My Day, Featuring Cats

Top: Snuggles, my kitty
Left: Kittens sleeping on each other

Some days, most days these days in fact, I quantify and solve and logic out the puzzle. Today I drift away with the music of the piano keys to a world both dark and demure, childish and fraught, beautiful and perilous.

Yesterday I came back to Los Angeles after finals and a day full of hectic movement. On the freeway I did stuff with my compy, took pictures of the sunset, and played music. The kittens were there to great us when we came home and rocked themselves to sleep in a bundle on the patio swing. They also like to come in the house and explore tenatively. Kittens are extremely distracting. I imaged some movies(I own) and chatted, etc.

Today Andrea came to visit, which was nice. We visited a Peruvian restraunt and went to the mall. I got the coolest jacket ever and mom gave me a pair of boots of hers that I have always liked. We talked and ate and shopped. I hope Andrea had fun. She's probably reading this. Hi, Andrea!

We just finished "Finding Neverland". I really liked it.

So, what I was going to talk about yesterday. I spent some time when younger attempting to make things "my space", but I've realized that I don't really mind the touches of mom's decorating inherent in my appartment(due to the fact that a lot of my things are taken from home). This has become a blank canvas that I project onto. My thoughts feel able to roam in a variety of directions, wheras if my appartment was themed I would feel as though they were being forced down a certain path. Though, I'm willing to bet as time goes on I will metamorphose my room into a style I don't know exists yet. At the moment, my decorating style is "put books everywhere and maybe some clothes". I predict it will involve a lot of plants.

Remiscent

Yesterday while I was drifting off to sleep(continuously until 3:00am, why, body, why?) I was thinking about how playing Super Mario reminded me, in a way, of Toy's R Us when I was a little kid.

When I was a kid I used to dream of getting one thing, just this one thing, and then everything else would fall into place. And at Christmas time I used to ask for my big wish. My parents never failed to buy me the big gift that I wanted more than anything. Heck, they still do, as last Christmas what I really wanted was my Acer laptop, which is a gift that keeps on giving. I love you my precious, er, my laptop.

One of the gifts I wanted was a My-Size Barbie, not because she was a Barbie which was kind of a downside, but because I was kind of hoping she would come to life. It sounds silly to admit it now, but this was pretty much what I wanted. In elementary school I had plenty of friends and my best friend, Jessica Lee, who I would argue about jumprope with and..I don't remember, but we had fun. In fact, I'm pretty sure that the last time we fought was about jump rope in 3rd grade, and I was dreading going back to school because I thought she wouldn't be talking to me but the next day she didn't remember and I didn't mention it.

But I wanted a friend whom I could talk to about the imaginary cities I made up in my head, my crazy science experiments and philosophy and all that good stuff. Also, nobody else was reading the Animorphs except for a guy in my class, and I'm pretty sure he just liked the explosions. Besides, back then I thought it was not proprietous to have close guy friends. I didn't want to make up an imaginary friend because I could predict what they would do. I wanted someone who wasn't me to give a different angle. Even if an imaginary friend gave me praise, it was false praise. It also thought that this seemed like a recipe for schizophrenia. Believe it or not, reading about all of the creative kids having imaginary friends made me feel dumb because I didn't, a situation which only changed later.

This is not to say my classmates weren't cool. I was really into Geology and fish, collected types of Silly Putty, weird pens and miniatures. And everyone was totally cool with that, or at least I think they were.

Ah, how times have changed. Except that I still find people who are cool with my various oddities. I love you guys.

Another gift that my parents gave me was Lego Mindstorms. I am going to dig that and Barbie out of the closet one day and do stuff with them for fun. Barbie is going to get dressed up as an art piece and the Mindrover will roam around my apartment while I laugh with glee. Then I'll probably dissect it and start getting crazy over robots. Look forward to that stage.



William Shatner making fun of Sarah Palin. He's so different now! But he's made it clear that he wants to be known for more than Star Trek, so let's appreciate him for being an awesome actor.

Short

Comic courtesy of A Softer World

We still live in a world full of mystery, but the mystery is now not simply created by nature but by man.

I love Jimmy Carter:
"So my decision to sever my ties with the Southern Baptist Convention, after six decades, was painful and difficult. It was, however, an unavoidable decision when th e convention's leaders, quoting a few carefully selected Bible verses and claiming that Eve was created second to Adam and was responsible for original sin, ordained that women must be "subservient" to their husbands and prohibited from serving as deacons, pastors or chaplains in the military service. This was in conflict with my belief - confirmed in the holy scriptures - that we are all equal in the eyes of God."

I feel anti-social today.

One of the problems with the internet is that there is too much good stuff to keep track of in it. I am not a culture blogger; being a university student with a lot to learn and a voracious appetite for books makes it hard to keep up with all of those who deserve recognition. Not that I am sorry about being a university student with a large appetite for books.

I have to admit that I really like good journalism and entertaining, informative writing to accompany my news stories. I've tried to be an aggregate of raw facts and I simply don't have the time to be one. I'm not quite sure I'm pleased with the situation. Bear with me while I figure it out.

It's incredibly hard for me to look at difficult news stories, which is ironic due to the fact that I have chided others for not doing so. It's just that I have gone through so much pain from my medical disorders and I come from a well-to-do family. What about those people who hurt every day and can't get medical care? What about those people who can barely get water because they've been uprooted from their homes? What the hell must they be feeling, thinking? I've tasted but a drop from the pool that is despair. Maybe I'm weak, but I can't imagine what it's like to wade or swim in it.

I don't think all people from third-world countries are broken or something similar. It's simply the barriers needed to leave that poverty. My intelligence as a peasant girl in India would not have mattered if I had married at nine and had my first child at twelve(though I most likely would have become as close to a monk as I could have been). Wanting to read, write, or learn is simply not enough in that climate.

In other thoughts, our culture has so many dichotomies, one of which being that the religious majority of this country encourages abstinence before marriage, yet culturally male promiscuity is encouraged. It reminds me of a quote from Joseph Campbell's Creative Mythology:

"In Christian Europe, already in the 12th century, beliefs no longer universally held were universally enforced. The result was a dissociation of professed belief from actual existence and the consequent spiritual disaster, which, in the imagery of the Grail legend, is symbolized in the Waste Land theme: a landscape of spiritual death, a world waiting, waiting-"Waiting for Godot!"-for the desired Knight, who would restore its integrity to life and let stream again from infinite depths the lost, forgotten living waters..."

Not only must we actualize ourselves but charge forth in battle against those who would suck us dry.
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I started the review of the Trader Joe's cloths today. I used one to clean my oven top and was impressed. It did the work of about 10 paper towels due to various cleaners I implemented to test it. Soap with water, which will destroy several paper towels in one go, was easily dispensed then mopped up. The cloth proved to be durable and porous, and rinsed out very easily. I would definitely recommend this over paper towels while cleaning so far(or if you have fish tanks).
So far I have used the other cloth as a dinner napkin. It requires a little wetting to create the consistency needed to pick grease off the fingers.
I will keep you updated. Note that since a two-pack costs $2.99 this could actually save money as well as breaking down easily in compost piles and reducing paper consumption.

There is a character called Dr Strange who I wish to check out. Also, Ellen Roger's Flickr(Via Warren Ellis) is so, so good. The picture is credited to her. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but sometimes I don't understand what it is trying to say. These pictures do not invite you into their worlds but simply taunt you with their beauty, daring you to ponder while shutting the door.

I think I need The Encyclopedia of Fantastic Victoriana.

Saying Something

Apparently, Warren Ellis is writing a comic which is free for viewing online.

The latest entry of PLFM features an extremely psychotic man who deserves to have a derisive entry written about him. However, I take offense to this statement:

""I'm just not that into casual sex," he explained. For those women not in the know, that's man-speak for "I can't find anyone who will f*** me." "

That's just untrue, though it may not have been in this man's case.

Speaking of PLFM, Mike/Weasel recently did an interview on another blog. Here is a quote from it:

"And like most writers, I absolutely abhor what I write. I post entries, and I never read them again, because I can’t. I’m my own worst critic. They just seem so fucking awful, so unfunny."

I can completely relate to this. Part of what I try to do while writing this blog is to go back and correct entries a week and a month after they are written in an attempt to improve my writing style. I always get the urge to delete the posts, cobbling together the reasoning that hey, Kafka wanted to burn all of his work, maybe yours is actually good! It seems to be part of the natural torture of being a writer.

One of the reasons that I believe creates the high divorce rate in this country is that people do not know how to communicate with each other. This seems to be a reason that nobody is addressing.

It's kind of saddening that Micheal Jackson's death is the only thing that brought about renewed respect for him. If he was a child molester I don't feel any sympathy for his faith, but he really was never allowed to live a normal life and was damaged in so many ways.

Short but Sweet

"I thought, I wrote, I conquered"
-Me, thinking about a slightly pretentious hypothetical situation

Amanda Palmer is at the Troubador on Thursday! Tickets are only $20.

Oh my God, this exists. Is it an actual organization or a home for Stepford Wives? On one hand, the list of recent events

"Many of our projects and special events offer leadership positions and challenging opportunities. Some of our most recent projects include our Blood Drive, our Annual Benefit Dinner, Dances, Christmas on Third Avenue Event, Spring Brunch Card Party, La Cadena Fashion Show, Table Setting Contest, and Tea Parties."

suggests the latter, but Amanda is performing for them, which suggests the former. Will I go to the show? Uh, maybe.

Apparently I have an allergy to something? What I thought was pink eye was diagnosed to be irritation. What do I have an allergy to? I had to go and buy eye drops.

I spent a lot of time reading The Customer is Not Always Right today, thanks to Tedrick. The anecdotes are hilarious! Here is a sample from the first page:

"

Me: “Hello, I’m calling about a bill your [credit card] that you haven’t paid in two months.”

Customer: “I don’t even have this card.”

Me: “Well, is this your address?” *asks address*

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “And is this your correct phone number?” *asks phone number*

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “May I verify the last four digits of your social?”

Customer: “Yes, it’s ****.”

Me: “Okay, that’s what we have. Were your last charges at [dentist] and with your phone company on [date]?”

Customer: “Why, yes, I did go there on those dates.”

Me: “So, you used this card.”

Customer: “No, I cut up this card. I don’t have it anymore.”

Me: “Well, the account is still open and you’re still responsible for the money you owe.”

Customer: “No, I cut up the card! I don’t owe anything!”

Me: “You have a balance of $2000 on the card. Even when you cut the card up, you still owe what you spent.”

Customer: “Really?!” "

Image credit: JUNG YEON-JE/AFP/Getty Images. The girl is a sex worker in South Korea, but the image and women herself are so delicatley lovely and thought-provoking that I had to post them here.

Beached

My day started at 3:13am this morning when my mom and dad brought Snuggles home from the vet. Apparently his tests came back with normal results, and the cause of his illness was speculated to be either his teeth or a hairball. One of his teeth needs to be pulled and he, as we suspected, has cataracts. Both of these will be attended to by the regular vet on Tuesday or Weds. The emergency vet gave him a solution of electrolytes and stressed that he needed to eat every day for now, but once he was healthy again he had to go on a program of diet and fitness to reduce his weight. The message has finally gotten through to my mom, and I look forward to a new, healthier Snuggles.

I then had a dream about Chris and I trying to get back together and how miserably the attempt failed.

After watching the kittens prance and pounce in the backyard and petting Snuggles goodbye, we headed off to San Diego. Mom kept going over how mellow Snuggles had been at the vet last night. They also were talking about how proud they were of what Christopher has been accomplishing, and, when they thought I was asleep, me. At Petsmart there was a large black cat named Snuggles who looked and acted a bit like him. Dad half-seriously suggested that we take him home.

After they left I browsed the internet for a few minutes and then started out for Black's Beach(Torrey Pines). Andy had invited me to bbq-and-ultimate-frisbee-get-together-thing. The directions I got were shoddy, however, and I ended up getting off the bus early against my better judgment. This was my first time at Black's that didn't involve someone else driving me.

Crazy screaming lady is back again. I can hear her rattling cans.

After getting off the bus I started stubbornly walking in the direction I thought the beach was in. In my olden days I would not have had the gall to simply wander in a direction without giving up and going home. Literature champions large decisions which "show your true character"; less popular are all the little choices showing how your character interacts with everyday life in situations which might seem much bigger than they are when they are taking place. I ended up going through the Salk Institute and witnessing a silent panoramic view by myself in a rare moment of peace. After reaching the site where the handgliders launch , I finally got on the trail to Black's.

I didn't even know I had such a harrowing fear of heights until this one particular spot in the path which looked like a smooth downward curve with no handholds. Usually I throw dignity to the winds when hiking and, if necessary, start using both hands and feet. I started fearfully inching down, wondering if the traction of my sandals would hold me, when a couple came up behind me.
"Scared?" asked the man
"Yes."
"Join us!"
With their moral boost I did not slip and die, although not looking down helped a whole lot. We talked for a little while and I called Andy, who said that at this point I should keep walking south as I was probably on the wrong side of the beach. I was unconcerned, for while at that point I had walked about a mile I was on the beach and enjoying myself. Except for all the naked men-did I mention that Black's is a nudist beach? I saw more *insert your favorite name here* today than I ever wanted to in a lifetime. I figured that I would walk to the main entrance of Torrey Pines and take the bus from there if I couldn't find Andy at that point. And that's how I ended up taking a three-or-more mile stroll on the beach today, which probably added a few years to my lifespan. For part of the walk I was completely alone. There are so many thoughts seething in the water, though none probably as beautiful or as edifying as the clear waves themselves in the here and now. My thoughts wandered, and for a little while I struggled between holding on to the moments and living them. I'm terrified of the day that words will only bring back dying embers of past experiences, but I would rather have lived those fully than spend them remembering the details to write down. Everything from crabs to Chris; making all the little unconscious corners let go of him. They say that the death of a relationship is mourned like the death of a person. For me this was not true; it was a moment in time with both good and bad memories, all of which are over; we touched and then parted. With a person, the person is over, usually for no clear reason other than what we in our puniness can metaphysically attribute.

I had to climb a large rock to get to the other side of the beach. A stranger held my hand for a moment so that I wouldn't fall, though I navigated it surprisingly well on my own. My bag wasn't even there. I dislike handbags, as they feel like a sexist weight which hampers physical activity and fitness. I can't just keep my wallet, keys, and phone in my pants or they would fall down. Speaking of which, this entire time I was wearing shorts and a thin t-shirt over my swimsuit and not freezing to death. I once read that symbolically cold is attributed to individualism, climbing a mountain. Perhaps minute adjustments have been made in my constitution because of my mental state. I personified nature and wondered if the colors and shapes of the cliffs had some deeper, hidden meaning.

Anyways, there is too much to write. I got on the bus and came home with sandy feet, although physical limitations took over and I became numb while walking to my apartment. There will be more opportunities to go out and meet new people(at least I hope), and I had a great Memorial day.

Realization

I just realized something. What I love most are the truth, the whole, and understanding the whole. While loving another human being is part of that whole, I will never love a person more than the whole. This is simply who I am.

This is not to trivialize how I love someone, deeply and passionately and a lot of other things one cannot attest to if they have not been in a relationship with me.

Good Morning

Is there such a thing as a pointless memory? I don't think so; my belief is that every experience lends something to be learned from, as long as we don't overgeneralize from it. Then again, I am only nineteen, but I have a sneaking suspicion I won't be proven wrong.

Today I was attempting to deal with some of my worst memories, prepared to accept that they were simple exercises in pain that one must let go and forget. Then I realized that those experiences helped to make me damn strong. If I can survive and grow from them I can survive and grow from many, many things. And that is a wonderful way to start the day.

One of the reasons I often read and rarely write is that part of the joy of tales for me is the mystery of their every aspect before I start and complete them. It is interesting to write a story not knowing where it may lead, but far more difficult. Part of what I enjoy about writing in general is that I sometimes sit down to scribe what I know and a conclusion will magically form from the previous elements. Take, for example, the shallow issue of clothing and American culture.

Clothing has, throughout human history, helped to form an indicator about a person, whether it be rank or affiliation. In the modern day, subcultures are no exception, and there are instant subconscious impressions which can be formed by looking at how a person dresses. Of course, in the modern day, a lot more influences a person's dress than cultural affiliation, such as time, comfort, and aesthetic appeal. Lastly, it is impossible and not worth the time to indicate all the things which compose a person in dress. There is a paradox here, where some people dress specifically to be associated with a culture and others simply dress for convenience. It seems the wisest thing to do is not to form opinions based on clothing, but ironically, some people may even be offended if their cultural affiliation is ignored. Perhaps the only thing possible is to tread lightly and give the benefit of the doubt. Stereotyping people based on the way they are dressed is at times no better than stereotyping people because of their race.

Writing organized the structure of my thoughts and helped me to articulate them in a manner much more effective than speech, even if this was a shallow topic.

I also love drawing because when I start, I rarely know what or who I will end up with. Today I drew a character I named Angelica Bonnet. Her wispy hair, long face, neck, and fine features would be beautiful if she didn't live in a society which appreciated the bold and straight line. Angelica has tried to live in this society and conform to it all her life; only a small inkling in the back of her mind wonders if she has been following the wrong path, an inkling she rarely pays attention to. She has fit into her society successfully, but she is not beautiful now.

I planned none of that.

Yes, many great works have come from pre-planned scenes and points, and occasionally I feel the need to create one of these myself. But I feel right now as though the greatest story I ever write will be a road which I will wander and discover new things while exploring.

Note for early readers: I condensed the last two blog entries for brevity. I don't pre-plan posts and sometimes the organizational structure that results from sporadic posting is not the best.

Random "thoughs"

I genuinely believe that to guide someone a person has to know the path being trod. Though there are many paths, perhaps we can recognize where one is leading.

I am a person of my own designs, and that cannot be always easy to live with, but if I don't walk, I wither away. I love a person who knows when I may compromise and when to let me seemingly drift like some thing of metaphor.

Math is fun but hasn't lead to any poetical digressions or epiphanies. I don't wish to write about my day. The first part was great and the second part was thoughtful, though not all of my thoughts are written here.

Reading About the Delicacy and Subtlety of Japanese Art

I wonder what possible meanings we miss with the standardizations of script in books. Of course, western society does not usually insinuate meanings inside characters themselves.

This is a very thought-provoking and enlightening subject.

The depth of my ignorance in some matters persuades me against traveling too much before imbibing more culture here at home, since the subtleties of life must to some extent be reflected in the viewer before her or she notices them.

It is hard to walk away from someone else's ignorance, but harder still to admit your own. I feel my ignorance every day, pressing in with the excitement and dread of undiscovered territory.
Perhaps if I lived in different times I could express this in more flowery prose, but the times have turned against me.