Sunday, November 16, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Brush Away Your Tears
Fresh from the magic, rectangular box that prints out fines and tickets, I hold in my hand a lime green envelope. (Not literally, i'm typing genius. It's in my back pocket.) An oddly stylish lime green envelope. In fact, if it were not for the bold, all capped, size forty-eight words PARKING TICKET emblazoned on its side i would have assumed it housed a jamba juice gift card or was the invitation to a lavish dinner party that dissolves into a murder mystery i have been waiting for since i was nine (a purple velvet suit owner with an assorted collection of lead pipes can dream can't he?) But it does not and is not(...and never will be). Instead a digital receipt is nestled in its folds.
So what? Your first parking ticket. Before you get all gushy on me about how i'm growing up and with great power comes great responsibility, cool it uncle ben, because this is how it went down. I turned onto my street and lazily passed our friendly neighborhood streetsweeper. I thought nothing of his presence as i parked my car, rather gracefully, on the quaint and empty street. That is until i had taken seven and a quarter steps to the mailbox, emptied its contents into my bosom, and watched a piece of junk mail flutter to the sidewalk. I bent to save the gutter-bound flyer, an obvious suicide attempt as it is inevitably trash-bound, and as i wrenched up he was already there. His squat, yet surprisingly nimble, fingers worked the enchanting ticket contraption. I witnessed the event with a Twilight Zone filter; everything was three shades darker and the ticket man unleashed a jagged toothed cackle as he worked.
"Here you are, sir."
The "nee noo nee noo" flickered away, and i was left clutching the lime green envelope. I think i said yeah or uh-uh, something lame and weak. The fact that he waited for me to park and then eight seconds later pounced on me like a middle-aged puma was fucking ridiculous but beside the point: no one calls me "sir." I've still got millage left in the "chief," "sport, "big guy," "champ" tank and i am not ready for this sir bullshit. If anyone is a sir, my good sir, its him (...yeah, you tell 'em vincent). So jeeves piles into his car and drives off. I flop into mine, ready to slither into the driveway. End of story.
But it wasn't over. Nope, after my self-delusions failed to extinguish the bitter absurdity of this sting operation i did what any other level-headed person would do. I tailed his ass. I had pressing questions that demanded proportionally poignant answers. I didn't have to wait long. He pulled up behind his next victim only twenty yards away from my house, collected the information for the fine-n-go, slipped it under the windshield wiper, and proceeded to follow the massive sweeper. We trudged on, the three of us, for a couple neighborhood streets. Until i witnessed him sidle out of his car to inspect a scraggly length of branch hidden among a heap of dead leaves resting in the opposite gutter. He rifled through the pile and unearthed his prize for further scrutiny. After a few moments of contemplation he decided not to fine the branch. I couldn't take much more of this. Besides he had answered my most urgent question and the cat-and-mouse-and-sweeper high was wearing off. The question being: was this guy's sole job description tailing the streetsweeper and passing out fines? My answer, not so: he had added waste inspector to said resume.
So by now the pettiness should be palpable. But honestly, the short time i spent following the ticket man, i couldn't help but empathize with his state. This isn't some backhanded "i'll be the bigger man" bull. I'm sure he hates his job, dealing with nutjobs worse than me constantly bitching about their thirty dollars and the like. I mean if you simply have a passion and knack for tailing people, be a detective. But Damn. He stares at the back of an over-sized Swiffer, crawling through the vacuum of his life. Haha bigger man my ass...
On a sidenote, i am more excited for Spring Awakening than any man should be...can't wait. Oh last note: i have a shaving related gash on my chin. Please if you notice, which you will, don't bring it up or i will hack an inspired replica of it on your forehead...forewarned.
So what? Your first parking ticket. Before you get all gushy on me about how i'm growing up and with great power comes great responsibility, cool it uncle ben, because this is how it went down. I turned onto my street and lazily passed our friendly neighborhood streetsweeper. I thought nothing of his presence as i parked my car, rather gracefully, on the quaint and empty street. That is until i had taken seven and a quarter steps to the mailbox, emptied its contents into my bosom, and watched a piece of junk mail flutter to the sidewalk. I bent to save the gutter-bound flyer, an obvious suicide attempt as it is inevitably trash-bound, and as i wrenched up he was already there. His squat, yet surprisingly nimble, fingers worked the enchanting ticket contraption. I witnessed the event with a Twilight Zone filter; everything was three shades darker and the ticket man unleashed a jagged toothed cackle as he worked.
"Here you are, sir."
The "nee noo nee noo" flickered away, and i was left clutching the lime green envelope. I think i said yeah or uh-uh, something lame and weak. The fact that he waited for me to park and then eight seconds later pounced on me like a middle-aged puma was fucking ridiculous but beside the point: no one calls me "sir." I've still got millage left in the "chief," "sport, "big guy," "champ" tank and i am not ready for this sir bullshit. If anyone is a sir, my good sir, its him (...yeah, you tell 'em vincent). So jeeves piles into his car and drives off. I flop into mine, ready to slither into the driveway. End of story.
But it wasn't over. Nope, after my self-delusions failed to extinguish the bitter absurdity of this sting operation i did what any other level-headed person would do. I tailed his ass. I had pressing questions that demanded proportionally poignant answers. I didn't have to wait long. He pulled up behind his next victim only twenty yards away from my house, collected the information for the fine-n-go, slipped it under the windshield wiper, and proceeded to follow the massive sweeper. We trudged on, the three of us, for a couple neighborhood streets. Until i witnessed him sidle out of his car to inspect a scraggly length of branch hidden among a heap of dead leaves resting in the opposite gutter. He rifled through the pile and unearthed his prize for further scrutiny. After a few moments of contemplation he decided not to fine the branch. I couldn't take much more of this. Besides he had answered my most urgent question and the cat-and-mouse-and-sweeper high was wearing off. The question being: was this guy's sole job description tailing the streetsweeper and passing out fines? My answer, not so: he had added waste inspector to said resume.
So by now the pettiness should be palpable. But honestly, the short time i spent following the ticket man, i couldn't help but empathize with his state. This isn't some backhanded "i'll be the bigger man" bull. I'm sure he hates his job, dealing with nutjobs worse than me constantly bitching about their thirty dollars and the like. I mean if you simply have a passion and knack for tailing people, be a detective. But Damn. He stares at the back of an over-sized Swiffer, crawling through the vacuum of his life. Haha bigger man my ass...
On a sidenote, i am more excited for Spring Awakening than any man should be...can't wait. Oh last note: i have a shaving related gash on my chin. Please if you notice, which you will, don't bring it up or i will hack an inspired replica of it on your forehead...forewarned.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
I'm Sorry, Storm
i read my last post. WOW. (wow, but not wow...actually i've been hyper gassy for the past ten minutes, so wow.) I was uncharacteristically emotional that day but i've since sobered up and smothered all those pesky little girl feelings. Mostly in part to a relatively so-so book about clown sex, spousal abuse, deaf humor, and a murder most foul . Hats off to daniel for the recommendation and the subsequent hours spent stifling hellishly visceral laughter. Laughter so gutturally repugnant you flail your head from side to side like a horizontal light switch to check if the dead has in fact been raised. (So what if i'm overselling it a bit. You weren't there. You don't know.)
Here's the clincher: i have seven pages left, and have abandoned said seven pages for over 24 hours. As it is now, the story is completely open, dangling with possibilities. And once i jiggle and jostle those last drops, zip, it's over. But its become this big, bloated thing, hanging over me waiting to burst. Like a long, drawn-out relationship, where i wish she'd just spontaneously combust so i wouldn't have to end it. I don't mean that. It's only, i get scared when it becomes this serious, not just some lusty literary fling. Ah damn, i have to end it...the irony is killing me.
The name? How completely indifferent of me, her name was Apathy and Other Small Victories. If you ever happen to run into each other (which you will and should because she can make you real happy) tell her i said whatever.
An excerpt:
"He looked at me the way my mom did that time she caught me officiating the wedding of Mr. Potato Head and He-Man. I had just said, "You may now kiss the bride," when I looked up she was standing in the doorway. I was fourteen years old, and I was not wearing pants."
For an eleven year-old you used to pimp out his Storm action-figure to Mr. Sinister and Hobgoblin, mashing their super parts together and providing foreplay dialogue, i lived in fear of "the look."
Here's the clincher: i have seven pages left, and have abandoned said seven pages for over 24 hours. As it is now, the story is completely open, dangling with possibilities. And once i jiggle and jostle those last drops, zip, it's over. But its become this big, bloated thing, hanging over me waiting to burst. Like a long, drawn-out relationship, where i wish she'd just spontaneously combust so i wouldn't have to end it. I don't mean that. It's only, i get scared when it becomes this serious, not just some lusty literary fling. Ah damn, i have to end it...the irony is killing me.
The name? How completely indifferent of me, her name was Apathy and Other Small Victories. If you ever happen to run into each other (which you will and should because she can make you real happy) tell her i said whatever.
An excerpt:
"He looked at me the way my mom did that time she caught me officiating the wedding of Mr. Potato Head and He-Man. I had just said, "You may now kiss the bride," when I looked up she was standing in the doorway. I was fourteen years old, and I was not wearing pants."
For an eleven year-old you used to pimp out his Storm action-figure to Mr. Sinister and Hobgoblin, mashing their super parts together and providing foreplay dialogue, i lived in fear of "the look."
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Foul Language
An essay gave me diarrhea.
Two days ago i forced out a violently crappy piece of, well, writing. Pungently terrible writing. In fact "writing" is too strong a word, more precisely, a muddy puddle of words dribbled out of me in slow, toxic spurts. I "wrote" for most of the night. When i woke up i had some loose ends to...who am i kidding, i was cranking out that sick pile in between trips to the bathroom. Typing for a few minutes, then obeying my bowels.
How could i have made myself sick over a "Death of a Salesman" essay?I knew this material inside and out, i mean i won my damn debate didn't i?
After my butt stopped grumbling i realized, gee whiz, i'm a pretty shitty writer...good for a laugh, i guess, but how am i gonna support my family with that? I'm going to a pseudo-college, with a plastic major, for a syntheitc career. Damn, what am i doing here?
Two days ago i forced out a violently crappy piece of, well, writing. Pungently terrible writing. In fact "writing" is too strong a word, more precisely, a muddy puddle of words dribbled out of me in slow, toxic spurts. I "wrote" for most of the night. When i woke up i had some loose ends to...who am i kidding, i was cranking out that sick pile in between trips to the bathroom. Typing for a few minutes, then obeying my bowels.
How could i have made myself sick over a "Death of a Salesman" essay?I knew this material inside and out, i mean i won my damn debate didn't i?
After my butt stopped grumbling i realized, gee whiz, i'm a pretty shitty writer...good for a laugh, i guess, but how am i gonna support my family with that? I'm going to a pseudo-college, with a plastic major, for a syntheitc career. Damn, what am i doing here?
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Something Cool (working title)
A-hap-py birth-day, A-hap-py brith-day...
All i want for today is rain, so make it happen God.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Byecycle Blues
My palms were white-knuckled oceans of sweat. The back of my legs were a population of gashes and scrapes. And my fanny was, and still is, sorer than a freshly raped anus. But in spite of my battle scars i'm finding it hard not to smile. You would too if you had just learned how to ride a bike...except you wouldn't because you do know how. Everyone does. But until yesterday i was still a two-wheeled virgin veering off into gutters and parked cars.
The moment I got on the bike i figured it would be the same though. I would hoist my awkward mass onto the unsuspecting seat, wobble for four seconds, curse, and then quit. But Anaoshak wouldn't let me quit. The only thing he would let me do is peddle. "Just peddle, you can't fall if you just keep peddling," haha...if only someone had forced me to just keep peddling when I was growing up. (The transition from trike to bike is a liminal journey, one that affects how a child views setbacks. Recovering from my biking wounds has taken much longer than the average human.)
There are few things still left in the world that make me giddy with child glee, and bike riding is one of them. I wanted to take a faded Polaroid with my helmet on, smiling an innocently wide-eyed grin...like a tiny hand print in clay. I've been saying goodbye alot these days...it feels comforting to say goodbye to something i'm glad is gone. Thanks anaoshak, the fanny was for you.
The moment I got on the bike i figured it would be the same though. I would hoist my awkward mass onto the unsuspecting seat, wobble for four seconds, curse, and then quit. But Anaoshak wouldn't let me quit. The only thing he would let me do is peddle. "Just peddle, you can't fall if you just keep peddling," haha...if only someone had forced me to just keep peddling when I was growing up. (The transition from trike to bike is a liminal journey, one that affects how a child views setbacks. Recovering from my biking wounds has taken much longer than the average human.)
There are few things still left in the world that make me giddy with child glee, and bike riding is one of them. I wanted to take a faded Polaroid with my helmet on, smiling an innocently wide-eyed grin...like a tiny hand print in clay. I've been saying goodbye alot these days...it feels comforting to say goodbye to something i'm glad is gone. Thanks anaoshak, the fanny was for you.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Happy Anniversary
Disclaimer: This was for me and to remind myself of who i am. I have this weird habit of writing for a certain person, a specific audience to entertain with my cleverness. I'm writing for me. This post is confusing, pretentious, and will be judged...Enjoy.
I am happy at times. I smile, queue laughter. Words are spoken to me and I respond with words in kind.
I am shallow. I judge things that others have no control over. I punish myself, judging things I have no control over.
I am passive. I repeat words that do not belong to me, constantly. Words bring me close to others. Shared words.
I am alone. I listen, say little. Words only escape through song. The words are about me, my life, my problems, my happiness. I am selfish. I make them about me; warp them to satisfy a need for attention. I hear "we" and it hurts. I am not we.
Humans lack the ability to truly understand one another. This is proof. But that's ok...I'm here to help sort it out.
I am not what I am, an assortment of maladroit emotions, but rather, what I have. Precious things like moodswings, magnificent shifts in perspective. Memories. Dogs, and the selfless act of caring for a living thing that is dependent on your love. My sense of humor, a series of flimsy sutures suppressing childhood hemorrhages. The strength to rise. I have sarcasm to take the edge off, like two advil's. Unconditional love from my creators, mom and dad. humility. Potential to change. And then there's you...do i even have to mention you guys. I may hate what i am, but by god, i love what i have...
This was for me and to remind myself of who i am. I have this weird habit of writing for a certain person, to entertain them with my cleverness. I'm writing for me.
This year it was better.
I am happy at times. I smile, queue laughter. Words are spoken to me and I respond with words in kind.
I am shallow. I judge things that others have no control over. I punish myself, judging things I have no control over.
I am passive. I repeat words that do not belong to me, constantly. Words bring me close to others. Shared words.
I am alone. I listen, say little. Words only escape through song. The words are about me, my life, my problems, my happiness. I am selfish. I make them about me; warp them to satisfy a need for attention. I hear "we" and it hurts. I am not we.
Humans lack the ability to truly understand one another. This is proof. But that's ok...I'm here to help sort it out.
I am not what I am, an assortment of maladroit emotions, but rather, what I have. Precious things like moodswings, magnificent shifts in perspective. Memories. Dogs, and the selfless act of caring for a living thing that is dependent on your love. My sense of humor, a series of flimsy sutures suppressing childhood hemorrhages. The strength to rise. I have sarcasm to take the edge off, like two advil's. Unconditional love from my creators, mom and dad. humility. Potential to change. And then there's you...do i even have to mention you guys. I may hate what i am, but by god, i love what i have...
This was for me and to remind myself of who i am. I have this weird habit of writing for a certain person, to entertain them with my cleverness. I'm writing for me.
This year it was better.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Still here.
I was in bed...ready for sleep...but nothing happened...it's been about two hours and I can't stand it.
So here I am.
If you had a floor-plan of my house you would know that my computer is located in the kitchen. This means that I would have to trek all the way from my bed...down the hallway...passed the living room (stepping on every damn toy kyden decided to leave sprawled out on the floor...like shiny, plastic mines. One plushy plaything even started giggling as i accidentally mashed my foot into his torso)...and through the dining room.
Yes, I did all of this just so I could tell you I'm lonely...I'm lonely and I can't fall asleep. Not sad, balling, hyperventilating loneliness, just a craving for someone to lay beside me...a teddy human. The feeling reminds me of when i was little and my mom would sit on the toilet seat as i showered. I had just earned the right to shower alone--no bath, no brother, no ducky, and no mommy--but, alas, mommy was there. Everything was going smoothly...I lathered my hair, stuck my head under the water, and, suddenly, everything went black. The second I closed my eyes Chucky, Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, and Michael Meyers (think Halloween, not Austen Powers) were all waiting outside my shower curtain, calling dibs on my assorted body parts. It was like a horror movie monsters tea party had burst from my imagination and into my parent's master bath...so I did what any traumatized child would do: I shrieked,"mmmMMMOOOOOOoomm!," inhale,"mmmMOOOOOOoomm." In came mommy, faster than you can say "Freddy vs. Jason." She promised to stay with me until i had finished counting to one hundred (how else would I know when to stop rinsing my hair?).
Every ten seconds or so I would quietly ask:
"Still there?"
to which she'd reply softly:
"Still here."
...Ironically, my mom isn't home tonight. Not that i would be crawling into her bed or falling asleep to her stroking my hair as she sits uncomfortably in my plastic Ikea chair but...i crave her "goodnight." But mainly i crave a goodnight from any loved one at this moment...so goodnight friends.
hahaha...life is as funny as it is random, goodnight raghav.
So here I am.
If you had a floor-plan of my house you would know that my computer is located in the kitchen. This means that I would have to trek all the way from my bed...down the hallway...passed the living room (stepping on every damn toy kyden decided to leave sprawled out on the floor...like shiny, plastic mines. One plushy plaything even started giggling as i accidentally mashed my foot into his torso)...and through the dining room.
Yes, I did all of this just so I could tell you I'm lonely...I'm lonely and I can't fall asleep. Not sad, balling, hyperventilating loneliness, just a craving for someone to lay beside me...a teddy human. The feeling reminds me of when i was little and my mom would sit on the toilet seat as i showered. I had just earned the right to shower alone--no bath, no brother, no ducky, and no mommy--but, alas, mommy was there. Everything was going smoothly...I lathered my hair, stuck my head under the water, and, suddenly, everything went black. The second I closed my eyes Chucky, Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, and Michael Meyers (think Halloween, not Austen Powers) were all waiting outside my shower curtain, calling dibs on my assorted body parts. It was like a horror movie monsters tea party had burst from my imagination and into my parent's master bath...so I did what any traumatized child would do: I shrieked,"mmmMMMOOOOOOoomm!," inhale,"mmmMOOOOOOoomm." In came mommy, faster than you can say "Freddy vs. Jason." She promised to stay with me until i had finished counting to one hundred (how else would I know when to stop rinsing my hair?).
Every ten seconds or so I would quietly ask:
"Still there?"
to which she'd reply softly:
"Still here."
...Ironically, my mom isn't home tonight. Not that i would be crawling into her bed or falling asleep to her stroking my hair as she sits uncomfortably in my plastic Ikea chair but...i crave her "goodnight." But mainly i crave a goodnight from any loved one at this moment...so goodnight friends.
hahaha...life is as funny as it is random, goodnight raghav.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Wisdom Teeth
I graduated.
This was supposed to be the most important day of my life...so why was i in a pale yellow dentist chair clutching a clear plastic tube with the sole purpose of sucking pineapple flavored gunk from my mouth.
The trip to the dentist didn't seem special. It was like any other visit...the oral technician sands my teeth....next, she attempts to floss my gums...the bleeding stops...then the shrapnel-like instrument to check for cavities...more scraping...my choice of fluoride flavoring, its subsequent removal...and Dr. Okawachi strolls by to check my progress first hand. Like clock work...
"Hey mr. vince."
From gums to wisdom teeth, I was mr. vince. Call my life-long dentist uncreative, I loved the nickname because, as a child, it inspired maturity. It said i was too old for "Vincent" (just like Dave was too old for "David"), plus I could be married. And as my tooth count reached the thirties, the nickname's connotation became childish. Not in a demeaning way, but in a more youthful sense.
We continue with our usual small talk. Where are you going next year? What's Peter up to? When's Natalie's baby gonna visit me?...I loved hearing Dr. Okawachi talk. He was medium sized Japanese man with bright, smiling eyes. They really did grin, as if he brushed them with Crest. His voice was particularly inviting too, but with a patronizing inflection. An extensive career with children had blessed him with a soothing tone, like anaesthesia. But to anyone past the age of fifteen he came across sounding like a muppet or LeVar Burton.
The lightness of our banter became progressively heavier...and then it stopped altogether.
"Well mr. vince, it looks likes this will be your last visit. You're graduating."
......Graduating? But i was only seventeen. My sister had been twenty one before she had been barred from Dr. Okawachi's dental office. I imagined her being escorted from the premises by a squad of muscular oral technicians in uniforms with the words "braces brigade" or "plaque patrol" stitched into their breast pockets.
At least for my high school graduation i had prepared by sleeping in the backroom during cluster. Preparing for a life of waking up to my ipod alone...but this...this i hadn't prepared for at all...i was blind-sided.
I finally responded with a mumbled "wow," with a "look how time flies" smile. We walked over to the appointment desk. Dr. Okawachi pronounced i was cavity-free and dropped the graduation bombshell. This sent a few ripples through my mom, she had also not expected this finality. He handed her a card with a new address and a small map etched on its front, explaining that the office was being moved...for the second time in the span of two minutes i was attempting to hide my dismay. "We need a bigger space," was his response...apparently i had asked him, "Why move?"
I scanned everything in that crowded office with the intent of sucking it into my brain. The posters Cavity-Free Kids took their picture in front of to commemorate their achievement were stored somewhere in my head. (I always chose the Bugs Bunny poster...and by always i mean the one time both my mom and i left the office smiling. The superman poster said I'm over-compensating for something, while astronaut mickey was for the toddler crowd.) The deep purple contours of the treasure chest every patient rifled through after a visit also shoved their way into my memory like a stubborn snaggletooth. (It was filled with all sorts of trinkets...my personal favorite was the gargantuan sticky hands that mutated into globs of gooey dirt after a day's use, which were also excellent for smacking siblings within a three foot radius.)
God, I wasn't ready to leave. A few minutes went by after i realized while i was gawking at my dental childhood my mom was asking when to bring Kyden, my nephew, for his first visit. Dr. Okawachi explained he was eager to see his first patient's first born. Kyden will be the beginning. I am the ending...it's surreal to be the ending. This thought made me smile...
This was supposed to be the most important day of my life...so why was i in a pale yellow dentist chair clutching a clear plastic tube with the sole purpose of sucking pineapple flavored gunk from my mouth.
The trip to the dentist didn't seem special. It was like any other visit...the oral technician sands my teeth....next, she attempts to floss my gums...the bleeding stops...then the shrapnel-like instrument to check for cavities...more scraping...my choice of fluoride flavoring, its subsequent removal...and Dr. Okawachi strolls by to check my progress first hand. Like clock work...
"Hey mr. vince."
From gums to wisdom teeth, I was mr. vince. Call my life-long dentist uncreative, I loved the nickname because, as a child, it inspired maturity. It said i was too old for "Vincent" (just like Dave was too old for "David"), plus I could be married. And as my tooth count reached the thirties, the nickname's connotation became childish. Not in a demeaning way, but in a more youthful sense.
We continue with our usual small talk. Where are you going next year? What's Peter up to? When's Natalie's baby gonna visit me?...I loved hearing Dr. Okawachi talk. He was medium sized Japanese man with bright, smiling eyes. They really did grin, as if he brushed them with Crest. His voice was particularly inviting too, but with a patronizing inflection. An extensive career with children had blessed him with a soothing tone, like anaesthesia. But to anyone past the age of fifteen he came across sounding like a muppet or LeVar Burton.
The lightness of our banter became progressively heavier...and then it stopped altogether.
"Well mr. vince, it looks likes this will be your last visit. You're graduating."
......Graduating? But i was only seventeen. My sister had been twenty one before she had been barred from Dr. Okawachi's dental office. I imagined her being escorted from the premises by a squad of muscular oral technicians in uniforms with the words "braces brigade" or "plaque patrol" stitched into their breast pockets.
At least for my high school graduation i had prepared by sleeping in the backroom during cluster. Preparing for a life of waking up to my ipod alone...but this...this i hadn't prepared for at all...i was blind-sided.
I finally responded with a mumbled "wow," with a "look how time flies" smile. We walked over to the appointment desk. Dr. Okawachi pronounced i was cavity-free and dropped the graduation bombshell. This sent a few ripples through my mom, she had also not expected this finality. He handed her a card with a new address and a small map etched on its front, explaining that the office was being moved...for the second time in the span of two minutes i was attempting to hide my dismay. "We need a bigger space," was his response...apparently i had asked him, "Why move?"
I scanned everything in that crowded office with the intent of sucking it into my brain. The posters Cavity-Free Kids took their picture in front of to commemorate their achievement were stored somewhere in my head. (I always chose the Bugs Bunny poster...and by always i mean the one time both my mom and i left the office smiling. The superman poster said I'm over-compensating for something, while astronaut mickey was for the toddler crowd.) The deep purple contours of the treasure chest every patient rifled through after a visit also shoved their way into my memory like a stubborn snaggletooth. (It was filled with all sorts of trinkets...my personal favorite was the gargantuan sticky hands that mutated into globs of gooey dirt after a day's use, which were also excellent for smacking siblings within a three foot radius.)
God, I wasn't ready to leave. A few minutes went by after i realized while i was gawking at my dental childhood my mom was asking when to bring Kyden, my nephew, for his first visit. Dr. Okawachi explained he was eager to see his first patient's first born. Kyden will be the beginning. I am the ending...it's surreal to be the ending. This thought made me smile...
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Monday, June 2, 2008
Happy Ending
2 o'clock in the morning, something's on my mind
Can't get no rest; keep walkin' around
If I pretend that nothin' ever went wrong, I can get to my sleep
I can think that we just carried on
It was 3:30.
After the cast party I could not sleep...downloading music, listening to music, loving music at 3:30. Peter came home. He strolled over to the laptop and threw me a knowing glance and a half smile, as if saying, "I know what you're doing hunched over a computer at 3:30." I arched my eyebrows in mock surprise (this face said, "Nope, its just music"). After a small pause...
"I saw the show."
"...you came?"
Ok...real surprise this time. This is the first choir show my brother has attended. He hadn't shown an interest before, which was fine with me. I did remember him saying something on the drive to Cook about taking off work. I told him the show wouldn't be very good, my passive way of saying, "You won't appreciate it."
"Yeah...it was pretty bad, vince. Like the solos, and yeah. Pretty bad."
He said it with a wise nod, as if he was telling me an inside joke. I had been monitoring him with my peripheral, but this time I looked at his face. His eyes were like two cloudy marbles, glazed with stoner content.
"But vincent, that dance...it was crazy. I can barely......yeah, it was crazy."
When I didn't respond he proceeded to raid the kitchen. A ham sandwich, bag of chips, and a double-pack of beef jerky later he walked past me...down the hallway...his door shut faintly.
...some part of me thought he was getting back at me for reading harry potter during his football games. But he wasn't pretending.
Can't get no rest; keep walkin' around
If I pretend that nothin' ever went wrong, I can get to my sleep
I can think that we just carried on
It was 3:30.
After the cast party I could not sleep...downloading music, listening to music, loving music at 3:30. Peter came home. He strolled over to the laptop and threw me a knowing glance and a half smile, as if saying, "I know what you're doing hunched over a computer at 3:30." I arched my eyebrows in mock surprise (this face said, "Nope, its just music"). After a small pause...
"I saw the show."
"...you came?"
Ok...real surprise this time. This is the first choir show my brother has attended. He hadn't shown an interest before, which was fine with me. I did remember him saying something on the drive to Cook about taking off work. I told him the show wouldn't be very good, my passive way of saying, "You won't appreciate it."
"Yeah...it was pretty bad, vince. Like the solos, and yeah. Pretty bad."
He said it with a wise nod, as if he was telling me an inside joke. I had been monitoring him with my peripheral, but this time I looked at his face. His eyes were like two cloudy marbles, glazed with stoner content.
"But vincent, that dance...it was crazy. I can barely......yeah, it was crazy."
When I didn't respond he proceeded to raid the kitchen. A ham sandwich, bag of chips, and a double-pack of beef jerky later he walked past me...down the hallway...his door shut faintly.
...some part of me thought he was getting back at me for reading harry potter during his football games. But he wasn't pretending.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Sole Singer
when you're sad, do not sing "lucky"(Jason Mraz and Colbie Callait's duet, not Britney's ballad, which is probably slightly more pathetic). Don't attempt the guy's part and stay clear of the girl's too. In fact, duets should be illegal when you feel like crap. You should need a signed doctors note, and even then, only three songs, tops. I'd even go as far as outlawing singing altogether......i take that back.
I wish I could sing alone...i guess my point is: I'm an idiot, no debate, the end.
I wish I could sing alone...i guess my point is: I'm an idiot, no debate, the end.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
He'll Never Fall In Love
listening to monkberry on loop...you should try it. Why i haven't listened sooner is insulting (is that enough music whoring, doris?). There's something hypnotic about hopping xangas. You find a an entry, check its comments, and follow the links to something new and personal. I'd like to give a special thank you to all of the brave, willing to expose their lives, however small or intentionally ambiguous the portion may be. The blog-xanga distinction is sad...some days i'd rather write about my whole day, get emo, or post something mysterious like, "I started to walk to your house a few days ago...I stopped. You were right, we're not that close." (which just so happens to be true) Meh, normalcy blows. This was my day, on on my terms:
Tasted sickness in my mouth throughout the night and felt throw-uppy this morning...I believe Wendy's has poisoned me (steer clear of the Baconator). Mom asked me if I wanted to stay home, but i had to pay for prom, plus free dress. I was late. School was...unnecessary, but I did enjoy the poem "Goblin Market" and Mr. Eastridge's pleasant mood was a relief. Badgering Frankie during lunch was too easy, on a sidenote, I make a incredibly awkward crossdresser. Things that can suck my kiss today: the filthy, lying cheater speech, my broken knee, uncomfortable physics feeling, and good-looking people..today was good though, well tonight was. Debut practice and rock band ruled, but no upper body strength or use of my left leg was a drag (someday I'll lift myself out of that empty hole.) Next was a slurpee/Imodium run. What would compel someone to pee in a bottle? Anyways, I was looking forward to seeing Ironman, but it'll have to wait another week. What followed is confidential...no place for a silly blog. Needless to say Moo is wise, diarrhea is runny, funny, I don't hate you, Taylor Swift is famous for a reason (she preys on your heartache and loneliness), and Meaghan and Jillian understand. The more i think about graduation and college, the less i care about life in general...searched for the moon while no one was looking, I couldn't find it. Wished i was the moon. Today, I listened. Really listened, sharing occasionally.
Hmm...let's see, description of my day as a whole? Check
instances of vague mysteriousness? Check
selfishly emotional rant? Check and check
Tasted sickness in my mouth throughout the night and felt throw-uppy this morning...I believe Wendy's has poisoned me (steer clear of the Baconator). Mom asked me if I wanted to stay home, but i had to pay for prom, plus free dress. I was late. School was...unnecessary, but I did enjoy the poem "Goblin Market" and Mr. Eastridge's pleasant mood was a relief. Badgering Frankie during lunch was too easy, on a sidenote, I make a incredibly awkward crossdresser. Things that can suck my kiss today: the filthy, lying cheater speech, my broken knee, uncomfortable physics feeling, and good-looking people..today was good though, well tonight was. Debut practice and rock band ruled, but no upper body strength or use of my left leg was a drag (someday I'll lift myself out of that empty hole.) Next was a slurpee/Imodium run. What would compel someone to pee in a bottle? Anyways, I was looking forward to seeing Ironman, but it'll have to wait another week. What followed is confidential...no place for a silly blog. Needless to say Moo is wise, diarrhea is runny, funny, I don't hate you, Taylor Swift is famous for a reason (she preys on your heartache and loneliness), and Meaghan and Jillian understand. The more i think about graduation and college, the less i care about life in general...searched for the moon while no one was looking, I couldn't find it. Wished i was the moon. Today, I listened. Really listened, sharing occasionally.
Hmm...let's see, description of my day as a whole? Check
instances of vague mysteriousness? Check
selfishly emotional rant? Check and check
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Keybored
I want to rock. I wanna embarrass myself hardcore. I need Rock Band.
I was so desperate for music i played my cousins keyboard for a few hours. I remember tinkering with it when i was little. It had hundreds of settings; equipped with a catalogue of songs...I specifically remember hearing the Titanic song on loop (you know, the Celine Dion one) because its listed as 00 on the tracklist. It was no less haunting when i heard it today. The keyboard was lying in the bed of my dad's truck, covered in a thin film of dust. My uncle gave my dad a small donation of junk for his yard sale, but this keyboard, it was mine. I wiped it down and placed it on my desk (the one i've had for three years, and just started using last week. Recently, i've felt like cleaning things...old things. Giving use to the forgotten.) I pulled out the "All-in-One" Piano Lessons book my mom bought for me when i was ten and I practiced. The book was intended for children, but it was fun in a way. Still, drums are seven times more awesome.
I was so desperate for music i played my cousins keyboard for a few hours. I remember tinkering with it when i was little. It had hundreds of settings; equipped with a catalogue of songs...I specifically remember hearing the Titanic song on loop (you know, the Celine Dion one) because its listed as 00 on the tracklist. It was no less haunting when i heard it today. The keyboard was lying in the bed of my dad's truck, covered in a thin film of dust. My uncle gave my dad a small donation of junk for his yard sale, but this keyboard, it was mine. I wiped it down and placed it on my desk (the one i've had for three years, and just started using last week. Recently, i've felt like cleaning things...old things. Giving use to the forgotten.) I pulled out the "All-in-One" Piano Lessons book my mom bought for me when i was ten and I practiced. The book was intended for children, but it was fun in a way. Still, drums are seven times more awesome.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
WOooOooow
Maybe i should have taken the my internet's server disconnection as a sign. But if you have something to say at 3:45 in the morning, and can still say in in the light of day...well, then it's worth sharing...
I always assumed that people who outwardly advertised their happiness were cruel...that they were inadvertently jabbing me with their smiles and laughter. Their success magnified my problems (I think that sentence is the definition of selfish, go look it up). I was used to the "if they're happy, i'm happy" crap, because overall i was happy (convincing, right?) but i was...really. But the "hey, i just got a B in physics" and the "I finally have my license" or even the "i'm having the best day...ever" thing was really starting to bring me down. Like 80% of me was jumping up and down, knowing they deserved it, and the other twenty was throwing a full-blown pity party (when i say party i mean a "my parents are away for the weekend party"[not that i know what that's like{wow, i just used brackets cause i have so many sub-thoughts...irony?}]).
So yeah, practically a pity rave. Sad, huh? But...I'm done. And most of me knows that I've been done for a long time (the twenty percent is just getting the Memo). haha...wow...wow. I finally figured out that happy people cannot help going unnoticed. Not because they want attention, but because you cannot contain happiness. Just like love, it is impossible to squeeze happiness into a box, or fold it into an ever-decreasing triangle. Happiness is odd. It sings and cries. It's loud, smelly, and misshapen. And best of all, happiness is shared.
That is why "I love my friends" should be written (in caps), and said (in a scream) instead of repeated inside your head. I LOVE MY FRIENDS. Only a friend would continue to read this and not think i was a wackjob. So friends...i'm gonna start sucking less. Yup, it's about time. But that means you have to make a promise. You have to promise to never leave me, because i will never leave you. And know that i won't judge you. And above all, open up. If you're a true friend i can know anything about you, not just anything but everything. I love how unfocused this thing is...and how hypocritical i am...but i'm sure you'll forgive me.
So here it is, in all its over-due, epiphany stained glory, a happy post.
I always assumed that people who outwardly advertised their happiness were cruel...that they were inadvertently jabbing me with their smiles and laughter. Their success magnified my problems (I think that sentence is the definition of selfish, go look it up). I was used to the "if they're happy, i'm happy" crap, because overall i was happy (convincing, right?) but i was...really. But the "hey, i just got a B in physics" and the "I finally have my license" or even the "i'm having the best day...ever" thing was really starting to bring me down. Like 80% of me was jumping up and down, knowing they deserved it, and the other twenty was throwing a full-blown pity party (when i say party i mean a "my parents are away for the weekend party"[not that i know what that's like{wow, i just used brackets cause i have so many sub-thoughts...irony?}]).
So yeah, practically a pity rave. Sad, huh? But...I'm done. And most of me knows that I've been done for a long time (the twenty percent is just getting the Memo). haha...wow...wow. I finally figured out that happy people cannot help going unnoticed. Not because they want attention, but because you cannot contain happiness. Just like love, it is impossible to squeeze happiness into a box, or fold it into an ever-decreasing triangle. Happiness is odd. It sings and cries. It's loud, smelly, and misshapen. And best of all, happiness is shared.
That is why "I love my friends" should be written (in caps), and said (in a scream) instead of repeated inside your head. I LOVE MY FRIENDS. Only a friend would continue to read this and not think i was a wackjob. So friends...i'm gonna start sucking less. Yup, it's about time. But that means you have to make a promise. You have to promise to never leave me, because i will never leave you. And know that i won't judge you. And above all, open up. If you're a true friend i can know anything about you, not just anything but everything. I love how unfocused this thing is...and how hypocritical i am...but i'm sure you'll forgive me.
So here it is, in all its over-due, epiphany stained glory, a happy post.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
It's Good to See You Again...
Large breaks are so awkward...giant stretches of complete silence. How do you resume like nothing ever happened?
I thought about just typing yunji. period. Or perhaps dirka, dirka. But maybe the best way to get back into the swing of things is to be completely spontane- BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHM.-ous. I love ice breakers...
well, i hope you enjoyed that. And if you didn't we need to hang out.
I thought about just typing yunji. period. Or perhaps dirka, dirka. But maybe the best way to get back into the swing of things is to be completely spontane- BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHM.-ous. I love ice breakers...
well, i hope you enjoyed that. And if you didn't we need to hang out.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
mama mama MAMA
now that im feeling better its time for a blog post...im gonna try to find something significant out of my sickness. i love lists so...
While i was sick, i learned that:
While i was sick, i learned that:
- if you want something done right, have your mom do it (my dad went to the grocery store so i asked for flinstone's push-ups, the one with dino on the cover, and he got finding nemo. they were delicious ( i had three in one day) but this leads me to my next discovery...
- finding nemo 50/50 < flinstones assorted (cherry, grape, orange...in order of the best flavors)
- my immune system has evolved (dayquil has no effect on me anymore). this also connects back to mom knows best cause my brother went to get more medicine (i used up all the dayquil/theraflu/tylenol) and he bought....DAYQUIL...liquid dayquil.
- hot is better for a sore throat than cold
- laughter is the best medicine...the only problem is sickness transforms laughter into a cough...try it, you'll start to laugh but then it contorts and strains into a heap of dry heaves
it feels good to get that out of my throat...
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Snot Feeling Well
You know you've hit rock bottom when your throat is clogged with something thick and green, and your nose drips onto a book without letting you know...i feel like both body parts have switched functions. (But, for the record, i don't drool...anymore.)
Monday, February 4, 2008
Breakin' Up
I miss you...even if i never really liked you.
Well, that’s not true...you were thin, usually quiet, and always seemed to fit just right. But i had serious thoughts of getting rid of you, especially around christmas. I should have been grateful. Sorry for all the pain i've caused...towards the end of our relationship i'd just let you fall, without much concern
Mostly, i miss what was inside. Our pictures. So many fuzzy, blue-gray images (you never did have the best vision)...I miss the simpson display at krikorian...y&g meetings...my new-born nephew in the hospital...debut practices...my dogs (even bella)...eric and aubree... choir shows... the thermostat at the choir banquet...david posing...meaghan and shanell looking awkward...that blue and purple thing that was my screensaver for like two months, whatever it was, i miss it too...and most of all, i'll miss jillian's face...bus rides, birthdays, summer nights. Half of your memory is filled with that thing.
I kinda expected to take a graduation picture or two with you...I thought we had more time. It started with michael's freshly shaved head, and ended with kyden's cute mug...
Goodbye.
Well, that’s not true...you were thin, usually quiet, and always seemed to fit just right. But i had serious thoughts of getting rid of you, especially around christmas. I should have been grateful. Sorry for all the pain i've caused...towards the end of our relationship i'd just let you fall, without much concern
Mostly, i miss what was inside. Our pictures. So many fuzzy, blue-gray images (you never did have the best vision)...I miss the simpson display at krikorian...y&g meetings...my new-born nephew in the hospital...debut practices...my dogs (even bella)...eric and aubree... choir shows... the thermostat at the choir banquet...david posing...meaghan and shanell looking awkward...that blue and purple thing that was my screensaver for like two months, whatever it was, i miss it too...and most of all, i'll miss jillian's face...bus rides, birthdays, summer nights. Half of your memory is filled with that thing.
I kinda expected to take a graduation picture or two with you...I thought we had more time. It started with michael's freshly shaved head, and ended with kyden's cute mug...
Goodbye.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Suck It...In
i do sit-ups when i see diet pill commercials...
what if you spent the same amount of energy and time sucking in your gut as you did exercising...and by you, i mean me.
what if you spent the same amount of energy and time sucking in your gut as you did exercising...and by you, i mean me.
There Was No Blood (Part Two)
this one's kinda self-explanatory...WOW...maybe im being a little passive aggressive, but i dont want to see it anymore......I feel like crying in the breadsticks.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Eating Alone...
yeah that's a gov pun...deal with it.
I walked into Carl's Jr. wearily. You'd be annoyed if you had just called your mom to pick you up and you were...alone. But I was weary...because when she said "I'll be there in fifteen," she meant thirty. I spoke slowly (stretching every syllable in "number 16" as long as i could)...slurped slowly...and sank into my seat like an invalid.
I was eating by myself...i had no real reason to be sad. I had never really seen the stigma of self-reliance (eating alone, watching movies alone, running alone.) But, even with the other eight or nine other people in the room i felt so completely lonely...
my food was gone, i must have eaten it......the vibration broke my trance. Mom was here. I walked back to Rubio's parking lot and hopped in the car, slammed the door. I saw him, with his mouth open. He asked for change, but i had dollars. I rolled down the window and pulled the handle from the outside (now a routine, our passenger door handle is broken). I guess he noticed cause after i handed him the money ("I appreciate it"), he pointed to it and i explained...he cracked a weak smile, a tiny chuckle.
I told my mom the bum laughed at me, jokingly....she concluded, "See, we're ghetto too..."
I walked into Carl's Jr. wearily. You'd be annoyed if you had just called your mom to pick you up and you were...alone. But I was weary...because when she said "I'll be there in fifteen," she meant thirty. I spoke slowly (stretching every syllable in "number 16" as long as i could)...slurped slowly...and sank into my seat like an invalid.
I was eating by myself...i had no real reason to be sad. I had never really seen the stigma of self-reliance (eating alone, watching movies alone, running alone.) But, even with the other eight or nine other people in the room i felt so completely lonely...
my food was gone, i must have eaten it......the vibration broke my trance. Mom was here. I walked back to Rubio's parking lot and hopped in the car, slammed the door. I saw him, with his mouth open. He asked for change, but i had dollars. I rolled down the window and pulled the handle from the outside (now a routine, our passenger door handle is broken). I guess he noticed cause after i handed him the money ("I appreciate it"), he pointed to it and i explained...he cracked a weak smile, a tiny chuckle.
I told my mom the bum laughed at me, jokingly....she concluded, "See, we're ghetto too..."
Monday, January 21, 2008
i don't wanna outlive my parents...
My mom was flipping through stations (strange because she usually just listens to kroq). She found an old song and started to hum. I paused my ipod, the song sounded oddly familiar...Pearl Jam's cover of Frank and the Cavalier's "Last Kiss" floated out of the radio.........she sang along in her whispy alto. When my mom sings i forget about her speaking voice...it has a tendency to scrape the ear drum, not, particualry, because it sounds grating but...it's always an octave louder than necessary. But when she's singing i forget about the volume and the nagging...i imagine she's only singing to me.
what if you could choose the last thing you heard, saw, smelled, felt or tasted before you died...I realized her voice is the last thing i want to hear before i die...her imperfect version of shoo, fly, shoo preferably...
what if you could choose the last thing you heard, saw, smelled, felt or tasted before you died...I realized her voice is the last thing i want to hear before i die...her imperfect version of shoo, fly, shoo preferably...
Skyline Dr.
After going seventy mph up a steep road, life seems so...slow. I wanna clench life's cup holders and upholstery more often...
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
Vest in Show
I didn't want to undress. It wasn't the fact that it was two in the morning or that i couldn't find the remote for my light (its been missing for four days...). I just wanted to keep that feeling...but i unbuttoned my vest anyway. Even in the dark the suit looked so empty on the hanger.
I decided to leave my dress socks on.
what if formal wear was your mandatory school uniform...hair, make-up, the works. (I just want to wear a vest everyday...)
I decided to leave my dress socks on.
what if formal wear was your mandatory school uniform...hair, make-up, the works. (I just want to wear a vest everyday...)
Friday, January 11, 2008
Paddleball
what if your genitals grew out of your hand...left or right, your choice (probably the non-writing hand, unless your a pervert)...haha, handholding would cost money
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Bleeding Gums Murphy
Sometimes i brush my teeth longer than necessary...its not really a conscious effort. The last time i clocked it in at two and a half songs...i'm guessing that's around seven minutes. Well, on some level i'm just mindlessly brushing, but somewhere...a little deeper i'm thinking of how attractive i could be if i had a white smile...that by scrubbing the plaque off my teeth, i could wash away the acne, melt the lovehandles, etc... Then i remember my teeth are crooked...and i'm late.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Growing Pains
Shopping for propeller hats, oversized lollipops, dynamic capes, and princess outfits can wear anybody out...even a kid at heart (which i am apparently). Still, it was a nostalgic rollercoaster (i miss the wonder of theme parks incedentally), but it mostly magnified how much i've grown...
Things that make me feel like an adult:
getting mail (I love junk mail...i tear it open, and instantly throw it away...it gives me a rush)
paying bills...on time (just my cell phone)
doing laundry (only mine)
talking to my brother
taking pills (haha...i can't explain it, but im terrified by my love for taking pills...don't ask)
driving
watching my nephew (he's almost as cute as i was...)
drinking out of a wine glass (i actually made a jack blackout in one...delicious and classy)
trying on my childhood clothes (actually that just makes me feel fat)
what if you could live in a world as shiny and warm and alive as you did when you were five...well, five was a bad year. Let's say six.
Things that make me feel like an adult:
getting mail (I love junk mail...i tear it open, and instantly throw it away...it gives me a rush)
paying bills...on time (just my cell phone)
doing laundry (only mine)
talking to my brother
taking pills (haha...i can't explain it, but im terrified by my love for taking pills...don't ask)
driving
watching my nephew (he's almost as cute as i was...)
drinking out of a wine glass (i actually made a jack blackout in one...delicious and classy)
trying on my childhood clothes (actually that just makes me feel fat)
what if you could live in a world as shiny and warm and alive as you did when you were five...well, five was a bad year. Let's say six.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
I'm Wet and Naked at the Moment
my shower
my shower begins with the removal of my clothes
I give myself a glance, from wild hair to stubby toes
things aren't the same, the mirror makes that clear
Who is this person…how did I get here?
(In my head) "thing's could be worse, I could be talking to myself..."
Oh well, I was never a big fan of my mental health
I shiver...It's time for water
I twist the knob till its hot, then hotter
I put my foot on the wet floor, I'm almost in
but I slip on something sharp and grab the shower curtain
my nephew's toy boat is to blame, I almost shout fuck
then I realize dying naked would definitely suck
I'm off to a bad start with the whole near-death
I shut my eyes and take several deep breaths
my mind wanders the thoughts pour
like wat—some cliché metaphor
I am drowned by ideas form every corner of my brain
The lucky ones stick, others sink down the drain
like lyrics to a song about nude, night running
(what do you like better, “Boogie Nights” or “Nunning”?)
there’s one for a screenplay about hipster teens
who do what they say and say what they mean
and somewhere between conditioning and shampooing
I meditate on my life, I stand there stewing
over essays that needed more time
or regretting the instances I just said, “I’m fine…”
just as I pull a hair from my soapy wash rag
a heart forms in the liquid, I vigorously scrub before it sags
and I smile a smile that doesn’t visit me often
No reservations, just joyful. genuine.
in this moment, suddenly
I couldn’t care less about college, regrets, or acne
the world’s not so dark, life’s not so dour
I’m clean, warm, fresh—thank god for my showers
and people wonder why i spend weeks in the shower...
my shower begins with the removal of my clothes
I give myself a glance, from wild hair to stubby toes
things aren't the same, the mirror makes that clear
Who is this person…how did I get here?
(In my head) "thing's could be worse, I could be talking to myself..."
Oh well, I was never a big fan of my mental health
I shiver...It's time for water
I twist the knob till its hot, then hotter
I put my foot on the wet floor, I'm almost in
but I slip on something sharp and grab the shower curtain
my nephew's toy boat is to blame, I almost shout fuck
then I realize dying naked would definitely suck
I'm off to a bad start with the whole near-death
I shut my eyes and take several deep breaths
my mind wanders the thoughts pour
like wat—some cliché metaphor
I am drowned by ideas form every corner of my brain
The lucky ones stick, others sink down the drain
like lyrics to a song about nude, night running
(what do you like better, “Boogie Nights” or “Nunning”?)
there’s one for a screenplay about hipster teens
who do what they say and say what they mean
and somewhere between conditioning and shampooing
I meditate on my life, I stand there stewing
over essays that needed more time
or regretting the instances I just said, “I’m fine…”
just as I pull a hair from my soapy wash rag
a heart forms in the liquid, I vigorously scrub before it sags
and I smile a smile that doesn’t visit me often
No reservations, just joyful. genuine.
in this moment, suddenly
I couldn’t care less about college, regrets, or acne
the world’s not so dark, life’s not so dour
I’m clean, warm, fresh—thank god for my showers
and people wonder why i spend weeks in the shower...
Guess Why I'm Named Neptune...
Is it because i love Greak mythology (well its Roman)? Or because my favorite planet has the same name? Perhaps the reason is that the ocean is pretty amazing? It could be the fact that blue is a beautiful color? Well, its all those and one slightly bigger reason...Juno.
I'm sure you know the plot by now: quirky teen girl, Juno MacGuff (Ellen Page), has sex with her friend/lover, Paulie Bleeker (Michael Cera) and gets knocked up...she decides to give the baby up for adoption. Lets get the negative parts out of the way, the first fifteen minutes can be dizzying. The hipster jargon takes some time to register, i mean this is teen-speak on meth...but hilarious nonetheless (i hate that word by the way, nonetheless, who makes a word out of three existing ones and doesn't abbreviate). And...actually that's about it, literally, nothing else in the film sagged or stuck out.
Now...you must understand, i am doing everything in my power not to gush about Juno because it deserves better...more than i loved it so much and it was really cute (except that it i did and it was). Juno, the character, is written with an indescribable amount of quirk and acted with an abundance of heart and realness...the same can be said about the film. The supporting actors revolving around her are mutually skilled in witty authenticity. Jennifer Garner and Jason Bateman as the adopting parents deliver performances, i'm ashamed to admit, sharper than i would have imagined. J.K. Simmons and Allisson Janney, playing Juno's dad and step-mom, are stellar...what would you expect from these skilled veterans. And who can forget Michael Cera. He inhabits this not-really boyfriend, nice guy character so comfortably...its eerie. But Ellen Page as the glowing Juno is head and shoulders, and swelling belly, above the rest. From her hamburger phone to her fashion sense (i love orange stripes coincidentally), she embodies this sixteen year old. Her delivery of the clever zingers is smooth and natural, i mean some of this dialogue is tough. Tough in the sense that its hard not smirking or chortling after every line ("Thundercats are go!" was a favorite) that debuting screenwriter, Diablo Cody (extra credit for the sexy name), hand-crafted...but Page shines in the dramatic moments, even more so if its possible. There's one scene in particular where she breaks down...the camera gets desperately close to her face and her cheek quivers. That tiny tremor is just...beautiful.
So, if you consider yourself a fellow whifer you'll see this movie, because its the kind of movie that hits the spot, more so than hot chocolate when your covered in blankets (which i am at the moment). If you have a funny bone in your body and a heart in your chest you'll...actually even if you're a seriously heartless grouch you will fall in love. Did i mention that the soundtrack is flawless...yeah, Neptune was a good choice.
I'm sure you know the plot by now: quirky teen girl, Juno MacGuff (Ellen Page), has sex with her friend/lover, Paulie Bleeker (Michael Cera) and gets knocked up...she decides to give the baby up for adoption. Lets get the negative parts out of the way, the first fifteen minutes can be dizzying. The hipster jargon takes some time to register, i mean this is teen-speak on meth...but hilarious nonetheless (i hate that word by the way, nonetheless, who makes a word out of three existing ones and doesn't abbreviate). And...actually that's about it, literally, nothing else in the film sagged or stuck out.
Now...you must understand, i am doing everything in my power not to gush about Juno because it deserves better...more than i loved it so much and it was really cute (except that it i did and it was). Juno, the character, is written with an indescribable amount of quirk and acted with an abundance of heart and realness...the same can be said about the film. The supporting actors revolving around her are mutually skilled in witty authenticity. Jennifer Garner and Jason Bateman as the adopting parents deliver performances, i'm ashamed to admit, sharper than i would have imagined. J.K. Simmons and Allisson Janney, playing Juno's dad and step-mom, are stellar...what would you expect from these skilled veterans. And who can forget Michael Cera. He inhabits this not-really boyfriend, nice guy character so comfortably...its eerie. But Ellen Page as the glowing Juno is head and shoulders, and swelling belly, above the rest. From her hamburger phone to her fashion sense (i love orange stripes coincidentally), she embodies this sixteen year old. Her delivery of the clever zingers is smooth and natural, i mean some of this dialogue is tough. Tough in the sense that its hard not smirking or chortling after every line ("Thundercats are go!" was a favorite) that debuting screenwriter, Diablo Cody (extra credit for the sexy name), hand-crafted...but Page shines in the dramatic moments, even more so if its possible. There's one scene in particular where she breaks down...the camera gets desperately close to her face and her cheek quivers. That tiny tremor is just...beautiful.
So, if you consider yourself a fellow whifer you'll see this movie, because its the kind of movie that hits the spot, more so than hot chocolate when your covered in blankets (which i am at the moment). If you have a funny bone in your body and a heart in your chest you'll...actually even if you're a seriously heartless grouch you will fall in love. Did i mention that the soundtrack is flawless...yeah, Neptune was a good choice.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
"Fuck You Mom,"
she shrieked...cursing and violently slamming the car door. My mom and i were in my orthodontist's parking lot, on our way home. The lot had an upper level and a teenage girl was wrestling, loudly, with her mother and the sliding mini-van door...repeatedly, she thrashed. In between guttural grunts, I could fuzzily make out the occasional "go to hell." The girl's mother made several attempts to pry her out of the car, while her sister (i assume) straddling her crutches, was tearing up..."is something wrong...are you ok?" my mom asked, genuinely concerned, but the juxtaposition of the two questions was met with a mimed "no." Was it no, everything alright, or no my daughter's foaming at the mouth and i need anastethia. Well, after the girl heard other humans in proximity she took the fit down a notch...every few seconds she would stab the backseat window with her legs instead. The mom whipped out her cell phone, frantically dialing...we drove away, i mean phone=police, so we figured they'd be safe. I still dont know if she was unstable (there's a doctor's office near my ortho's) or if she was just a raging, hormonal teen...her sister's face was unsettling though, like she'd seen this scene before.
what if people were human mood rings, and their skin erupted in temporary bursts of emotion-tinged hues...i imagine the girls would be a pale shade of cheesecake, like the yellow of egg on your face
what if people were human mood rings, and their skin erupted in temporary bursts of emotion-tinged hues...i imagine the girls would be a pale shade of cheesecake, like the yellow of egg on your face
It's Not New Year's...
but i thought one more new year's story wouldn't hurt.
The ball is near drop and im watching school of rock, and suddenly, im not...the room goes completely dark. I hate black outs. The tv's flickering on and off, the christmas tree's possessed, and im a little freaked. I hide in the kitchen and check to see if my computer's on (yup, my computer's in the kitchen...fun), its not. Obviously since im in the kitchen i scavenge...no food. I look inside the dimly lit fridge and we have a bunch of liquids. And thus, the birth of a new drink...drumroll...the jack blackout. Yup, came up with that all by myself and if you want to try it, here's the ingredients:
perrier sparkling water
cranberry juice
a few spoonfuls of maraschino cherry juice
half a lime
one maraschino cherry
um...add vodka if youre into that. I made one the next day because it turned out so well. New Year's resolutions? Create a new drink every...lets say month
The ball is near drop and im watching school of rock, and suddenly, im not...the room goes completely dark. I hate black outs. The tv's flickering on and off, the christmas tree's possessed, and im a little freaked. I hide in the kitchen and check to see if my computer's on (yup, my computer's in the kitchen...fun), its not. Obviously since im in the kitchen i scavenge...no food. I look inside the dimly lit fridge and we have a bunch of liquids. And thus, the birth of a new drink...drumroll...the jack blackout. Yup, came up with that all by myself and if you want to try it, here's the ingredients:
perrier sparkling water
cranberry juice
a few spoonfuls of maraschino cherry juice
half a lime
one maraschino cherry
um...add vodka if youre into that. I made one the next day because it turned out so well. New Year's resolutions? Create a new drink every...lets say month
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