my matters with Joyce whenever I can.
One By One
• The Foo Fighters' "One By One" really is one of those must-buy albums for the year. The tracks hit harder than on their last album, "There Is Nothing Left To Lose", which had more mellow, tender tunes on it. I'm a little partial to the first half and their closer piece "Come Back". Their style hasn't changed much: layered guitars playing walking melodies and dissonant chords, only a loose adherence to popular format, free-flowing lyrics emphasizing meter over content, and plenty of distinct rhythm breaks in each song.
I'm also listening to Dinah's Taproot CD, which reminds me of Alice In Chains with their preference for harmonized melodies through overdubbed vocals. As soon as I stop playing Foo Fighters over and over, I'll get around to a listen.
:1800 — Some Time Later...
• So I come back here and find out there was a clarinet recital earlier at State. I don't think I would have enjoyed it too much, but it surely would have made an excellent alternative to what I was doing around that time.
I had always imagined there was a shopping plaza around the 85/87 interchange. I remember seeing this plaza everytime I came home from Dinah's or whenever I rode Light Rail. It has a Barnes and Noble, a Bed, Bath and Beyond, and a Best Buy Electronics, where I was to purchase some cabling for the makeshift entertainment center I'm putting together. Quite a distance from Downtown, but there's nothing closer that I can walk to. (Don't ask me about the hardware stores.)
I got off the Almaden Shuttle near Oakridge and headed east along Blossom Hill. Nothing I saw in the area resembled what I was looking for. Around Sunny Oaks Rd, I decided to see if the plaza was across from the suburb. After losing myself in a few miles of tract housing, I continued down Blossom Hill, finding nothing but a park and a sound wall. Eventually, I came across a CompUSA I had been to before. Inside it took me a while to find the cable section, and a while longer to decide that I didn't need what they had (at those prices). Discontent with my findings, I helped myself to a Juicy Burger. And a root beer float.
:2200 — A Few Things About Myself
• Another one of those quiz things—if you don't mind, read on.
20021125:2210 — Tensile Strength
• Now really isn't a good time for anything to happen. Each of my classes (minus Broadcast Comm) has something big going on. I need to complete my PSA assignment before the multimedia labs close for the break. I have to organize that dance with Letha for the Latin Dance midterm. I also have to work with Ian and Lynn for our Acting skit. Add to that two critical reviews, one of a show I haven't watched yet, and that's a busy week for me.
I'm starting to get sick. My closer friends are acting up in various ways. I'll have to dig really deep for rent and installation bills. If I get through the end of this semester properly, I'll have my first straight-A term here (quite stunning for someone with my skills), I'll still be renting, and my social life will be as exciting as it's ever been. But the chances are good that this is my last easy semester—finishing up my GE will be a bitch.
I'm getting the shakes again, the feeling that everything up to now has been too quiet and something is going to stir up. My strength and spirit are waiting for the shock. It feels like I could be doing something more, that some critical information or passing opportunity is just out of reach. There isn't a lot I can do to keep calm. Everyone else seems to be caught up in their own dilemnas and transitions. My family is a little to distant and detached to be of help. My roommates are too new to lay my troubles upon.
Combustible material, this "self".
• A good question for me to ask is: "Can I save myself and somehow help others at the same time?"
"Will I be welcome?"
Slightly Less Trouble
• In tonight's Audio/Video Production rotations, I finally got to do the neat graphics stuff for the title and credits. Switching on the technical director's board was also a smooth experience. But strangely appealing was when Mr. Igoe let Matthieu and me direct. There are so many things to account for under the headset—that's why it wasn't in the rotations. Matthieu did well as the first student director, though he was a little wordy. I could probably work some shows myself, if I could coordinate everything correctly. I just need to get people to understand my command style.
For our taped sessions, we have to organize a two-person interview with an announcer and place the cameras upon them properly. The director has to direct the talent through a floor manager. Shot directions are given to the camera operators, and they have to be given time cues in case the director forgets something. In the control room, an audio technician gauges and sets the sound levels for the microphones, background music, commercials, and reference tones. The tech also makes sure the control staff can hear what's going on on floor. A VTR operator records everything and runs the commercials on tape. A computer graphics operator works with the titles, credits, and slate. The techinical director is told which shots to display onscreen, mixes in the keyframes from the CG operator, runs the slate, reference bars, and fades the production from and to black. The assistant director keeps everything running on time, counting down critical moments in the production.
All of this is coordinated by one person. That director has to be careful not to let shot choices distract him from scheduled commercials. The talent shouldn't be heard talking over breaks. A stray caption shouldn't interfere with the shot. Do you focus on who's talking, or on someone else's visual response? Why can't anyone hear the announcer? All of this is coordinated by one person.
20021126:2200 — Stability
• Forgive me if I tend to blab out about things that bother me. It usually takes me a good night of sleep to get over troubling worries. They still stand, but I feel a whole lot better about them when I wake up and slay a few of them during the day.
Digital Mayhem
• Lovely as his lectures are, sometimes my Production teacher gets real vicious with the assignments. It's hard for him to tell, but one session watching someone else doing what you're supposed to is not enough training for something as complicated as digital editing. Two of my classmates, Tim and Marissa, lucked out when I showed up in the multimedia lab. I was just as fresh as they were, but I find my way around programs with uncommon ease. Helping them make their public service announcements helped me do my own. By the time we had figured out how to use the sound editing programs, they were ready to burn their assignments onto CD-R, and I knew enough myself to run through the editing much more simply than they had.
It's sad, but nonetheless true: the best way to learn something is to teach it someone else. By definition, the teacher has to know more than the student. If the knowledge shared isn't already known by the teacher, the teacher has to learn it more quickly than the student.
If the assignment wasn't so unfair to those new to digital editing, I would have been more critical of Tim and Marissa's work. There were enough noticable mistakes to keep them from getting A's on the assignment. My concern was that they were more than pleased with the work they did do. Tim, especially, is a little computer-illiterate. Marissa, I hesitate to say, was our guinea pig for the project, permitting our advantage with her enthusiasm. By any account, we all did very well with the little preparation we were given. I hope our teacher understands that.
:2245 — Contagion
• I had a great time teaching my classmates how to do their assignments. So imagine the smile on my face when Jessica, the lab assistant helping us where I couldn't, informed me that the lab staff could use another member. If I can convince the manager that I could do for anyone what I did for Tim and Marissa, I might have a better job to look forward to, or at least another one to pay the bills. The experience I could glean from assisting is quite compelling. I'm not familiar with all the programs (3-D modelers, video editing, computer animation, etc.), but as evidenced tonight, I learn damn quick.
The computers could also use a little work. They don't have the fastest processors, so cleaning out the numerous small programs that drain memory (things like file association maintainers, anything by Real™ that isn't RealPlayer proper, and so on) would help. Tweaking the network so people aren't saving their work in places they shouldn't, or messing with files they're prohibited from, is also a necessity. Everyone also has to be able to find the programs they need—their shortcuts/aliases aren't always easily accessible.
I'm going to have a little talk with the lab manager. I could also talk to my Broadcast Comm professor, Dr. Massey, who is responsible for the lab's existence. (...ooh, devious)
Tracing Our Steps
• Letha stopped by a little early for our dance rehearsal. For an "outsider", she was extraordinarily comfortable in the Band Lobby. It didn't help that I failed to explain her sudden presence to all the regulars, and then left without a word.
Whatever. The important thing is that we actually have a lot of Salsa material to dance to, despite my showing at an earlier rehearsal and a little trouble with the dance's footwork. I had a page filled with various positions, turns, breaks, and other maneuvers. I hadn't gotten to dips or other advanced maneuvers yet. Chances are good we won't need everything on the page. However, we were shown some intricate combinations in class, and we have to demonstrate our understanding of them. Letha's skill and some advice from TAs Ronnie, Tanya, and other friendly faces made up for a few sessions I cut out of...
Assuming we can find suitable music, we'll be well prepared for our midterm on the 5th. I'd rather not go on fifth out of maybe 30 groups of performers, the reasoning being that everyone after us would be intimidated by our magnificence. *pre-emptive gloat* The multi-choice final is something else entirely.
:2350 — No Trouble At All
• Something I noticed during todays improv exercises, and something that Lynn reminded me of, is that I'm not a dramatic person. That is, I don't actively pick fights with those around me. That's well and fine, but when I tried to improvise a dramatic situation with Nycole, I came up short, almost wordless. I can't recall a situation where I wanted to hurt someone with mean words, with bad intentions, with the full weight of agony and anguish disguised as "caring". I'm not even yet a newcomer to intimate conflict. I don't have that block in my Lego set.
Sure, it's a dangerous thing to have in any relationship, and often the maker of bitter ends. I can't help but feel like less of myself—like I'll never know what true happiness is without the other extreme to contrast it with. Better to have hated and forgotten, than to have never hated at all?
Should I go around causing trouble, and tap into that power when I'm acting? Or should I play as many antagonists as I can, to be better prepared when I'm villainized in real life? Is it fair to pain others for my own betterment? Am I weakened by non-confrontation?
Sleep on that. We'll work it out together in dream.
"No, I need to go to class..."
• Can't you see? This is fate's way of telling us that we should turn our backs. That we should turn around now and fly free! No more commitments to strive for but our own. No people to please but ourselves. No paths to follow but that one...where our freedom waits. I want to fly! Don't you want to fly? Away?!
A little something that just came to mind, something I meant to say earlier. In it's proper context, it would have been poignant and remarkable, but tarnished by the silliness of its spontaneity. In other words, it would have been the perfect thing to say. Maybe I should screenwrite...
20021127:2200 — Oneness
• Throughout the day, everyone I know here has been dropping out of reach. The holidays do that. I'll be gone soon enough. Until then, the whole "lonely" kitsch is getting to me. Can't even watch a show without people pointing out that I'm by myself. Yeah, so I was the only person in the audience, but I had a good reason to be there. I'm supposed to watch My Camino Real for an Acting critique. The show people have a little policy about performing only for audiences that number greater than the cast. Now I either have to miss Jojo's recital to watch the Sunday show, or watch the Wednesday show and type up the paper in between then and class the next morning.
Ticking
• Speaking of Thursday, about two hours collectively stand between now and next Thursday's dance midterm. This challenge seems less as such—I can look at the dance systematically, shadow over the movements, e-mail my progress to Letha, and clean up things to music when we meet in person again. She works in the Art Building. It has a smell... Modern art can be that way.
20021130:1830 — Broken
• Kind of enjoying the change in routine. The house is as messy as ever, but neither Mom nor Dad has asked us to do anything about it this time. I wish Jare wasn't such a slob—it requires at least three years of gymnastics training to get to the computer from the door. I should consider myself lucky to have even opened it.
I have no idea what would motivate him to clean house. He must know it sucks to live like he does. But in all of his years, he hasn't had the will to change it. It's like he's content with living in disorder. Yeah, the place is a mess now, but all he has to do is commit to a few minutes of cleaning each day. He shouldn't have to do it all right away—step through it.
• As for my own mess, it seems that all I really need is a place to put the clothes and books that currently reside in boxes on the floor. I don't think there's a spare dresser here, and I wonder if anyone has the means to get a new one. The one I used to use is now a backyard storage area for seasonal vegetables and gardening equipment. The only other "free" one is being painted over and probably needs drawer work. Even a rack of shelves would help. No use worrying about it...
Unstable Equilibrium
• Since my family offered to take Noah off my sister's hands for a while, it seems he's changed. I guess being away from Mom and Dad made him a little insecure, and he's starting to cling to people as if he'll never see them again.
He's also teething again, which is making the nights a little unbearable. I'm sleeping in the living room on the couch, while Dinah insists on sleeping on the floor with Noah rather than trying to squeeze in with Silvestre in the guest room. Last night, he kept everyone up with a round of pained wailing. I don't yet have the skill to tell a "damn, I'm awake" cry from an "Anbesol now!" cry. It will also take some time for me to find the strength to set aside my own frustrations to attend to my young one's.
In afterthought, it makes one appreciate the role of parent after being a child for so long. I don't know how many times my parents wanted to spank the pain out of my lungs. I also don't know how much it hurt them to be away, what Dad was thinking during those months of duty on a frigate in the middle of some ocean. I'd appreciate a chance at the experience, but definitely not now.
20021201:2100 — Child's Play
• On the other end, it's kind of easy to entertain Noah. It's especially fun to talk to him now, before he can understand or question what I'm saying. Some of it's bad, but when told with a straight face and a bright smile, anything will entertain and enlighten. I'd like to try my hand at a nursery book. Glory knows that it will never sell in any worthy, honest amount. But perhaps some cynical parent with a firm grasp of their children might appreciate the slightly underhanded wisdom I offer now:
See the dog bark. "Bark! Bark!" He barks because he is discontent with his station. He sees freedom beyond his chain and fence—he wishes for a better quality of life. But sadly, he is not able to break loose. He cannot run wild with the stallion and the elephant. He continues to wish, because his heart is true. The moon doesn't mind. The dog also finds joy in the disenchanted cries of his brethren, similarly bound.
No one over reading age needs to think about stuff like that. I still would like to make something for children. But nothing like that...not yet. Society has its own growing up to do.
The Voice of a New Generation
• Remember when MTV used to show music videos? Or good ones at least? The idea was pretty revolutionary—tie music to visual art, especially that which the audience didn't already see in their mind's eye. Aside from giving production crews some extra work, it allowed bands and other musicians a way to express themselves they couldn't through music alone. More importantly, it gave them a face, humanizing them in a way.
Apart from the random cartoon (3 South is okay), I will not watch MTV. A lot of it we could do without. Some of it frightens me, genuinely. The small bit I caught earlier today was about Christina Aguilera. (Now remember, most everything I write here is an opinion. An opinion—my right as an American, my duty as a blogger.)
The girl has no fucking shame. And according to the recent Rolling Stone cover, she has no nipples either. Christina seems to be one of those entertainers who do not fully realize the effect of their presence. She's still young enough to be seen as a role model for teens and young children. In fact, she brings her 5 year old brother (or other relative) around to her shows. As a family member, the kid is entitled to see her pole dance and strip down to a legal minimum. I normally wouldn't mind, but she intends to pass this off to young America as "popular culture". As how we should be dressing and acting.
It's a little strange for me to be so conservative, but this is a limit within a culture I'm not going to touch. I find this just as offensive as extremist feminism. Despite what bubblegum and man-bashing would like for you to believe, it is entirely possible for a woman to define her place in society without raising the Vehement Venus battle flag or yielding herself to seXXXual objectivity. Anywhere in between. It consists simply of knowing when to approach either polar region while staying far enough from the frost. Tropics are key.
20021205:0150 — The Night Before
• The dance routine that's dominated some of my free thought and time had to take a back seat to some good ol' paper writing. My homework and writing has been surprisingly light for a 13-unit semester. A lot of physical planning and coordination took its place, but I feel like I could have done with a little more paperwork. The Internet, blogging, some Word exploration, and some free time has made my writing much more effective than any English course could make it.
Improving your writing, or anything for that matter, begins with lots of practice. That came in the form of this journal I try to keep updated often with stuff relevant to me. A good deal of it is still just me throwing out thoughts and ideas disguised as sentences. However, I've become more aware of sentence structures, conveying ideas, and organizing effective arguments. I like to keep the blog eror-free, so my editing skills have surpassed that of many a newspaper employee. The squiggly red lines are kind of annoying, another factor.
Whatever words, ideas, or subjects I'm not already familiar with are much more easily available online than through books. I used to refer to encyclopedias, textbooks, dictionaries, and thesauri often. Comfortable, convenient clicking and typing has replaced a lot of the manual labor. I have shortcut keys assigned to reference sites. Anything else is just a Google away.
I'm also fond of conformity in my writing. Thusly, I use a lot of Word trickery to keep the pages clean. Templates and Styles are prominent in my word processing. It's half desire to use the program effectively, half habit from coding tags into HTML and object-oriented programming. By the time I've started a new paper, it's half written itself—automation takes care of the basic format and headings. Save for small breaks to account for paper-specific things like capitalizing titles, my writing is allowed to flow smoothly.
A Little More Bragging
• Some lamers from the Wednesday Latin Dance had the audacity to criticize Letha and me during a short informal practice. It wasn't even so much criticism as it was slamming. We were trying to memorize the routine through a dry run when I heard the familiar sound of Pinoys bagging on our skill. It's been a while since I've been criticized for anything important, since anyone's had anything to say about my proficiencies.
I've never been a fan of negative criticism. Eventually, I'll learn something from specific comments. It's the other, rude ramblings that bother me. Things like, "Dude, look at him...he sucks," or, "I'd hate to watch them perform." A lot of my peers never learned to look at things as constructively as I did. It's also probably a male thing to scoff at others seemingly less able than themselves.
That must have been why I enjoyed watching the same dumbasses stumble and rush through their own routines. If nothing, I know where the damn beat is. I bet many post-modern composers were inspired by the clumsy spasms of fakers trying to dance. And I'm sure Scott would eat these guys for breakfast, and use their bones to measure reds. They'd probably still fuck that up somehow.
So where's my constructive criticism? Well, shit...some people can't be helped. The best I can do is lead by example. It's too bad we're taking the floor early. Many will find our performance intimidating. Boo-hoo.
20021205:2200 — Suffering
• They were enjoying our performance. We had some moves they hadn't thought of. They cheered us on wildly.
That must have been why I blew the rest of the routine. I can't remember how many mistakes there were. And since Letha was following my lead, the mistakes were mine alone. We were able to flow out of the first one. The subsequent ones started to eat at my mind, and soon I found myself standing on the floor, looking at the judging desk, and searching again for the beat when I realized we wouldn't have a chance to do it over again.
Everyone makes mistakes. I can't accept the fact that I make them, considering all the work and sweat we put into this. We looked at everything—footwork, arm positions, how certain moves linked into others, where the critical points in the routine were.
What I couldn't anticipate was the reaction we would receive. I'm not accustomed at all to people liking what I do. Too often, I try to do spectacular things, and fail miserably. I've been ignored, criticized, detested, passed off, but hardly appreciated. Each clap, whistle, and cheer is a surprise to me. It's too difficult to think of anything else—I relish every moment in the limelight, because I know they happen so rarely.
When others make mistakes, their friends are there, ready to offer consolation and support. The few who do this for me keep saying things like, "it's okay, everyone makes mistakes." And the fewer still who try to go deeper get turned away by my own pride and shame. I hate this about myself. Maybe I'm just too insistent on wanting certain people to attend to my need. Or perhaps I'm so used to wearing my sadness alone that I don't know how to handle those people who want to share some healing with me.
What will bother me is the thought that I didn't live up to my potential. It's like I've lied to everyone who expected better of me. I've been telling people about these ideal visions of Letha and I, gliding across the floor in unison. No movement wasted. No moment unrealized. Granted, I don't say it exactly in these terms, but my imagination is no simple matter. Many do not realize how difficult it is for me to dream of such grand truths, only to live a lie instead.
At least once, I would like to know what it's like to succeed, plainly, definitively.
20021206:2300 — End
• Feeling much better than I was last night. Mornings do that. I'm still not over the performance, and further discouraged by the fact that it's on tape. So now whenever someone checks out the tape for research, they'll see some guy get off to an okay start, subsequently falter and walk off the stage screaming in rage after the final dip. The dips were all we got right together. They weren't that important gradewise, and something we didn't practice much. Still, a good three-quarters of the routine never made the light of day, their time lost to movements repeated in error, or to confused wandering. The only other thing I remember was all the cheering, and everyone who came by afterwards to express their sorrow.
Whatever. It's over now. What really matters is that I've retained the knowledge learned from the lessons, and won't hesitate to put it to the floor again. Someday, I'll get it right.
Balancing Act
• Not that I have a lot of free time, but the weekend should be relaxing. All I have to do is get to an acting rehearsal. A trip Downtown for the parade and Marching Band concert will be a bonus. Otherwise, I'll just get things further organized in my room, and ponder my financial situation.
The last time I planned my budget, I expected to work double the hours I currently work. That would have made rent only a minor nuisance, my debt a shrinking one, and student luxuries like cable TV and broadband a part of my life. It would be nice to have a savings account again.
Somehow, I've got teachers in my department excited about my desire to lab assist. Part of it stems from confusion over who actually runs the lab. But I'd like to think that there's talk about "that Reduta kid," and offers are being considered.
Also news in my business world, Vashti, the other "senior" cashier at Roberts, left today. It seems to be a trend there. When I came in, I essentially replaced Jeremy, who was training me. Sammy was nearing her final months. Eventually, other employees started filtering out, like Veronica, Sue the accountant, Nate in the book dept., and now Vashti. The only co-workers remaining above me are the owners, two managers, and one full-time book clerk, all of whom ought to outlast me. It would sure be nice to have more hours to work, but with things going the way they've been throughout the year, I might be the next one out the door.
Everything's All Qaeda
• I think Al Qaeda is going about the whole terrorism thing all wrong. I don't doubt the existence of terror cells lying dormant Stateside, but they don't seem to be keeping busy. Praise be to Allah. Meanwhile, suicide bombers kill an "alarming" dozen or so people a week. Ever since planes stopped falling from the sky, nothing significant has happened here that Al Qaeda can take responsibility for. Blessed are His children, for they will smite the infidels.
Taking down America isn't an easy task. There are ways, but they tend to be on scales grander than are currently being schemed. Here are some ideas. The sons of extremist Islam will conquer, because their women are oppressed, their humanities silenced, their industries wasted on war-mongering, their lands razed of life...
- Transportation
- Almost every working American has to commute to work, spending an average of an hour or so each day sitting in traffic. Assuming proper explosives can be obtained, the best targets seem to be freeway intersections. Places like where 280/680 and 101 meet. That would take out San Jose business right away. Techs would tank. Confused motorists will turn upon themselves, enraged that they're late to work/school again.
- Television
- America cannot live without television. Sure, individually, we can do without "Will & Grace", "The Sopranos", or "Pokémon". But as a culture, we are bound to the boob tube. Society would fail to function without hearing what the weather will be like later in the week, how people are suffering abroad, what Winona stole from Nordstrom six years ago. We would be cognizant of our own desperations again.
- Telecom
- Remember "Dark Angel"? A major plot basis was the aftermath of a massive EMP from a nuclear weapon detonated high in the atmosphere. Though not quite close enough to kill people with a blast or fallout, such a detonation would induce strong currents in any circuit, regardless of limiting capacitors, semiconducting surfaces, maybe even power switches. Any microchip would become a crispy piece of silicon. Anything depending on computers (read: most everything) would fail. Web surfers would be without porn and file-swapping. Over half the nation's automobiles would be useless without the microcontrollers regulating fuel mixing, steering and braking controls, and vanity lights. Those commercials where PG&E-inspired people conserve power by turning off appliances? Out of a job. Cell phones? Sorry, I can't hear you, Verizon guy. But more seriously, there wouldn't be a drop of water flowing through the city, not without some muscle to work the pumps, dams, and reservoirs, and regulation of now renegade faucets. Bottled water would, um, "hundrify" in price.
- Traumatize the Children
- One armed jihadeen in every tenth school. Doesn't even have to kill anyone. Just running down the halls, emptying clips, and casually mentioning their friend "Osama". Legally, parents are required to worry about their children being exposed to bloodbaths and carnage. Law enforcement would be spread so thin that other crimes, less heinous, would go on ignored. American children aren't learning much in school to begin with. If indoctrination you instead prefer, children are easily impressionable. A well thought out lesson plan can get those kids learning how to properly wear a turban/burkha, who makes the best suicide-bombing targets, and saying the Pledge of Allegiance again.
- Tacking the Tap
- Stop giving us oil. Oil is bad for the environment anyway. Causes cancer, ruins seabirds, and makes CDs so fucking hard to open. The fossil fuel lobbies have all but ensured that we cannot get by without oil. People haven't caught onto electric and hybrid engines. Nuclear power is bad form, passé.
- Troubling Studies
- With the right reasoning, everything we take for granted can be proven unsafe. There's something toxic in everything we eat. Wearing clothing traps deadly bacteria. Not wearing clothing causes skin cancer. Medicine kills hundred of people every day. Living is an unsound health choice—it reduces your life span by 24 hours every day you do so. Tell me I'm wrong...
- Terrorize the Vote
- If you can't assassinate a politician, become one. With the proper campaign funding and election drama, anyone can be elected to office.
Yeah, that there would be some messed-up shit if it were to happen. So how can we prevent this?
- Creative Punishment
- Thousands of able Americans are locked up in prisons, rendered useless to society. We should give them guns and drop them in strategic places. I'm sure all the serial killers, cannibals, resistance fighters, rapists, race killers, and psychopaths would be happy for the exercise. And even the most crazed religious extremist would have trouble dealing with someone who has nothing to lose but their body and mind.
- Women's Lib
- Remember what happened when women learned they didn't have to accept the inferiority imposed by their masculine counterparts? Well, wait 'til you see what happens when liberation goes semi-automatic.
All in all, things can't happen if people aren't brave enough to make them happen. To paraphrase the Hagakure, "having wisdom and talent is the lowest tier of usefulness."
20021208:1045 — Parade
• After catching the Spartan Marching Band in the Band Lobby after their march, I went down to the parade route just in time to miss my brother Eddie march. I stayed long enough to see those neat Hummer limousines and went home, disappointed.
• So now I'm watching the parade on TV. I'm thinking about TV production techniques this time through. One of the first images I see is a close up of a trombone player. The cameraman insists on getting such a personal shot that the trombonist's slide is striking the lens case. The guy is using a simple shoulder mount, so he really should be able to stay out of the fucking way. The crane operator is also pushing his luck with the sousaphones.
But even more atrocious? The Nickelodeon/Paramount's Great America people forgot to bring SpongeBob.
:1500 — Rejoice!
• For I've found my coffee mug. I had forgotten about the box labeled Kitchen Crap II kept with some clothing boxes. It also has my "everyday" glasses, spices, Ziploc-ware, gardening things, bags, and other important things.
:0045 — "All 'hos On Deck!"
• Closed out the evening by dining with half the drumline, Katie and Chuck. To round out the bass line, they ported over John or Peter, and took in a rookie named Josh. To prevent confusion with Josh Powell, last seen in '98, I'll refer to this new guy as, appropriately, Turbo Josh. Now Turbo Josh, who plays second, is one trippy muffer. I guess he does fine on field, but sit this kid down at a table, and you're left standing guard over your dinner. Not that I had to fend him off with dinner knives, though; he just needs a little insulin or something.
Seeing Turbo Josh at work, to me, must be like a normal person wondering what my deal is when I act up. Turbo Josh is one of those guys you'd be tempted to sock in the face just for the hell of it, though not in a Muench sort of way. He seems to have tapped into that mystic, collective Happiness that every Goth kid abandoned when they started shopping for black. So much unbridled energy with nowhere to go but wild.
Thusly, he made a suitable replacement. After all, I can be a tough act to follow.
20021209:2315 — Packing It On
• Took some time to map out the rest of my college career. According to all the course requirements, I'm here for another four semesters. That means a December 2004 graduation at the earliest. It's impossible to shorten. I need to clear out my GE, allowing me to take upper division as soon as possible. TV Production (RTVF 171), the follow-up to Intro to Audio/Video, meets at the same time as the Humanities Honors track (HUM 1AB, 2AB) I'm finishing. After 171, I can take Acting/Directing for the Camera (RTVF 170AB). Four semesters, packed with other stuff in between.
Next semester, I'm tackling 15 units of GE, and possibly a loose RTVF class I can take without other requirements. Punching a hole in my plans is the Philosophy Department. The Philosophy class I was planning to take Thursday nights got cut, leaving only one section in the late Monday/Wednesday mornings. It meets too early to allow me those precious morning hours at work, which I'm mostly guaranteed. I'm not sure yet which Category E class to take instead, if any.
The rest of my classes will meet Tuesdays and Thursdays. Hopefully, I'll have enough work hours on the other days to make living comfortable.
I also have to figure in a minor required by the TRFT department. Humanities Honors, coupled with just a few other classes, makes a nice, short Humanities minor. I wonder about the breadth of the courses though. I'm much more literate than I was when entering college, but I still don't have much of a passion for the explorations of others. My reading to late has been limited to quotes, random interest books, and Harry Potter.
:0030 — When Too Much Isn't Enough
• Start here: memepool.com.
20021211:0340 — Information Blitz: Neutralization
• With classes over, I'm finding some interesting diversions. Holding my attention at the moment is the news of Scud missiles intercepted off the coast of Yemen. While I do not like the thought of international war, I am still very interested in the military methods and concepts involved. A few articles had some good background information on Yemen's involvement in the world scheme, and North Korea's arms machine. Spanish and U.S. forces captured and neutralized intended to neutralize the rogue weapons.
On that thought, recent developments in explosives neutralization aim to bypass conventional methods (confined detonation, explosive/propellant incineration). Reagents are being made which chemically render the explosives/propellants safe for use as fertilizer—most explosive compounds and fertilizers are rich in nitrogen. Other parts of the bombs/rockets disposed of in this way can be reclaimed as metal, recycled as biodegradable matter, or disposed of as non-hazardous waste.
Applied Learning
• Though we didn't go over it intensely, the Stanislavsky System is supposed to be an effective way to realize an acting role. Through the system, an actor looks past the immediate content of the script to the psychology driving the character, the "why". Instead of reciting lines, the actor emulates the character invisioned by the script writer. The character's personality, motivations, and desires transforms the actor.
Can the system be used to make a real person more engaging? Not so much altered in personality, but rather guided to the same personal goal by another way of thinking? Can one throw aside insincerity, avoidance, allusion, and defensiveness, in favor of genuine relations?
More importantly, can I learn to ditch the shadow language and admit that I've had enough observation and am ready to put my learnings to practice? I feel held back by the thought that a mistake on my part would prove too costly to risk. However, I also feel that I haven't made much of an effort. Therefore, I appear inconsistent and insecure. I just have to be clear with what I want out of life, and from where and whom I shall find it.
I know how to elevate a moment. I also know when to back away and allow development by others. All that really needs to be done is to be more goal-oriented about these moments. They can't all be as pleasing as I want them to be, but the thought musn't repress.
• Aesthetics is a major component of the broadcast arts. A whole language underlies the immediate visions and sounds of film and video. Presenting the same elements in a shot in different ways alters our perception of them. The same face can be seen as imposing, pleasant, empty, deceptive, alluring, knowing, or pained, independent of facial expressions. The flat image on screen can be endowed with an almost supernatural amount of depth.
When I have time to draw publicly, I will be able to make even my most stylized images as compelling as any faithful rendering. At the least, I can make them more distinctive than they already are.
20021213:0030 — Truer Color
• So Sara's really a dark blonde/light brunette. I've actually had more shocking revelations. Okay, one; she took me wholly by surprise. I don't usually take notice of how people wear themselves, barring remarkable exceptions. The reasons why people change themselves is what I'm after. I do stand with everyone else who appreciates her "new" 'do.
Give It Away, Give It Away Now
• I almost didn't recognize Janice on the phone at work, calling to inform me of the Christmas present she had for me. It's quite uncommon for my friends to gift me of their own volition. And it's a bit rarer for me to commit to giving. I've always wondered of the possible retaliations, like giving presents was some sort of hazard. It can't really hurt to give anyone a gift, no matter the situation. And I'm not in an ideal giving situation, but I'll go through with it anyway.
The few gifts I've contemplated giving sit here, waiting for "perfect moments" that may never come. I still wonder if they're safe to give. There are alternatives I'm set on getting, though. The hardest part for me is getting the gifts to the gifted.
• This is the year my family throws the huge Reduta DVD Christmas. We tend to get our electronics a little late. I think my folks are gearing up only because Blockbuster is phasing out their VHS collection. Remember when CDs became the audio standard? Tower and Wherehouse went crazy remodeling their racks to accomodate the media change. I got my first CD player back in '95—it came with a John Tesh anthology. (Mind you, it's interesting music...to listen to.)
Since cable would be a stretch at the moment (officially, AT&T doesn't offer any kind of broadband media service in my immediate area), DVDs would help pass the time when the Internet doesn't cut it. With the production classes I've taken, I'm very much into digital editing suites. I'd probably need a better computer; even though this one does a decent job of Photoshopping, I'm playing highwire with the loose gig of space left in my 6GB drive. So a quicker computer with better media cards and hard drive space approaching terabyte-class storage would be desirable. An impossible gift, but desirable.
The most plausible gift I can imagine at the moment is a dresser and bookshelf from home. It would clear up things here immensely. Otherwise, a good CD or gift card could pass.
20021214:0035 — In Style
• Prince, on Jay Leno, has the coolest suit on tonight. Pinstripe, with a pseudo-collar that forms a cross on his chest. The shirt is okay—at first, I thought it had a cufflink style closure. That would've been cool... Shiela E is going crazy on the timbale rig. Pumps stretching the heads, cymbal stands dragged across the floor and everything.
20021214:2015 — Gotta Blame It On Something
• I never did like this weather much. The raindrops just aren't frozen and flaky enough. Even a little stray sunshine would help.
The situation isn't completely helpless. I've taken up to waterproofing my boots. My rain gear too, if only the stores would carry Scotch Guard.
...you're right, I don't have anything interesting to write about. Hm. ... Hey, how about that team? The one that tosses the ball around?
Evolution
• Okay, how about this? I'm ready to try some improved illustration techniques. This year's Christmas card won't be so "limited". It's got sort of a plot, and some scenes that would look great on film. I'm anxious, really.
• Oh, the lightning's kicking up. Yay! But this part of the city is a little notorious for its blackouts. A small price to pay. Everything that keeps me sane 'round here is powered, though. Except the stove. Yeah, guess I could default on some cooking. Mom left me some fresh steak.
Internet. Steak. Internet. Steak.
Kinda hard to have both. The firemen are quite eager to remind me.
:2200 — Sadism
• So I'm sitting here, lights out, candles lit, watching the action outside my window. The skyway to San Jose International ends over Downtown. I know it's messed up, but I'm kinda hoping one of those planes catches thunder. It would be a sight. An explosion and some flaming buildings would be nice, but that's overkill. Real people dying isn't my kind of fun.
20021215:1530 — Bastards!
• They fucking threw away my favorite mug! My only mug! The assholes who do the weekly cleaning around here have no fucking patience! So I left it in the sink for an afternoon. What gives them the fucking right to toss out my possessions? I don't care what the rental lease says; that is just wrong. It goes against all that we've made as a civilized society. It's a matter of respect. Respect my right to take care of my affairs when I do, and I'll respect your right to own an apartment complex free of strife, arson, hazardous materials, and city inspectors.
They also threw away one of my spoons, but that's different. I bought the thing cheap at the Daí Th'àñh°; I'll do it again. The mug had sentimental value. And Ghirardelli made it, so it was class. Not only is it inconvenient for me to walk down to the Square and buy another one, it's also impossible for me to buy back all the memories I've associated with it. All the lonely nights when a modest cup of Ghirardelli hot chocolate was all I had to keep sane. Every morning I made bearable by making my coffee Irish. All the milk skins I had to spoon out to keep my cappucino pristine. You just can't sell that. We don't know how to package them efficiently. People would die painfully trying to market memories. And what would the FTC have to say about it?
Don't throw away my mug. Not without property, auto, and life insurance.
20021217:2215 — Drinking My Words
• Turns out someone "borrowed" my mug—I found it drying in the common rack. So none of the cleaners touched it. I suppose people will ask my permission once I start labeling everything, or be more vigilant about leaving my stuff around. I still don't know what happened to my spoon...
...bastards...
Now What?
• I get my first, real, deserved break shortly before New Year's. I don't know what to do with it. A snow trip to the mountains would rock, but anything outside the Bay—anything within my physical comfort range, is outside my financial comfort range. (I could loosen my credit, and soak in debt for another year...) The last thing I want to do is waste an entire week here at the apartment. Next on my not-do list is staying at home, since I intend to do that for a week or two over the summer, helping to bring some cleanliness back into my family's world.
No one's rushing to include me in their plans, something I've grown accustomed to but feel uneasy about right now. I'm not sure with what level of commitment that changes. Sometimes I wonder if I'm being associated with some stigma, something that turns people off. Is it something I can observe of myself? Can I be conscious of it? Is this something I can change, or is it something people need to deal with? It's something I've struggled with since I knew how to struggle. It's my jihad.
To be honest, I'm not sure just how different my quality of life is from everyone else's. What I lack in material wealth, intimate relationships, and celebrity has been provided for in talent, stability of living, and the capacity to understand things on a level unknown to most. Are the people around me happy? Do they wonder how I'm doing? One thing I know for sure is that while I can accept the condition I'm in, I know there's much more for me to accomplish. It's likely within my power, but attaining this level of being will take more out of me than I'm giving now. Would I be pleased with the result, mindful of other ways I can expand myself?
20021218:1900 — ...And Eating Them, Too
• And there's my spoon.
...lamers...
Over
• That would be the semester. A little fanfare would be nice...I guess the party on Friday would count. It would be cool if everyone just got together on the last day of finals, waited for the last test-takers, and stormed the night. That's probably what's happening in colleges other than SJSU, where people actually take time out to have fun. Of course, it could also be so because they're so bummed from sucking that revelry is their only pleasure.
Whatever... I think I'm just a little bitter about having to work tomorrow, like most everyone I know. There's probably enough to do here until Spring semester starts up.
:2320 — Setting In
• Damn, it took me forever to connect the pain in my legs with the pallet of books I sorted Monday. I don't think the session of Konami's Police 911 2—the shooter that tracks your body movements—helped either. Lots of squatting and ducking. I should've taken the hint; when I took the final bullet, my "youthfulness" didn't register at all in the rating. I figured it was judging me on my moments of deliberation, not my lack of darting movements.
The fact that I'm hurting at all reminds me why I stayed in band and took all those Human Performance classes: I'm not as fit as I can be. I've got plenty of lean on me, but I wonder how much it can take. The last intense exercise I did (that didn't involve walking home from parties late into the night) was a few laps around the pool. Those things wore me out. Back when I took Swimming, I figure I was doing around a dozen laps total in 45 minutes' time. Then, I toweled off and marched the rest of the afternoons. There was this hot chick named Xenia taking the class as well—sometimes, we split a lane. She could fill a suit. And some days, she didn't change back into anything more conservative than that singlet of hers.
...huh? Oh, right. The point is that my work and the rest of my day are so disjoint that I forget I have a job sometimes. Occasionally, something that bothers me during the workday lingers on, but those are rare examples.
• It's going to be a while before I can begin clicking with my roomies. The ones that I do know have either left, or are going to leave for the holidays. I used to get excited when Chart and the gang left me alone on random weekends. I liked having the house to myself. Here, it just gets quieter. The washroom only has so much in it. And other than the kitchen, there's nowhere new to go—my room, the bathrooms, the front porch. Wait, there's the basement I might be able to access through the storm-cellar-type entrance in the back. I don't know who's allowed down there, or what keeps the heater company. It's an exploration I can do without, though.
20021219:1820 — Amusing Tidbits
• The power of Google: So I'm searching for textures to use in Photoshop. A google for "+texture lace fill" turns up some okay results. However, one remarkable result links to a lunch suggestion: just toast your favorite sandwich bread and fill it with cheese, mayo, lettuce, and Alpine Lace® turkey for marvelous taste and texture.
• The Honest Secret To Collegiate Success: People leave all kinds of intersting things in their books when they sell them back. We have a wall filled with wedding photos, portraits of significant others, and postcards from Hawai'i. Today I found a 3×5 with the following:
GOOD LUCK ON FINALS BIG SIS! It's about 7:52 pm and I don't know where you are. I'm going to assume that you are taking a nap only to awake and study some more. I just want to wish you lots of good luck and extra brain cells during this time. You are a good student! I know it's difficult to remain focused, but you must keep going. The finish line is within your sight. With determination and hard work (and a low-cut shirt!) you will earn your A's! Happy Studying! I [love] you!
The author and recipient fortunately/sadly remain anonymous.
20021221:1335 — Christmastime!
• <Five Gold Gibbons> down at the B3ta board took this picture of his/her cat, Clive getting VERY excited about his Christmas present.
:0200 — Housesitting
• Here at Dinah's, tending to the house while they're gone. Watering plants, making sure food doesn't spoil, and that they get the most out of their cable bill. It's kinda strange without them here, but that's the price I pay for using their car this time.
Taking advantage of this opportunity to do some Christmas shopping. Didn't do much last year—I still have to be smart about it this year. Make the most out of precious little. Otherwise, this shopping thing is kinda fun. You have to think critically about the people you're buying presents for. Looking past the obvious happens to be something I take to well. Of course, I wish I was more perceptive of the surface; the obvious escapes me when I most need it.
Anyhow, down at Fry's I couldn't help but look on in awe at all the cool stuff I can't have. Money figures prominently, but in the case of Photoshop 7, my computer doesn't have the processor power. I could probably stand the slowdown, but knowing that I can also just get a better machine is irritating. Now in the case of Unreal Tournament 2003, I simply don't have a gig to spare, much less 3. Big game. It comes with a light edition of Maya for 3-D modeling, so you can use it to build levels for your own deathmatch amusement. It probably does a decent job with less intensive projects. I'd like to get some experience with this type of software before the technology passes me by. Oh, and Metroid Prime is looking sweet on the GameCube. Not that I have either, or a chance to anytime soon.
20021223:0055 — Retail World
• I came across a comic the other day, similar to what I was doing. It was retail-themed, had distinctive characters slightly resembling mine, and was generally gag-based with a progressive plot. The scary thing is that it was made about a full year before mine was. I thought I had retail all to myself. Well, his comic lasted no longer than mine did. I suppose his reasons were the same. Longevity seems to be a difficult thing to accomplish online. A lot of ventures are short-lived, impulsive. And only a few of those are well thought through. Seems that everyone gives up because some time constraint binds them, or they simply aren't having fun with the project.
As for myself, I still haven't decided if I want to take up the pen again. The most logical choice now would be to work out the plots and art in advance to make a backlog. When I'm prepared to maintain some sort of regular schedule, I'll have enough to start off comfortably. Before, I had trouble committing to any advance work. I had to get the strips published immediately to satisfy myself. Once they're made, it's hard to hold onto them without wanting to benefit from their exposure.
The next time you see Supermarket!, it should have a sturdier plot, more interesting characters, some artistic refinements (shading, skintones, backgrounds), and hopefully a larger readership.
Other Things to Come
• Aside from work and a minor job hunt, there isn't much bothering me over the break. I'll devote this time then to getting the site back up, and some other artistic endeavors that aren't necessarily tied to anything I have going on right now.
• There isn't enough time to get the Christmas card I wanted designed. I still like the idea I had in mind; it will likely resurface as a stand-alone story. In lieu, expect something not unlike last year's card, supposing I can think of a replacement in time.
20021224:1820 — Demolition
• The immediate skyline along 10th St has changed forever. Today, the demo crews ripped up all the trees lining the street outside the dorms. Sometime over the break, the dorms themselves should be similarly uprooted. It was kinda sad watching it all happen. I walked past those trees most every day I've been a college student. A reminder that I'm getting older.
No-Brainer
• Earlier today, a 45-foot trailer pulled up next to the fencing across the street, attracting the attention of police cars. Over the next few hours, as we processed all the used books we had received over the week, the truck people struggled to maneuver over to the other side of the street. In time, it became apparent that the truck had a shipment for us.
With military precision, the backup driver hand-signaled the driver into perfect placement beside our parking lot. And with similarly stunning presentation, the drivers tried to communicate with us in mangled English. I can barely comprehend how the Middle Eastern man could work together with the Slavic fellow. The pallet they had for us was located in the front of the trailer, but no mechanical means to unload or even move the pallet over were inside. Nick and I had to drag it with hand trucks. Halfway through the unloading, Nick questioned the unusually large number of boxes passing through. An hour of paperwork and phone calls later, we had determined that the shipment was supposed to go to Spartan Bookstore. Our names and numbers appeared on the paperwork for another, unrelated shipment. To complicate matters, Spartan is closed the whole week.
With the shipment returned to the drivers (though not quite safely), we were free to ridicule their below-average work.
But It Came Empty
• The other Veronica at work got me one of the sweetest Gift Exchange gifts ever: an embossed Beer Stein (pint size) with a pewter lid. Bald eagles decorate the sides and top, wings in full spread. I now have my first piece of fine glassware. Now to get something to drink from it....
20021230:0100 — Warning
• Before I wish you all happy holidays and such, I want to bring this to your attention. This new keyboard I'm using, though nothing special, has the [backslash/pipe] key clumsily placed next to the right [Shift] key. \It's going to fuck up my typing for a while, so bear with me please.
Assembly Encouraged
• I love getting presents I have to put together. It almost feels like I'm building something out of thin air. Case in point this year is the wire shelving rack for my room. Though its construction won't be as satisfying as the computer hutch, its usefulness will make up for its engineering shortcomings.
Indecision
• I'm not sure what comic project I want to handle next. I've been talking about a Supermarket! expansion for a while. I'm also close to a good start with Lost Cause, for those with memory of the idea. This new idea I have, however, is something else. It's another video game idea, a tournament-style 3D fighter. Though only a few days old, it's proving to be heavy on story and character development. I'd like to have a few plotlines ready to take up with a game company. Initial candidates are Capcom, which is quite established in the industry and able to accomodate new projects easily, and Namco, whose success is based mainly on its Tekken and Soul Calibur series. The two series of late boast impressive rendering, increasingly detailed and realistic character models, and character balance.
To get back to my idea, it's not named yet, but everything else is being taken care of. It follows a group of 15 individuals who have to battle each other for various reasons. They're not the typical fighting game stock. I'll stop trying to explain the rest of it, because I'll likely never get around to it if I get too excited about the idea.
Anyhow, I'll be drawing some random stuff to keep the skills flowing. The site will also re-expand shortly.
20021231:0240 — Bedside as Mirror
• I can spend hours lying in bed, thinking about the days and years. Floating on a mattress, the folds of the bedsheets beg for my meditations. Thoughts and ideas tumble in my head, as I do on my bed. Neighborly noise permitting, I like to curl up whenever I can.
Tonight, I'm reminded of every moment I've spent behind a drum set. Despite my percussive knowledge, the almighty drum set falls into my hands for but a few minutes out of a year. Officially, I've only spent a fall season in high school (not junior high, like I said earlier, Kyle) and a rare summer keeping time for jazz bands. The jazz program at Vallejo was very competitive under the late Frank Bigoski III, but languished under Merlin Chestnut's directorship. Jazz was soon thereafter cut from the program. Every now and then, I pulled out the set and struck out a few loose riffs.
Obviously, without regular practice my skills never advanced beyond basic rhythms. Everywhere around me, however, were fine examples of kitwork: the jazz tapes Mom listened to, rock on the TV and radio, old friends of mine with even a passing knowledge. Even now, I can think up rhythms to drive any melody. I don't have the dexterity to put the notes to practice. The most complicated rhythms require a level of coordination where each limb acts separately of the others, coordination I lack. My fills also aren't of any quality; I often lose the beat whenever I try.
For me, set drumming is like speaking. I have a general idea of what I want to say, and some sentences or phrases I'd like to stick in fitting places. Sitting on the throne, I'm in a different mindset, my intentions almost forgotten. Tapping the cymbal this way sounds different from that way. The bass pedal struggles to understand the jerking of my foot. Somewhere distant, a samba rhythm, or perhaps a D&B pattern, tries to break through a mental barrier. It gets a foot stuck in the doorway, throwing the rest of itself into my hands clumsily. A catchy improvised pattern mangles itself along my brachial nerves, coming out in pops and stutters.
For all my well intentions, the final effect is confusing, harsh on the ears. It's like I'm not allowed to fully express myself in any way. Expression, under penalty of tweaking. It seems unfair that anyone should be denied a voice by their own impediment. It puts your life in question; it makes you doubt yourself.