sitting around at home, it is a trial to arrive at inspiration. there is something about a place called "home" that effectively neutralizes all creativity from the atmosphere, as a lit flame leaches oxygen from the air. try as i might, whatever perfect image i have cultivated in my mind, the means is untraceable as long as i sit at my desk. this is why i venture outside often, for the frustration that pervades my home-induced tranquility propels me away from this inspiration vacuum within in hopes that a stimulus can be found without.
and when on a search for a stimulus, my personality often changes. i become more like a curious animal flitting my eyes from human to human, comfortable with being perplexed at their behavior -- even enjoying this sense of welcomed confusion, as it strikes a strong discord with the previous pervading inertia of my room. i usually wear my headphones and mouth along to the music, pushing myself into a private world. in this world, i am as a small fish wriggling through a towering mountain of coral, each crevice bubbling with the whispers of some hidden creature, beaming with color and too occupied with the dance of life to notice me. and the end effect, once i finally am forced to encounter someone and address them, is of unspeakable bashfulness and a nearly magnetic repulsion of eye contact.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
now from the 2nd floor of 2223
this closes a month in berkeley. we moved upstairs tonight because a second floor apartment became available. chuchki is prowling around the new apartment, mentally cataloging all the unfamiliar corners and leaping up on windowsills to absorb the new views. this space is like a bizarro version of our old apartment; the only differences are subtle increases in space in unexpected places. the view has significantly improved, and i switched rooms to benefit from the window overlooking the park across the way. we are also thankfully separated from a direct line with the parking lot and its cacophonous visitors.
the weather is becoming more chilly, but i know that this is the extent of berkeley's winter cold. the cacti and palms shall go into dormancy, waiting patiently for the warm rays of the first spring sun as they do every year.
the weather is becoming more chilly, but i know that this is the extent of berkeley's winter cold. the cacti and palms shall go into dormancy, waiting patiently for the warm rays of the first spring sun as they do every year.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
...and amidst a flurry of firefox tabs...
...i emerge unscathed and ready to apply my laser-like concentration to yet another blog entry! please make sure you are in a seated position, as this is sure to be a wild ride!
berkeley. town of bicycles, raggedy beggars, vegetarian cuisine, gardens thriving with succulents, and a nearly textbook example of gentrification. i live on the unfortunately named "bonar" street, which trails off from university avenue, the road that leads to berkeley university, a magic garden with little bridges over bubbling streams and big concrete structures of learning nestled within the thick canopy cover of massive trees. aparna works there on her philosophiae doctor, and so does becca, although in different buildings.
bonar street is a humble stretch of pavement that miraculously enough betrays nothing phallic. the people who live along bonar street are of many different backgrounds. there are hispanics, indians, asians, blacks, whites. in particular, our building is of the black/white/hispanic persuasion -- an appropriate mix of the most populous demographics in our nation. oh, and my roommate "man" is chinese.
recently, some of the black people in our neighborhood are often noisy, blasting music from their cars, hanging out in our parking lot smoking weed and yelling. but i think our landlord, a middle-aged apprehensive white man, talked to them, and that may have something to do with the peace and quiet we at apartment C have been blessed with the past few days. i really hate singling out a particular race before i blame people, but it is true. i give everyone the benefit of the doubt, regardless of how much melanin their skin holds. and further, this is not a "cultural difference", because whatever culture people come from, disrupting the peace is not acceptable. i only write this defense because i must assume the reader is a scrutinizing judge of my character.
i bought a road-bike from a pothead shaggy-haired dude who i found on craigslist. the frame is yellow-green, the wheels thin, the handlebars jutting out like the horns of a water buffalo, the seat an original brooks. the ultimate hipster bike. refitted with a kryptonite lock and a sleek cat's eye LED light. i rode it to work this morning and experienced firsthand the bumpy adventure of riding a road-bike on a cracked street. it's like riding a mountain-bike over the craters of the moon.
i am a seasonal cashier at elephant pharmacy on shattuck street in berkeley. elephant pharmacy is a hip natural pharmacy that sells both over-the-counter medications and preventative herbal remedies. everyone there is pretty much happy, a lot like everywhere in northern california. i mean, how can you not smile when your commute passes colorfully painted houses with huge cacti and flowering trees bursting out from their yards?
i plan to do many things. among them:
-finally create that creative work of art i've been dreaming about
-read lots of books that will make me more well-read
-improve my japanese by working through my textbook from my school in hokkaido
-get real good at cooking japanese food
-make some friends outside of the duke group, however much i love them
-make a name for myself as an off-kilter eccentric writer who posts his stuff for free around town and reads strange poetry at open-mics
the last has been my dream for the past six or so years. everyone needs to dream. it's healthy for the soul.
-
berkeley. town of bicycles, raggedy beggars, vegetarian cuisine, gardens thriving with succulents, and a nearly textbook example of gentrification. i live on the unfortunately named "bonar" street, which trails off from university avenue, the road that leads to berkeley university, a magic garden with little bridges over bubbling streams and big concrete structures of learning nestled within the thick canopy cover of massive trees. aparna works there on her philosophiae doctor, and so does becca, although in different buildings.
bonar street is a humble stretch of pavement that miraculously enough betrays nothing phallic. the people who live along bonar street are of many different backgrounds. there are hispanics, indians, asians, blacks, whites. in particular, our building is of the black/white/hispanic persuasion -- an appropriate mix of the most populous demographics in our nation. oh, and my roommate "man" is chinese.
recently, some of the black people in our neighborhood are often noisy, blasting music from their cars, hanging out in our parking lot smoking weed and yelling. but i think our landlord, a middle-aged apprehensive white man, talked to them, and that may have something to do with the peace and quiet we at apartment C have been blessed with the past few days. i really hate singling out a particular race before i blame people, but it is true. i give everyone the benefit of the doubt, regardless of how much melanin their skin holds. and further, this is not a "cultural difference", because whatever culture people come from, disrupting the peace is not acceptable. i only write this defense because i must assume the reader is a scrutinizing judge of my character.
i bought a road-bike from a pothead shaggy-haired dude who i found on craigslist. the frame is yellow-green, the wheels thin, the handlebars jutting out like the horns of a water buffalo, the seat an original brooks. the ultimate hipster bike. refitted with a kryptonite lock and a sleek cat's eye LED light. i rode it to work this morning and experienced firsthand the bumpy adventure of riding a road-bike on a cracked street. it's like riding a mountain-bike over the craters of the moon.
i am a seasonal cashier at elephant pharmacy on shattuck street in berkeley. elephant pharmacy is a hip natural pharmacy that sells both over-the-counter medications and preventative herbal remedies. everyone there is pretty much happy, a lot like everywhere in northern california. i mean, how can you not smile when your commute passes colorfully painted houses with huge cacti and flowering trees bursting out from their yards?
i plan to do many things. among them:
-finally create that creative work of art i've been dreaming about
-read lots of books that will make me more well-read
-improve my japanese by working through my textbook from my school in hokkaido
-get real good at cooking japanese food
-make some friends outside of the duke group, however much i love them
-make a name for myself as an off-kilter eccentric writer who posts his stuff for free around town and reads strange poetry at open-mics
the last has been my dream for the past six or so years. everyone needs to dream. it's healthy for the soul.
-
Friday, October 17, 2008
berkeley
i was worried about chuchki. she was understandably terrified on the plane, keeping up a steady yowl while staring into my eyes through the black mesh of the cat carrier, the darkness below the seat inducing eye-shine that looked all too similar to tears of betrayal. on the flight from the delta hub in atlanta to san francisco, i would occasionally squeeze a hand through a small opening in the zipped door and stroke her head to reassure her, and this would always put her to peace for the time being. but on the whole, the affair was quite stressful and, i was worrying, perhaps traumatic. but my fear was abated each time she leaned into my strokes and closed her eyes: a definite sign of unchanging affection and lasting trust.
when we first arrived into the new apartment, chuchki began wildly searching all the rooms, but i made an effort to restrict her to mine, as my roommates had been painting and paint chips were scattered here and there across the carpet of the living room. this room was an odd shape and was afflicted that night, and the following morning, by a group of black men having boisterous conversations right outside my window in the parking lot. throughout the day chuchki remained camped in the corner of the open closet, unsleeping. even when i finally fed her and made her a new litterbox out of a cardboard box and some plastic wrap, she did not budge. i eventually moved to a different room, one with a larger window and a more uniform square shape. this room did not overlook the parking lot, so i was not at the complete mercy of the parking lot revelers. chuchki immediately took to the corner of the room behind my big luggage bag and stared out at me. i figured she was simply uneasy with the new surroundings and left her be, sometimes going over and petting her, which she responded to warmly.
i then had the idea of creating for her a hiding place, somewhere dark and warm in case she felt the need to be hidden and safe. i cut a small hole out from another cardboard box, just big enough for her to enter, and laid out her orange air france blanket inside. chuchki had officially acquired this blanket after she had coated its surface with another of her fur. i had always laid it beside my computer in grandma's house, and she would often sprawl out upon it and fall asleep as i clacked away on the keyboard. this i brought with me because it had her fur and smell upon it; i also brought an owl finger puppet named fukurou-chan that was her favorite toy. i kept fukurou-chan in her carrier for the duration of the trip - this most certainly added to her cute factor, and i had to politely deflect more than one advance by a middle-aged woman whose aim it was to demonstrate their love for my "kitty".
chuchki took to her little house almost immediately, and slept in there the remainder of the day, often waking up and gazing out lazily at me, who sat upon a mattress on the floor facing my laptop. this morning i opened the blinds for her and she is now perched upon the windowsill, viewing the side of another apartment building and the distant street with its subtropical trees and unfamiliar avian life, its large reddish squirrels and passing students on bikes. i cannot wait until the living room is clear so i can give chuchki free reign of the apartment while i am gone, but for now she will be locked in my room to prevent any ingestion of poisons. i am lenient while in the apartment with her, to let her get a feel for the place.
today i shall drop off some resumes at cafes and send off more to other local businesses. i really need some income. and furniture.
when we first arrived into the new apartment, chuchki began wildly searching all the rooms, but i made an effort to restrict her to mine, as my roommates had been painting and paint chips were scattered here and there across the carpet of the living room. this room was an odd shape and was afflicted that night, and the following morning, by a group of black men having boisterous conversations right outside my window in the parking lot. throughout the day chuchki remained camped in the corner of the open closet, unsleeping. even when i finally fed her and made her a new litterbox out of a cardboard box and some plastic wrap, she did not budge. i eventually moved to a different room, one with a larger window and a more uniform square shape. this room did not overlook the parking lot, so i was not at the complete mercy of the parking lot revelers. chuchki immediately took to the corner of the room behind my big luggage bag and stared out at me. i figured she was simply uneasy with the new surroundings and left her be, sometimes going over and petting her, which she responded to warmly.
i then had the idea of creating for her a hiding place, somewhere dark and warm in case she felt the need to be hidden and safe. i cut a small hole out from another cardboard box, just big enough for her to enter, and laid out her orange air france blanket inside. chuchki had officially acquired this blanket after she had coated its surface with another of her fur. i had always laid it beside my computer in grandma's house, and she would often sprawl out upon it and fall asleep as i clacked away on the keyboard. this i brought with me because it had her fur and smell upon it; i also brought an owl finger puppet named fukurou-chan that was her favorite toy. i kept fukurou-chan in her carrier for the duration of the trip - this most certainly added to her cute factor, and i had to politely deflect more than one advance by a middle-aged woman whose aim it was to demonstrate their love for my "kitty".
chuchki took to her little house almost immediately, and slept in there the remainder of the day, often waking up and gazing out lazily at me, who sat upon a mattress on the floor facing my laptop. this morning i opened the blinds for her and she is now perched upon the windowsill, viewing the side of another apartment building and the distant street with its subtropical trees and unfamiliar avian life, its large reddish squirrels and passing students on bikes. i cannot wait until the living room is clear so i can give chuchki free reign of the apartment while i am gone, but for now she will be locked in my room to prevent any ingestion of poisons. i am lenient while in the apartment with her, to let her get a feel for the place.
today i shall drop off some resumes at cafes and send off more to other local businesses. i really need some income. and furniture.
Friday, October 3, 2008
fifteenth of october
this is when i depart. my feelings will be mixed until i finally arrive in my new apartment. once there they will congeal and offer an image from which something may be able to be divined. i hope chuchki likes her new home.
Monday, September 29, 2008
moving
eating some day-and-a-half old udon and katsuo soup with leeks. it smells slightly fermented, as if something pleasantly pungent has been happily culturing in it for a short period of time, and i believe this only serves to enhance the flavor. mai and i made it two days ago, along with some tofu soup, which we ate with some korean appetizer foods from hanareum in k-town.
man found a suitable apartment for our dwelling needs in berkeley, only a short walk from aparna's abode. this is most fortunate. it would have been extremely difficult for me to find a place by myself, given my distance from the location and my recent inability to concentrate on nearly anything. i will be arranging my flight shortly, and then i'll be off to the west coast to begin a new life.
is this exciting? i would say this is beyond something as base and simple as excitement. it's very much like floating down a widening river that is quickly picking up speed, and making out just ahead the violent aquatic turbulence of the head of a massive waterfall.
man found a suitable apartment for our dwelling needs in berkeley, only a short walk from aparna's abode. this is most fortunate. it would have been extremely difficult for me to find a place by myself, given my distance from the location and my recent inability to concentrate on nearly anything. i will be arranging my flight shortly, and then i'll be off to the west coast to begin a new life.
is this exciting? i would say this is beyond something as base and simple as excitement. it's very much like floating down a widening river that is quickly picking up speed, and making out just ahead the violent aquatic turbulence of the head of a massive waterfall.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
chuchki saved
when i got home today i couldn't find chuchki. it was 11.30 at night and usually she comes romping to the door when i enter. but even five minutes after i filled chloe's bowl, which also gets chuchki's attention, i turned on the light to find only the ghostly chloe crouching silent above her food dish. as usual, she stared at me with an uncertain significance, which came across this time as urgent concern, accurately reflecting my inner thoughts. perhaps that is what chloe's stare does: it simply throws back what i am revolving around in my mind.
it was then i heard the yowl. it seemed to come from the closet containing the trap door leading to the basement through which clothes are dropped down to the laundry machines. i opened the closet door and found only the familiar trap door and bottles of preserved food, packages of pancake mix, the hanging light switch. i then opened the basement door: entryway to a darkness so impenetrable it takes on a life of its own, a lingering smell of musk and old linoleum, the descending staircase down into the graveyard for all the house's unneededs, the tight spaces that lead to my grandpa's old laboratory, still decorated with cloudy beakers, piles and piles of screws and nails, unmarked glass bottles filled with mysterious liquids, hanging light bulbs activated only by screwing them in by hand.
as soon as i opened the door, the instant the musk hit me, my cat's bright orange silhouette struck my eyes against the darkness. she was cowered, unsure of the light from the kitchen that stung her eyes, staring at my feet in disbelief. i scooped her up and cradled her, and she loosened up considerably, refraining from pulling her escape moves or enacting an annoyed struggle. i carried her upstairs and fed her some seafood-flavored pellets, which she gobbled at briefly before wandering out of my room mysteriously to stare into the void galyna left in the next room after leaving this evening. she returned in intervals to finish her meal, and once done hopped up onto my desk to receive some affection and stare out into the black night from my window overlooking the backyard. she made a few rounds around my computer before settling down, lowering her head familiarly when she reached mine, whereupon i gave her the familiar toothless bite and kiss between her ears. sitting with her face practically pressing upon the window screen, her tail twitched as i played amnesiac by radiohead, complemented by the scratchy chirps from the insects outside.
it was then i heard the yowl. it seemed to come from the closet containing the trap door leading to the basement through which clothes are dropped down to the laundry machines. i opened the closet door and found only the familiar trap door and bottles of preserved food, packages of pancake mix, the hanging light switch. i then opened the basement door: entryway to a darkness so impenetrable it takes on a life of its own, a lingering smell of musk and old linoleum, the descending staircase down into the graveyard for all the house's unneededs, the tight spaces that lead to my grandpa's old laboratory, still decorated with cloudy beakers, piles and piles of screws and nails, unmarked glass bottles filled with mysterious liquids, hanging light bulbs activated only by screwing them in by hand.
as soon as i opened the door, the instant the musk hit me, my cat's bright orange silhouette struck my eyes against the darkness. she was cowered, unsure of the light from the kitchen that stung her eyes, staring at my feet in disbelief. i scooped her up and cradled her, and she loosened up considerably, refraining from pulling her escape moves or enacting an annoyed struggle. i carried her upstairs and fed her some seafood-flavored pellets, which she gobbled at briefly before wandering out of my room mysteriously to stare into the void galyna left in the next room after leaving this evening. she returned in intervals to finish her meal, and once done hopped up onto my desk to receive some affection and stare out into the black night from my window overlooking the backyard. she made a few rounds around my computer before settling down, lowering her head familiarly when she reached mine, whereupon i gave her the familiar toothless bite and kiss between her ears. sitting with her face practically pressing upon the window screen, her tail twitched as i played amnesiac by radiohead, complemented by the scratchy chirps from the insects outside.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
feelin' fine
o mood of moods.
the miracle of the natural high. or it could be the strong tea i've been drinking all day. or it could be the nine hours of work i put in at my volunteer job. all worthwhile, all relevant, all well-spent. we finally mailed away our second grant application -- that makes two in two days! the deadline day for a grant is ironically, or actually quite unsurprisingly, the busiest. or it could be the mug of coffee and chocolate chip cookie i just bought at think coffee. possibly the best drip coffee i've had in the city.
the atmosphere heavy with academic weight, the lights dim, the air nearly palpable, the collective self-consciousness almost pungent.
the faces lit eerily with monitor glow gazing up longingly, hoping to catch each other's gazes, the quiet desperation, the nervous attention to everything but the screen.
the wine bottles stacked on wood behind the bar, the barista in tee-shirt, baseball cap, and thick-framed glasses slamming the portafilter into place, hitting the "single cup" button with his thumb, the swish of steam and burning black beans, the harmonica-driven americana blasting from the wall speakers saturating everything with warmth.
how can anyone ever be bored for any extended length of time?
the miracle of the natural high. or it could be the strong tea i've been drinking all day. or it could be the nine hours of work i put in at my volunteer job. all worthwhile, all relevant, all well-spent. we finally mailed away our second grant application -- that makes two in two days! the deadline day for a grant is ironically, or actually quite unsurprisingly, the busiest. or it could be the mug of coffee and chocolate chip cookie i just bought at think coffee. possibly the best drip coffee i've had in the city.
the atmosphere heavy with academic weight, the lights dim, the air nearly palpable, the collective self-consciousness almost pungent.
the faces lit eerily with monitor glow gazing up longingly, hoping to catch each other's gazes, the quiet desperation, the nervous attention to everything but the screen.
the wine bottles stacked on wood behind the bar, the barista in tee-shirt, baseball cap, and thick-framed glasses slamming the portafilter into place, hitting the "single cup" button with his thumb, the swish of steam and burning black beans, the harmonica-driven americana blasting from the wall speakers saturating everything with warmth.
how can anyone ever be bored for any extended length of time?
Friday, August 29, 2008
feeling playful
in the mental sense.
there are times when i forcibly shut out the coaxes of humanity and simply observe everything: the people, the cars, the birds, the sky. and all the motion that envelops them and sends them on their ways. and being silent, intentionally close-mouthed and attentive, purposefully distant: all this makes me smile. it gives me a kind of happiness that faces inward, is crouched and tight, hardly able to contain itself, bubbling and effervescent.
i am happy because, when this particular feeling comes over me, i like to think of myself as separate, as unique. and i do not believe this is solely an effect of my american upbringing. for as american culture is primarily defined by its leaning to reward individuality and self-expression, us humans have not yet evolved out of our propensity towards societal mimicry for the self-defense and safety of our egos. and what is the ego but an advanced extension of survival instinct?
but there are some of us who intentionally distance ourselves, and actually gain pleasure from this remove. those for whom this feeling occupies much of their time will become hermits, outcasts, exiles. i don't believe i have yet reached the point where i will desire to flee to the woods. and the roots of my pleasure are not so simple. i require others to surround me in order to feel its highest order of jubilation. at the risk of sounding like an extraterrestrial, or perhaps simply an anthropologist, i enjoy observing humans just doing what they do, operating in a natural way. i am by no means documenting any of this meticulously; it is a transient pleasure, a fleeting joy that requires no record, to study these behaviors that i may be guilty of performing in a new light, in the light of the observer.
in other news, i currently harbor two distinct and mostly valid worries: one, that i have wasted an entire year, and two, that i may waste still more. but flanking these worries is that force which demands strict definition. what does "waste" mean?
many people i have known have expressed to me their dissatisfaction with their jobs, their relationships, their lives in general. they spend not just one, but often two, three, or more years in regret, in silent suffering, in helplessness. however, they may be making significant career-related progress, or they may buy a house, or they may get married, or they may do any number of things that are on the checklist for "progress in life". i believe that my use of "waste" may well fall under the definition set in this checklist. i suffer because i am careerless. i suffer because i am alone. i suffer because i have no 401k plan. but please. this is not real suffering.
additionally, to lend support to the argument that i am still somehow mentally sound and optimistic despite innumerable odds, i still know how to be happy. some people may never learn this skill, and they will be forever tormented with the question of how to pass the time. i am thankful for this skill, and it shall ultimately lead to my salvation from my present condition. and i may be dramatizing.
there are times when i forcibly shut out the coaxes of humanity and simply observe everything: the people, the cars, the birds, the sky. and all the motion that envelops them and sends them on their ways. and being silent, intentionally close-mouthed and attentive, purposefully distant: all this makes me smile. it gives me a kind of happiness that faces inward, is crouched and tight, hardly able to contain itself, bubbling and effervescent.
i am happy because, when this particular feeling comes over me, i like to think of myself as separate, as unique. and i do not believe this is solely an effect of my american upbringing. for as american culture is primarily defined by its leaning to reward individuality and self-expression, us humans have not yet evolved out of our propensity towards societal mimicry for the self-defense and safety of our egos. and what is the ego but an advanced extension of survival instinct?
but there are some of us who intentionally distance ourselves, and actually gain pleasure from this remove. those for whom this feeling occupies much of their time will become hermits, outcasts, exiles. i don't believe i have yet reached the point where i will desire to flee to the woods. and the roots of my pleasure are not so simple. i require others to surround me in order to feel its highest order of jubilation. at the risk of sounding like an extraterrestrial, or perhaps simply an anthropologist, i enjoy observing humans just doing what they do, operating in a natural way. i am by no means documenting any of this meticulously; it is a transient pleasure, a fleeting joy that requires no record, to study these behaviors that i may be guilty of performing in a new light, in the light of the observer.
in other news, i currently harbor two distinct and mostly valid worries: one, that i have wasted an entire year, and two, that i may waste still more. but flanking these worries is that force which demands strict definition. what does "waste" mean?
many people i have known have expressed to me their dissatisfaction with their jobs, their relationships, their lives in general. they spend not just one, but often two, three, or more years in regret, in silent suffering, in helplessness. however, they may be making significant career-related progress, or they may buy a house, or they may get married, or they may do any number of things that are on the checklist for "progress in life". i believe that my use of "waste" may well fall under the definition set in this checklist. i suffer because i am careerless. i suffer because i am alone. i suffer because i have no 401k plan. but please. this is not real suffering.
additionally, to lend support to the argument that i am still somehow mentally sound and optimistic despite innumerable odds, i still know how to be happy. some people may never learn this skill, and they will be forever tormented with the question of how to pass the time. i am thankful for this skill, and it shall ultimately lead to my salvation from my present condition. and i may be dramatizing.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
indecision
choices are what ruin a man.
1. stay in nyc and find a relatively mediocre job in an organization related to environmentalism that provides some promise of mobility. buy a new monthly unlimited metrocard.
2. move to california, where exists the promise of jobs more related to my degree. enjoy the nice weather and eat some fresh produce. lament the lack of good public transportation.
3. move to japan and possibly stay in the spare room of a colleague from grad school in tokyo. possibly get a job with his japanese environmental consulting firm. teach english for cold hard cash. possibly recognize my dream of achieving something close to fluency. eat lots of soba.
4. move into an abandoned train car out in a meadow and sleep with a family of raccoons. train the small ones to groom my body and catch me river fish. enjoy the good life.
1. stay in nyc and find a relatively mediocre job in an organization related to environmentalism that provides some promise of mobility. buy a new monthly unlimited metrocard.
2. move to california, where exists the promise of jobs more related to my degree. enjoy the nice weather and eat some fresh produce. lament the lack of good public transportation.
3. move to japan and possibly stay in the spare room of a colleague from grad school in tokyo. possibly get a job with his japanese environmental consulting firm. teach english for cold hard cash. possibly recognize my dream of achieving something close to fluency. eat lots of soba.
4. move into an abandoned train car out in a meadow and sleep with a family of raccoons. train the small ones to groom my body and catch me river fish. enjoy the good life.
Friday, August 1, 2008
night on the town, or, my esophagus burns
i had an 8.30 phone interview this morning. i was hanging out with friends last night, but i assured myself i would go home early, get some sleep, and wake up refreshed for my interview. and now, the tale of what actually happened:
i had dinner plans with haeri, yutaka, and kouhei. haeri is my japanese-speaking korean friend, and yutaka and kouhei are two cool japanese guys i met through the grandmaster of expensive lounging sessions at the izakaya, my friend from osaka, tsuyoshi. first we went to eat ethiopian food in the lower east side. i managed to impress them by seizing the first scoop of lentils with a fistful of injera. everyone but me was startled at the lack of tableware, and all enjoyed the honey wine. the food was mediocre compared to other places i've been to, but we all managed to have a great time thanks to yutaka's attention deficiency, kouhei's kyoto-dialect antics, haeri's penchant for commenting frequently on both, and my desire to try and explain topics ranging from ethiopian cuisine to racial discrimination in the u.s. we also had a blast talking about the waitress in japanese, especially when she kept bothering us and asking rhetorical questions like: "how's the food?" i mean, i know it's her job and all, but really.
we then sojourned to a really mellow and dimly-lit bar slash lounge i like to go to, the musical box in alphabet city. they play a good mix of indie and hard rock, and the lounge in the back has awesome vintage couches and a billiard table, albeit one that requires a deposit of a buck fifty. as i type this i realize this place is sounding more and more like a premium hipster venue, but i can assure my readers that if just one hipster were to have stuck his feathered derby into the bar, i would've left on protest.
after spending some quality time and taking some silly photos (what is it with east asians and silly photos), haeri demanded we all go to k-town and drink soju.
now, usually when this is suggested it is only after everyone has drunken a reasonable amount, because no one goes drinking in k-town sober. and everyone knows that soju is an extremely reactive substance that, when mixed with stomach juices and resident alcohol, has been known to result in EVIL, and sometimes DEATH.
also, a little-known fact: although soju tastes like watered-down methanol, koreans insist that once the drinking of it has been undertaken, it shall not cease until everyone is horribly drunk. we played all sorts of drinking games: japanese favorites like gyuutan (the cow tongue game), and korean ones like flick-the-twisty-thing-off-the-soju-bottle-cap game (the korean expression escapes me). as the night wore on, yutaka's attempts at speaking korean to the waitress became more and more successful, and kouhei became more and more hesitant to drink more soju, often offering us his flailing arms as defense. unfortunately for me, i put up no such defense.
and then the glorious ride home on my old friend the f train. i suddenly woke up while still somewhere in manhattan and felt the soju rumbling in my stomach, screaming for its release. i had no choice but to abide. the man sitting in front of me sprang up like clockwork and dashed to the other side of the car, as if he'd been trained to respond to such emergencies. the next time i woke up i was at sutphin blvd, and just in time for my interview. i gave myself a quick tour of that part of jamaica, got a deli coffee, and retired to the quietest spot available: a collective driveway strip nestled in the middle of a block of houses.
i was surprisingly talkative on the phone, despite my unsightly condition and questionable body chemistry. not to mention my sore esophagus. but lucky for me my tongue was working just fine, and i managed to dish out lots of impressive expressions, like: "oh, i see" and "and as for the salary and benefits?".
and thus ended my adventure. i just hope everyone else got home okay.
i had dinner plans with haeri, yutaka, and kouhei. haeri is my japanese-speaking korean friend, and yutaka and kouhei are two cool japanese guys i met through the grandmaster of expensive lounging sessions at the izakaya, my friend from osaka, tsuyoshi. first we went to eat ethiopian food in the lower east side. i managed to impress them by seizing the first scoop of lentils with a fistful of injera. everyone but me was startled at the lack of tableware, and all enjoyed the honey wine. the food was mediocre compared to other places i've been to, but we all managed to have a great time thanks to yutaka's attention deficiency, kouhei's kyoto-dialect antics, haeri's penchant for commenting frequently on both, and my desire to try and explain topics ranging from ethiopian cuisine to racial discrimination in the u.s. we also had a blast talking about the waitress in japanese, especially when she kept bothering us and asking rhetorical questions like: "how's the food?" i mean, i know it's her job and all, but really.
we then sojourned to a really mellow and dimly-lit bar slash lounge i like to go to, the musical box in alphabet city. they play a good mix of indie and hard rock, and the lounge in the back has awesome vintage couches and a billiard table, albeit one that requires a deposit of a buck fifty. as i type this i realize this place is sounding more and more like a premium hipster venue, but i can assure my readers that if just one hipster were to have stuck his feathered derby into the bar, i would've left on protest.
after spending some quality time and taking some silly photos (what is it with east asians and silly photos), haeri demanded we all go to k-town and drink soju.
now, usually when this is suggested it is only after everyone has drunken a reasonable amount, because no one goes drinking in k-town sober. and everyone knows that soju is an extremely reactive substance that, when mixed with stomach juices and resident alcohol, has been known to result in EVIL, and sometimes DEATH.
also, a little-known fact: although soju tastes like watered-down methanol, koreans insist that once the drinking of it has been undertaken, it shall not cease until everyone is horribly drunk. we played all sorts of drinking games: japanese favorites like gyuutan (the cow tongue game), and korean ones like flick-the-twisty-thing-off-the-soju-bottle-cap game (the korean expression escapes me). as the night wore on, yutaka's attempts at speaking korean to the waitress became more and more successful, and kouhei became more and more hesitant to drink more soju, often offering us his flailing arms as defense. unfortunately for me, i put up no such defense.
and then the glorious ride home on my old friend the f train. i suddenly woke up while still somewhere in manhattan and felt the soju rumbling in my stomach, screaming for its release. i had no choice but to abide. the man sitting in front of me sprang up like clockwork and dashed to the other side of the car, as if he'd been trained to respond to such emergencies. the next time i woke up i was at sutphin blvd, and just in time for my interview. i gave myself a quick tour of that part of jamaica, got a deli coffee, and retired to the quietest spot available: a collective driveway strip nestled in the middle of a block of houses.
i was surprisingly talkative on the phone, despite my unsightly condition and questionable body chemistry. not to mention my sore esophagus. but lucky for me my tongue was working just fine, and i managed to dish out lots of impressive expressions, like: "oh, i see" and "and as for the salary and benefits?".
and thus ended my adventure. i just hope everyone else got home okay.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
the celestial consciousness vehicle
rotates another cog and two teeth click into synchrony. hydrogen condenses and fuses, witness the birth of new elements, witness the first example of differing density, the first thing with mass composed of various elemental ingredients, the swelling balls of matter continuously sucking everything heavy in, blowing all else outward, hazy gaseous halos crowning pits of floating dark iron.
and then how miraculous, the first thing of matter that became able to replicate its structure uniformly and reliably! the first chemical collaboration that developed an inherent propensity to disperse itself, an ability to maintain a complex microenvironment sensitive to denaturation by its own native environment, a method by which to traverse spatially around its environment, a chain of reactions that allowed it to derive energy by metabolizing nutrients, a pathway that permitted the excretion of wastes back into the environment without compromising its susceptible inners, systems of communication both within between its own functioning parts and without between others of its kind!
and yet, as hard as this is to identify with, this is our legacy. we are of this stuff, and we overlook it both in ourselves and in everything alive around us everyday. just a passing concern.
and then how miraculous, the first thing of matter that became able to replicate its structure uniformly and reliably! the first chemical collaboration that developed an inherent propensity to disperse itself, an ability to maintain a complex microenvironment sensitive to denaturation by its own native environment, a method by which to traverse spatially around its environment, a chain of reactions that allowed it to derive energy by metabolizing nutrients, a pathway that permitted the excretion of wastes back into the environment without compromising its susceptible inners, systems of communication both within between its own functioning parts and without between others of its kind!
and yet, as hard as this is to identify with, this is our legacy. we are of this stuff, and we overlook it both in ourselves and in everything alive around us everyday. just a passing concern.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
reflections in a pool / the flash of a silvery carp
gazing at my face in the pool, understanding it has just as much justification to exist as the one affixed to my head, and appreciating its uncanny resemblance, i am startled to see it warped and disfigured by a ripple in the water. the silvery carp kisses the surface with a restless gaping mouth and hungrily gulps some air. the reflection marred, only my face remains as a representation of itself, and it is awarded uniqueness.
this past couple of weeks has found me in a state of acceleration. i have spun clean of the highest turbulence and sit bewildered and slightly dazed, but also feeling sure. of what it is hard to say. perhaps of my improvements in discipline and understanding. i have not let my baser feelings get the best of me, and i have made progress in cutting the positive from the negative, and swallowing only what won't poison me.
this past couple of weeks has found me in a state of acceleration. i have spun clean of the highest turbulence and sit bewildered and slightly dazed, but also feeling sure. of what it is hard to say. perhaps of my improvements in discipline and understanding. i have not let my baser feelings get the best of me, and i have made progress in cutting the positive from the negative, and swallowing only what won't poison me.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
modern disconnect
there is a beautiful world outside that window in front of me and i am typing this electronic journal entry. there are birds twittering and leaves rustling and wind blowing a nice breeze. and then there's this glaring screen that i keep staring into because it reflects stimuli that somehow captivate my attention more than the natural world.
what evil deception!
but even though i am aware of this disconnect, i keep coming back to my buzzing vice. a hefty battle-axe swing would solve this problem, but i haven't the heart. i mean, computer and i have had a long and productive relationship, even though computer has been being kind of a soul-sucking leech.
most of my morning is spent gathering up the courage to rip myself from computer's captivating stimulus tentacles. i think it's about time to make my migration once again.
what evil deception!
but even though i am aware of this disconnect, i keep coming back to my buzzing vice. a hefty battle-axe swing would solve this problem, but i haven't the heart. i mean, computer and i have had a long and productive relationship, even though computer has been being kind of a soul-sucking leech.
most of my morning is spent gathering up the courage to rip myself from computer's captivating stimulus tentacles. i think it's about time to make my migration once again.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
blarg it's another saturday
that feels just like all the other days, cause i gots no job. i've been sitting around in a bathing suit trying to reach lvl 64 in terokkar forest. the routine has been getting a bit old: spot NPC, hurl three lightning bolts, slam the bastard with a flame shock, and then just hack away with my big staff. i may mix things up a bit with some totems, but high lvl ennui is setting in i believe. soon enough i'll get that super-cool-looking fire elemental totem and all of this will change. for then i will be able to "call forth a greater fire elemental to rain destruction on (my) enemies." i've always wanted to do that to my enemies.
i was supposed to meet up with a random girl who contacted me on mixi.jp, but just before i left my house she texted me and informed me that she had just contracted a mysterious "cold." this "cold" has prevented her from meeting me tonight, so now i am a bit more free! and there is actually something else to do, unlike usual. it is cathy's birthday, or something, today or sometime soon, and i was invited to go "party." luckily for me, i was out till the wee hour of SEVEN AM last night and am well recovering thanks to more than a few unintentional mass transit power naps. and yes, these power naps were taken as each vehicle passed my destination, multiple times. well, it's better than falling asleep at the wheel; at least this way when i wake up all i have to do is take the bus/train back, and not peel my face from searing metal.
i was supposed to meet up with a random girl who contacted me on mixi.jp, but just before i left my house she texted me and informed me that she had just contracted a mysterious "cold." this "cold" has prevented her from meeting me tonight, so now i am a bit more free! and there is actually something else to do, unlike usual. it is cathy's birthday, or something, today or sometime soon, and i was invited to go "party." luckily for me, i was out till the wee hour of SEVEN AM last night and am well recovering thanks to more than a few unintentional mass transit power naps. and yes, these power naps were taken as each vehicle passed my destination, multiple times. well, it's better than falling asleep at the wheel; at least this way when i wake up all i have to do is take the bus/train back, and not peel my face from searing metal.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
gtalk convo fun time
let's discover how jamie's dark secrets are revealed when he succumbs to the hypnotic truth-wrenching effects of gtalk!
Dean's away message: Coffee. Coffee. Coffee.
me: i hope that's dunkin' yr drunkin'
Dean-Lorenz: not out here i'm sorry to report
but i'm cutting down on the D&D a bit
me: i'm not. i'm already a lvl 7 wizard with magic missile specialty.
ogres beware!
Dean-Lorenz: yikes
me: wait.... you're not an ogre, are you?
kum sanam saleiam tulus!
Dean-Lorenz: i was this morning
me: too late. i just banished you to the Outer Realms.
Dean-Lorenz: i'm sure if i had any idea what the hell that meant i'd be impressed
me: have fun wading in the Blood Pits with your orcish brethren
Dean-Lorenz: this is what happens when we try to have 'real' conversations
me: this is why jamie still has "no job"
Dean-Lorenz: i'll cede you that
Sent at 3:24 PM on Wednesday
Dean-Lorenz: oh.
D&D.
I get it now.
Dean's away message: Coffee. Coffee. Coffee.
me: i hope that's dunkin' yr drunkin'
Dean-Lorenz: not out here i'm sorry to report
but i'm cutting down on the D&D a bit
me: i'm not. i'm already a lvl 7 wizard with magic missile specialty.
ogres beware!
Dean-Lorenz: yikes
me: wait.... you're not an ogre, are you?
kum sanam saleiam tulus!
Dean-Lorenz: i was this morning
me: too late. i just banished you to the Outer Realms.
Dean-Lorenz: i'm sure if i had any idea what the hell that meant i'd be impressed
me: have fun wading in the Blood Pits with your orcish brethren
Dean-Lorenz: this is what happens when we try to have 'real' conversations
me: this is why jamie still has "no job"
Dean-Lorenz: i'll cede you that
Sent at 3:24 PM on Wednesday
Dean-Lorenz: oh.
D&D.
I get it now.
Friday, June 6, 2008
day 9: skipped a few
so as many were wondering what befell me, i feel it necessary to inform my audience of the circumstances surrounding my sudden disappearance. it was entirely due to my inability to reach an internet terminal. oh, and a smoking rocket that crashed through the cloth ceiling of a bazaar booth that i needed to diffuse using but a handful of hummus and a live scorpion.
from the wall to now much has happened, as you can imagine. i will attempt to reconstruct an achronical account of my travels.
-hiked a bit around Ein Gedi, an oasis and nature preserve west of the dead sea. my first experience in a desert ecosystem under conservation. saw a few yellow-spotted rock hyraxes climbing nimbly along the branches of the stout trees and chewing on the green leaves. we bathed in a waterfall nestled in the cavity of a massive wall of cream stone.
-drove to Masada at 2:30 am after a night in the bedouin tent. watched the sun rise over the desert horizon, plunging the hazy blue sky into a brilliant pink that baked the hills of sand surrounding the remains of the ancient fortress.
-caroused the stone alleyways of Jaffa, the old city of Tel Aviv, where hanging plants and creeping vines peek over the arches and walls of the dwellings of artists, who have taken up residence behind the ornate wooden doors. house cats prowled the granite fortifications above, stepping carefully over roots and brushing past forests of leaves.
-ate shakshuka at where else but Dr. Shakshuka in Jaffa. so authentic i nearly bursted out the HaTikvah. an excellent sephardic dish that is like an omelet in a thick spiced tomato sauce.
-more on eating, sampled a Jerusalem bagel in the old city, a much longer and thinner cousin of the NYC version, sprinkled all over with white sesame. once purchased, one pulls open the steaming bread and sprinkles in some zaatar.
-stayed a night in a "bedouin tent," which besides being a nice replica of one was part of a complex owned by israelis in the camel-riding tourism business and was more like the disneyland version of a bedouin camp. i stayed up all night with some of the group, smoked nargilah (hebrew for hookah), and hiked up a tall hill behind our camp with three others to find a sky brilliant with stars and a desert military camp ringed in orange lampposts. we were treated to a show by a group called Jaman, whose musical leader played haunting melodies on a number of indigenous instruments from around the world accompanied by his two bandmates on drums. they were also extremely adept at capoeria and played a mean shofar. like, mean enough to leave all the cantors in NYC in the dust.
-coated ourselves head to toe (as for myself, i did this literally) in dead sea mud, let it dry and crack in the sun, then bathed in the briny green waters. i enjoyed the sensation of floating up straight and watching my feet hover above the seabed, which was white with salt. all around us, the brown faces of arid mountains.
and probably more, but i can't think of them right now. when they come i shall post of them.
-
from the wall to now much has happened, as you can imagine. i will attempt to reconstruct an achronical account of my travels.
-hiked a bit around Ein Gedi, an oasis and nature preserve west of the dead sea. my first experience in a desert ecosystem under conservation. saw a few yellow-spotted rock hyraxes climbing nimbly along the branches of the stout trees and chewing on the green leaves. we bathed in a waterfall nestled in the cavity of a massive wall of cream stone.
-drove to Masada at 2:30 am after a night in the bedouin tent. watched the sun rise over the desert horizon, plunging the hazy blue sky into a brilliant pink that baked the hills of sand surrounding the remains of the ancient fortress.
-caroused the stone alleyways of Jaffa, the old city of Tel Aviv, where hanging plants and creeping vines peek over the arches and walls of the dwellings of artists, who have taken up residence behind the ornate wooden doors. house cats prowled the granite fortifications above, stepping carefully over roots and brushing past forests of leaves.
-ate shakshuka at where else but Dr. Shakshuka in Jaffa. so authentic i nearly bursted out the HaTikvah. an excellent sephardic dish that is like an omelet in a thick spiced tomato sauce.
-more on eating, sampled a Jerusalem bagel in the old city, a much longer and thinner cousin of the NYC version, sprinkled all over with white sesame. once purchased, one pulls open the steaming bread and sprinkles in some zaatar.
-stayed a night in a "bedouin tent," which besides being a nice replica of one was part of a complex owned by israelis in the camel-riding tourism business and was more like the disneyland version of a bedouin camp. i stayed up all night with some of the group, smoked nargilah (hebrew for hookah), and hiked up a tall hill behind our camp with three others to find a sky brilliant with stars and a desert military camp ringed in orange lampposts. we were treated to a show by a group called Jaman, whose musical leader played haunting melodies on a number of indigenous instruments from around the world accompanied by his two bandmates on drums. they were also extremely adept at capoeria and played a mean shofar. like, mean enough to leave all the cantors in NYC in the dust.
-coated ourselves head to toe (as for myself, i did this literally) in dead sea mud, let it dry and crack in the sun, then bathed in the briny green waters. i enjoyed the sensation of floating up straight and watching my feet hover above the seabed, which was white with salt. all around us, the brown faces of arid mountains.
and probably more, but i can't think of them right now. when they come i shall post of them.
-
Saturday, May 31, 2008
day three: the wall, the wall, the wall
muslims make a haj to visit mecca, where muhammed founded islam. christians go to a number of places: bethlehem where jesus was born, jerusalem where he was crucified, and basically everywhere jesus did anything. jews come to jerusalem to see: a wall. this is not just any wall though; it is the remaining wall of the second jewish temple destroyed by titus of the romans not long after the birth of christ. this temple, like the first one destroyed by those dastardly babylonians, housed many things, like an altar for sacrifices, a big golden menorah, and a bunch of stuff that priests used to obey G-d's command and to please Him by doing various things with them. but the most important thing in the temple was the shechina, or G-d's physical presence on earth, which was housed in the Holy of Holies (kadosh kedoshim). this wall is the closest one can get to the burial place of the shechina, which supposedly still exists in a secret underground hiding place beneath the...... dome of the rock (big mosque with a golden dome)! ...of all places. according to my guide shani, omar the conquerer and once a representative of sorts of islam, decided to build a mosque atop this site hundreds of years after the second temple's destruction, which was also the ancient site of avraham's attempted sacrifice of his son yitschak, because both it had historical holy significance and the christians left it barren. why? because jesus had made a declaration standing above the impure city of jerusalem that no bricks would be left standing here because of the unholiness of its denizens. therefore, the christians who controlled palestine would not lay one brick upon the site. in addition, muhammed spoke of a dream he had of riding a horse from a mosque in mecca to another distant one on a white horse, where he docked the horse and ascended to heaven. this mosque was to be the one in the dream. and to this day, it is treated as such. biased of course, this story, but it is interesting nonetheless.
anyway, this wall is crowded with jews of all colors, religious sects, and denominations. chasidim walk around begging for tsedaka (charity) and americans with their huge cameras pray clutching its stones. i myself got wrapped up in teffilin (look it up) and said the v'ahavta, aided by some friendly chasidic boys. i also inserted a prayer into the wall. it is said that the female spirit of god (some kabbalistic stuff) floats around the wall and brings all the prayers directly up to heaven.
more later. time running out on this computer.
anyway, this wall is crowded with jews of all colors, religious sects, and denominations. chasidim walk around begging for tsedaka (charity) and americans with their huge cameras pray clutching its stones. i myself got wrapped up in teffilin (look it up) and said the v'ahavta, aided by some friendly chasidic boys. i also inserted a prayer into the wall. it is said that the female spirit of god (some kabbalistic stuff) floats around the wall and brings all the prayers directly up to heaven.
more later. time running out on this computer.
Friday, May 30, 2008
day two: jerusalem, yad hashem
it is the second day of traveling and i am pleased to be in the holy city. i am finally in the land that i have been singing about since i was introduced to hebrew prayer. we always say, "next year in jerusalem" at the end of our high holy day prayers, and look't! i just came true to my word!
the buildings of jerusalem are all built, by city mandate previously enforced by the previous righteous keepers of this city (the british), with white "jerusalem stone" in order to ensure that the city sparkles like gold at the close of every day. the dome of the rock is the most impressive sight when i gazed out over the city from a lookout point on a mountain yesterday. our guide shani was giving us a energetic speech about the history of the city from the perspectives of christianity, islam, and our own, while below two muslim families were trying to picnic peacefully on the lawn. a young girl kept scowling up at us in between bites of her sandwich while her hajabbed mother was unconcerned. a baby squealed and ran in circles on the grass. this was the closest we have been to the others of israel, and i wanted to give them some sign of friendship. but whenever i stuck out my hand meekly to wave at the frowning girl, she seemed to disregard me. i did not come here to justify my judaism, justify my zionism, or justify anything for that matter. i came to see how things really are. i am starting to see.
we looked out over the gaza border yesterday on the ride to the holy city, and we saw the new wall. according to shani it has already decreased fatalities by ninety percent. he also said that throughout history, when walls are put up for some reason or another, they always come down. well, so too do mountains crumble if a dove with a scarf sweeps its pinnacle over and over for one million years (i think some buddhist medidation exercise).
the holocaust memorial museum yod vashem was very moving. i wanted to stay all day. but more on that later.
the buildings of jerusalem are all built, by city mandate previously enforced by the previous righteous keepers of this city (the british), with white "jerusalem stone" in order to ensure that the city sparkles like gold at the close of every day. the dome of the rock is the most impressive sight when i gazed out over the city from a lookout point on a mountain yesterday. our guide shani was giving us a energetic speech about the history of the city from the perspectives of christianity, islam, and our own, while below two muslim families were trying to picnic peacefully on the lawn. a young girl kept scowling up at us in between bites of her sandwich while her hajabbed mother was unconcerned. a baby squealed and ran in circles on the grass. this was the closest we have been to the others of israel, and i wanted to give them some sign of friendship. but whenever i stuck out my hand meekly to wave at the frowning girl, she seemed to disregard me. i did not come here to justify my judaism, justify my zionism, or justify anything for that matter. i came to see how things really are. i am starting to see.
we looked out over the gaza border yesterday on the ride to the holy city, and we saw the new wall. according to shani it has already decreased fatalities by ninety percent. he also said that throughout history, when walls are put up for some reason or another, they always come down. well, so too do mountains crumble if a dove with a scarf sweeps its pinnacle over and over for one million years (i think some buddhist medidation exercise).
the holocaust memorial museum yod vashem was very moving. i wanted to stay all day. but more on that later.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
day one: tsfat, kayaking on jordan river, golan heights
actually day one was spent enduring a lengthy and trying commute that took us from JFK to Zurich after a 4 hour wait, then Zurich to Tel Aviv after another 4 hour wait. in other words, lots of waiting, lots of sitting in planes, lots of looking at expensive Swiss airport stuff and not buying it, like cans of caviar, designer handbags, 5 dollar espressos, and liver-cheese sandwiches (as delicious as that sounds i did not shell out the 10 dollars). travel, travel, travel. and when we got to Israel, who was there to greet us but a man with a beaming smile warmly saying to each of us, "welcome home." as cheesy as it sounds, and also as untrue as it was, and even as politically loaded as it might be, it still had a profound effect on me.
our tour guide is a yemenite jew (he is brown, not white) named shani with a funny english accent that makes him sound like a british-educated indian man. he has a long black ponytail and is both witty and historically knowledgeable in his speeches. however, approach him for a one-to-one question and he will spit out one-word answers and hiss unfriendly responses. he seems very tolerant of all peoples, but seems to think that muslims are stupid. a slight character flaw in my opinion, as i was expecting a venomous reproach if anyone were to even ask our guide about the muslims that live right across the border. he also believes that columbus and his entire crew, as jews, set out to find a new homeland for their people in 1492 in exchange for bringing new commerce to the spanish throne. i really don't know about that one. i've never even heard that theory.
our personal defender, first aid specialist, and chick with a big gun is Avital. she speaks english that she said she learned from tv. who knew tv could actually educate and not just melt brains like butter in the microwave? avital knew. and she watched and watched until she could kick back with american kids and talk about "hanging out" and "man, that sucks." i asked her at dinner today, "avital, i have been asking you so many questions over these two days. don't you have any questions for us americans?" the table had been silent: the guy to my left was silent as a stone, the guy to my right too nervous to open his mouth. and across the table from me, a scowling israeli girl with a big gun, shoveling cabbage salad into her mouth. she looked at me, and with that signature israeli expression that expresses both irony and intense disinterest, said simply, "no."
tsfat is known as the birthplace of kabbalah, as the zohar (apparently the book that teaches kabbalah) was written there. the city stands on a mountainside, and i was reminded of small mountain towns i hiked through in tokushima. the place is full of hippies: regular hippies, orthodox hippies, chasidic hippies. and probably sorcerers. everything is laid out in gray stone, and long stairways lead up the mountainside. we didn't get to see much of it, but i did have some decent falafel and got to peruse the judaica stands down a pleasant little alley, where sad old men hawk many kinds of mezuzah, kipa, tallis, and paintings of dancing laughing jews. i bought nothing, although i was tempted to get an enormous mural of dancing laughing jews to hang on my wall, to remind myself of happiness, good times, and good ol' fashioned jeweyness.
kayaking on the jordan was gorgeous. the river is not by any means wide; it is more like an american stream. but in israel, everything is bigger, said shani. he further remarked with an anecdote about how crossing the jordan in biblical times was considered "a miracle." there were all sorts of birds flittering about, including colorful doves, piebald crows with cream stomachs, and even a flashy kingfisher with blue patches underwing. the whole experience was serene and refreshing after spending most of the day cooped up in the bus.
and finally, the golan heights. we climbed a volcano, from the top of which we could see both syria and lebanon. it was on this site, below us near the kibbutsim that sprawled across the land, that syria had launched rockets over the border at the onset of the 1967 arab-israeli war. the landscape was saturated with history. we watched the sun set over the mountaintop. i was freezing in my soaked tee-shirt (i had fallen off the kayak after trying to retrieve a fallen shoe and suffering a collision with a fellow vessel. i clung desperately to the side as the vicious rapids tried to swallow me beneath their hungry waves. and then i just put my feet down and stood up.)
that is all for now, and perhaps i shall be more inspired to expound upon some of my party mates next time. shalom~
our tour guide is a yemenite jew (he is brown, not white) named shani with a funny english accent that makes him sound like a british-educated indian man. he has a long black ponytail and is both witty and historically knowledgeable in his speeches. however, approach him for a one-to-one question and he will spit out one-word answers and hiss unfriendly responses. he seems very tolerant of all peoples, but seems to think that muslims are stupid. a slight character flaw in my opinion, as i was expecting a venomous reproach if anyone were to even ask our guide about the muslims that live right across the border. he also believes that columbus and his entire crew, as jews, set out to find a new homeland for their people in 1492 in exchange for bringing new commerce to the spanish throne. i really don't know about that one. i've never even heard that theory.
our personal defender, first aid specialist, and chick with a big gun is Avital. she speaks english that she said she learned from tv. who knew tv could actually educate and not just melt brains like butter in the microwave? avital knew. and she watched and watched until she could kick back with american kids and talk about "hanging out" and "man, that sucks." i asked her at dinner today, "avital, i have been asking you so many questions over these two days. don't you have any questions for us americans?" the table had been silent: the guy to my left was silent as a stone, the guy to my right too nervous to open his mouth. and across the table from me, a scowling israeli girl with a big gun, shoveling cabbage salad into her mouth. she looked at me, and with that signature israeli expression that expresses both irony and intense disinterest, said simply, "no."
tsfat is known as the birthplace of kabbalah, as the zohar (apparently the book that teaches kabbalah) was written there. the city stands on a mountainside, and i was reminded of small mountain towns i hiked through in tokushima. the place is full of hippies: regular hippies, orthodox hippies, chasidic hippies. and probably sorcerers. everything is laid out in gray stone, and long stairways lead up the mountainside. we didn't get to see much of it, but i did have some decent falafel and got to peruse the judaica stands down a pleasant little alley, where sad old men hawk many kinds of mezuzah, kipa, tallis, and paintings of dancing laughing jews. i bought nothing, although i was tempted to get an enormous mural of dancing laughing jews to hang on my wall, to remind myself of happiness, good times, and good ol' fashioned jeweyness.
kayaking on the jordan was gorgeous. the river is not by any means wide; it is more like an american stream. but in israel, everything is bigger, said shani. he further remarked with an anecdote about how crossing the jordan in biblical times was considered "a miracle." there were all sorts of birds flittering about, including colorful doves, piebald crows with cream stomachs, and even a flashy kingfisher with blue patches underwing. the whole experience was serene and refreshing after spending most of the day cooped up in the bus.
and finally, the golan heights. we climbed a volcano, from the top of which we could see both syria and lebanon. it was on this site, below us near the kibbutsim that sprawled across the land, that syria had launched rockets over the border at the onset of the 1967 arab-israeli war. the landscape was saturated with history. we watched the sun set over the mountaintop. i was freezing in my soaked tee-shirt (i had fallen off the kayak after trying to retrieve a fallen shoe and suffering a collision with a fellow vessel. i clung desperately to the side as the vicious rapids tried to swallow me beneath their hungry waves. and then i just put my feet down and stood up.)
that is all for now, and perhaps i shall be more inspired to expound upon some of my party mates next time. shalom~
Thursday, May 22, 2008
the sky thunders with
droves of military helicopters above east queens. where are they all going? they shake the rows of clean shapely houses that line union turnpike as the falling rain does the aquatic flora floating in a pond.
this morning i embark again to brooklyn after having just returned after a night of revelry at an old friend's house in crown heights. i had promised to help natalie from the 4th street coop pack her possessions in anticipation of an impending move, and as i was staying over in crown heights for the night, i figured things the next day would run as smoothly as the shinkansen shooting towards shinjuku during the tokyo rush hour.
little did i remember my grandma's words the night before: would you bring the vacuum up for mary when you get home tonight? mary is my grandma's elderly black cleaning woman, a sweet feeble-looking woman hailing from rural south carolina who possesses the most charming country-side southern accent. she still cleans my grandma's house because she needs the money, and as my grandma won't trust anyone else to do the job, things have stuck. mary is on dialysis and therefore cannot move heavy things, like the vacuum cleaner. she shouldn't even be working in my opinion, but that's none of my business. however, due to my grandma's legendary stubbornness, the vacuum cleaner is conveniently kept down in the basement, despite a wealth of room on the ground floor. why? because it's always been there. a sage decision. so every time mary comes to clean, i need to drag that thing up the stairs. this is not a big deal, but if i don't do it my grandma will most certainly have to herself, and she would probably kill herself in the process. my grandma has trouble opening bottles--let alone carrying a vacuum cleaner twice her weight up a flight of stairs. in my grandma's world, everything must be done the same way it's always been done, and thus if mary does not vacuum one week, EVERYTHING WE KNOW AND LOVE WILL CEASE TO BE.
so for the sake of preventing the collapse of this our universe, i made a small sacrifice. i came all the way back to hollis hills this morning, dragged that vacuum upstairs, and sit here now waiting to leave again to help natalie. today will be spent solely on commuting. getting transported from one place to another by mass transit. much moving will be done by me today, yet the energy i expend myself shall not reflect the distance traveled. the luxuries of life in the post-industrial age.
and, upon exercising my jewish mutant ability to inflict mortal guilt upon humans, i managed to triumphantly convince my grandma to keep the vacuum upstairs in cloey the cat's room. i doubt she will care that much. i mean, she basically just shits in there.
this morning i embark again to brooklyn after having just returned after a night of revelry at an old friend's house in crown heights. i had promised to help natalie from the 4th street coop pack her possessions in anticipation of an impending move, and as i was staying over in crown heights for the night, i figured things the next day would run as smoothly as the shinkansen shooting towards shinjuku during the tokyo rush hour.
little did i remember my grandma's words the night before: would you bring the vacuum up for mary when you get home tonight? mary is my grandma's elderly black cleaning woman, a sweet feeble-looking woman hailing from rural south carolina who possesses the most charming country-side southern accent. she still cleans my grandma's house because she needs the money, and as my grandma won't trust anyone else to do the job, things have stuck. mary is on dialysis and therefore cannot move heavy things, like the vacuum cleaner. she shouldn't even be working in my opinion, but that's none of my business. however, due to my grandma's legendary stubbornness, the vacuum cleaner is conveniently kept down in the basement, despite a wealth of room on the ground floor. why? because it's always been there. a sage decision. so every time mary comes to clean, i need to drag that thing up the stairs. this is not a big deal, but if i don't do it my grandma will most certainly have to herself, and she would probably kill herself in the process. my grandma has trouble opening bottles--let alone carrying a vacuum cleaner twice her weight up a flight of stairs. in my grandma's world, everything must be done the same way it's always been done, and thus if mary does not vacuum one week, EVERYTHING WE KNOW AND LOVE WILL CEASE TO BE.
so for the sake of preventing the collapse of this our universe, i made a small sacrifice. i came all the way back to hollis hills this morning, dragged that vacuum upstairs, and sit here now waiting to leave again to help natalie. today will be spent solely on commuting. getting transported from one place to another by mass transit. much moving will be done by me today, yet the energy i expend myself shall not reflect the distance traveled. the luxuries of life in the post-industrial age.
and, upon exercising my jewish mutant ability to inflict mortal guilt upon humans, i managed to triumphantly convince my grandma to keep the vacuum upstairs in cloey the cat's room. i doubt she will care that much. i mean, she basically just shits in there.
and after a prolific lapse in entry-writing...
it appears all the bodily functions are in proper order and the brain is still churning away. splendid! there be no better conditions to compose a fresh journal entry!
so, since my last transcription much has occurred. i shall relate it all in a jumble of mismatched memory and purposely exaggerated language.
as you may not have known, journal, i was most unluckily unemployed after my previous job as science research monkey for a corrupt environmental NPO in midtown manhattan. i had no choice but to fall back into my old vices: WoW and heroin. i still applied to jobs, mostly those in the san fran bay area, but as my trip to the holy land was looming like the cleaved halves of the parted red sea, i could not put my heart into it until i had no great plans ahead of me. once i returned back home from the land of milk and honey, thought i, then i will surely make a drastic move to alter these dire circumstances. and yet before even that, gaining vocational assurance before i jump on the desert-bound plane would surely relieve me of chest-burdening loads.
so i kept up the hunt, and managed to follow up with a friend out in california who was trying to pull me into her company as a GIS technician (my decided current career goal). but in the meantime, my pockets were yielding nothing but moths, and i took it upon me to find a more humble station that would provide me with sufficient coin to continue my lifestyle of unfettered hedonism and luxury. this particular job was counterstaff at a peanut butter-themed cafe in the vicinity of washington square park, now unfortunately under construction. i made milk shakes, peanut butter shakes, peanut butter and jelly shakes, lime rickies, egg creams, ice cream sundaes oozing with peanut butter, and poured one thousand-odd cups of milk. what a rush. my coworkers were all the most darling individuals and i had a regular blast. but as all good things come to an end, this too eventually saw its demise.
so there remains a week or so until my departure from the soil of this my country, and i am quite happily unemployed and unburdened by work or duty. it is interesting that free time can only be fully appreciated when it is buffered by some kind of work. while unemployed before for a good three months, i dreaded the limitless time that threatened my sanity and intimidated me to such an extent that even the prospect of working on creative enterprises seemed impossible. but this time is much appreciated, and it even feels like a reward. job well done!
and i shall keep up this journal in israel as i did in europe for all my fans. this i have decided.
so, since my last transcription much has occurred. i shall relate it all in a jumble of mismatched memory and purposely exaggerated language.
as you may not have known, journal, i was most unluckily unemployed after my previous job as science research monkey for a corrupt environmental NPO in midtown manhattan. i had no choice but to fall back into my old vices: WoW and heroin. i still applied to jobs, mostly those in the san fran bay area, but as my trip to the holy land was looming like the cleaved halves of the parted red sea, i could not put my heart into it until i had no great plans ahead of me. once i returned back home from the land of milk and honey, thought i, then i will surely make a drastic move to alter these dire circumstances. and yet before even that, gaining vocational assurance before i jump on the desert-bound plane would surely relieve me of chest-burdening loads.
so i kept up the hunt, and managed to follow up with a friend out in california who was trying to pull me into her company as a GIS technician (my decided current career goal). but in the meantime, my pockets were yielding nothing but moths, and i took it upon me to find a more humble station that would provide me with sufficient coin to continue my lifestyle of unfettered hedonism and luxury. this particular job was counterstaff at a peanut butter-themed cafe in the vicinity of washington square park, now unfortunately under construction. i made milk shakes, peanut butter shakes, peanut butter and jelly shakes, lime rickies, egg creams, ice cream sundaes oozing with peanut butter, and poured one thousand-odd cups of milk. what a rush. my coworkers were all the most darling individuals and i had a regular blast. but as all good things come to an end, this too eventually saw its demise.
so there remains a week or so until my departure from the soil of this my country, and i am quite happily unemployed and unburdened by work or duty. it is interesting that free time can only be fully appreciated when it is buffered by some kind of work. while unemployed before for a good three months, i dreaded the limitless time that threatened my sanity and intimidated me to such an extent that even the prospect of working on creative enterprises seemed impossible. but this time is much appreciated, and it even feels like a reward. job well done!
and i shall keep up this journal in israel as i did in europe for all my fans. this i have decided.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
spilled yerba mate haiku trio
then she leapt blindly
and with her, the mate gourd
soggy brown madness.
my arm flecked and stained
i shot a glance at the floor
a swelling brown mass.
once she fled, silence
broken only by a song
two perched orioles.
and with her, the mate gourd
soggy brown madness.
my arm flecked and stained
i shot a glance at the floor
a swelling brown mass.
once she fled, silence
broken only by a song
two perched orioles.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
i fall for girls too fast
it's true. the good part is i get to experience a state of emotional longing, much akin to "love" minus the actually knowing the girl part. the bad part is i experience a state of emotional longing, much akin to "love." minus the actually knowing the girl part.
i have been spiraling down into a kind of madness. searching for jobs, applying for jobs i like, getting rejected from jobs i am over-qualified for (for reasons outside of any logic this universe subscribes to), and on top of that all my bizzare unfulfilling interactions with girls... it is enough to force one into unwanted insanity. i mean, i didn't want to be insane--it was circumstance that signed me up. my emotions have become (or have they always been) a car without brakes careening through a tight alleyway, throwing up sparks and always set to crash and burn. but what saves me is my uncanny ability to achieve happiness the very next day, as if no trying pathos was suffered the previous day, as the chirping birds still sound so sweet and the fresh air from my window still carries the scent of flowers and greening leaves... how foolish one would be to STAY in an emotional slump when the very act of LIVING is a gift unto itself, one that would suit one poorly to hide from or ignore.
but back to girls. strategies end in failure. even if one thinks they are fool-proof, like some kind of game-plan for human behavior (the very idea disgusts me on multiple levels). playing different personalities end in failure. even if the current one is not working out for the particular task (you are yourself, and to nullify oneself in place of a created self is an act of murder--one should treasure the personality that is the product of his history). so "be yourself" still rings true, no matter what others will tell you, and no matter how many times it feels like "yourself" is always the wrong tool for the task. i mean, can't you still bang a nail in with a wrench? it's a bit harder, and definitely more awkward, but it still works.
i have been spiraling down into a kind of madness. searching for jobs, applying for jobs i like, getting rejected from jobs i am over-qualified for (for reasons outside of any logic this universe subscribes to), and on top of that all my bizzare unfulfilling interactions with girls... it is enough to force one into unwanted insanity. i mean, i didn't want to be insane--it was circumstance that signed me up. my emotions have become (or have they always been) a car without brakes careening through a tight alleyway, throwing up sparks and always set to crash and burn. but what saves me is my uncanny ability to achieve happiness the very next day, as if no trying pathos was suffered the previous day, as the chirping birds still sound so sweet and the fresh air from my window still carries the scent of flowers and greening leaves... how foolish one would be to STAY in an emotional slump when the very act of LIVING is a gift unto itself, one that would suit one poorly to hide from or ignore.
but back to girls. strategies end in failure. even if one thinks they are fool-proof, like some kind of game-plan for human behavior (the very idea disgusts me on multiple levels). playing different personalities end in failure. even if the current one is not working out for the particular task (you are yourself, and to nullify oneself in place of a created self is an act of murder--one should treasure the personality that is the product of his history). so "be yourself" still rings true, no matter what others will tell you, and no matter how many times it feels like "yourself" is always the wrong tool for the task. i mean, can't you still bang a nail in with a wrench? it's a bit harder, and definitely more awkward, but it still works.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
roma
even though i don't know enough italian to order a caffe, i am having the time of my life in rome. living my life as a lingustic infant has never been so easy. the pizza here comes in small personal pies with a thin crust, there are indian men everywhere selling things i never thought of not wanting, africans hawking faux handbags, chinese women selling colorful scarves, women of all nationalities dressed in their finest revealery, children shrieking all the languages i can think of, enormous stone fountains with statues of luxuriously muscular roman men engraved into them, church after church after church, the gargantuan Pantheon which had all the gods replaced with Christian characters (including a Jesus that resembles an anorexic Biblo Baggins), the overwhelmingly decorated Vatican City and its gaudily painted Cappella Sistina full of brightly colored angels and demons and Jesuses, strange Mediteranean crows with gray underbellies and underwing spots, lots of pedestrian space flanked on all sides by cafes and gelaterias and pizza parlors, and lots of sunlight. the espresso here is only about $1.50. i spent a good deal of yesterday walking around a large park in the north, listening to the singing birds and watching fathers wheel past carrying seatloads of kids on rented bicycle cars. and every meal i've had has been exquisite, often to the extent of tearing with joy. i have not asked for salt once, for i have shed more than enough tears into my meals. after every meal i have smacked my lips in satisfaction, shouted "bellisimo! grazi signoire!" and kissed my fingers in a gesture of appreciation. the waiter would then slap my back and gesticulate wildly while singing some snippet of opera as i gathered my things to leave. laughter and wine drinking all around. how could anyone ever be depressed here? i saw a crazy old guy yetsterday. he had two words taped to his shirt, some kind of tiara in his hair, and was shouting with bestial anger at passers-by. he yelled at some kids on a motorcycle to fasten their seat-belts, and when they started to yell back, he pressed his finger into his cheek like Shirley Temple and swung his dirty body left and right, all the while smiling insanely. a small armenian boy was watching him from a fountain and laughed at his every action. then the old man ordered the boy to gulp some fountain water and spit it out like the statue above. he did it! what an unlikely pair! this made my day.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
time to waste a day in paris
the fault of my 9pm flight out to rome, which happened to be quite a deal, and quite a poor choice with regard to my travel plans. for now i am in paris an extra day while rome still awaits, clenching her fists in dismal anticipation. paris? what the hell do i do here? i guess there's a big eiffel tower, and some big churches, some golden statues and joan of arc and all that crap, but honestly, where can i find a nice pizza pie? a crepe is a sorry substitution. considering its lack of mozzarella and tomato sauce, and the fact that it is egg and not flour. plus, i think i might be late for my espresso with the pope, which i scheduled months in advance and paid more than i should have for, and the preparation list they mailed me back in gold seal did state that if one is even one minute late, the participant shall be "subject to eternal hellfire for selfishly wasting the time of His Holiness." i have always known deep down inside that paris would be my downfall, but how could i have any idea that this downfall would be a spiritual one, of my soul down to the darkest pits of hell? damn you, paris! damn you, cheap airline tickets! i can almost feel that espresso getting cold, the pope checking his golden watch, the minute hand ticking audibly and jangling with sapphires, the cardinals all breathing loud sighs and mopping their moist brows with crimson kerchiefs.
i managed to begin a haphazard and bizarrely-begun conversation with a girl at breakfast, and i might have coffee with her now, in order to impress upon her my caffeine-induced verbal insanity. this is of the utmost importance. perhaps i shall visit the catacombs today, an extensive underground tunnel system that happens to house 40,000 wheelbarrows' worth of human bones, some of them arranged into spontaneous discovered art: sculptures of flowers, beasts of burden, vampires, surreally life-like scenes of public beheadings, of which the french are historically fond.
i managed to begin a haphazard and bizarrely-begun conversation with a girl at breakfast, and i might have coffee with her now, in order to impress upon her my caffeine-induced verbal insanity. this is of the utmost importance. perhaps i shall visit the catacombs today, an extensive underground tunnel system that happens to house 40,000 wheelbarrows' worth of human bones, some of them arranged into spontaneous discovered art: sculptures of flowers, beasts of burden, vampires, surreally life-like scenes of public beheadings, of which the french are historically fond.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
mad rush in louvre
to see the mona lisa. we found her! she was hiding behind a sheet of bullet-proof (and probably cannon-proof) glass as thick as her own head. according to a tour guide, some italian guy stole her some years back and hid her in his closet. when they found her again, she was still in that closet. he said he did it for italian nationalism. we only had an hour and a half to view the largest museum in the world because i had asked a guy mopping the louvre's beautiful floor and he told me it closed at 11 pm. in his defense, my french is always dangerously ambiguous and has questionable grammar, so he must have thought i was referring to the mall area surrounding the museum, as if i wanted to buy some bags of gummy candy or some perfume at 10 pm. which i didn't. i wanted to see some art, dammit. and so we strolled over all leisure-like, hands in pockets, to get a sandwich for lunch, chatted pleasantly, then strolled right back over to the louvre to discover it indeed closed at 5.30 pm. it was 4 pm >< ;;;;;;
we also saw the venus de milo. before we reached her we saw a large and impressive statue of athena. i told kevin i wasn't interested in the least in statues with arms. i then was asked to take a picture of him with fists thrusted in the air before the statue, in a posture of power and/or victory, mouth wide open in mock roar.
the eiffel tower was also scaled by us today. we were accompanied by a girl who was studying in spain and who could not for the life of her stop talking about spain and slipping "helplessly" into spanish, even when speaking her native tongue of english. despite this minor defect, she was much fun to spend time with, and would regale us with stories about spain, spanish grammar, spanish food, spanish host families, and even spanish lispy accents. she scaled the tower with us. even though it was only to the deuxieme etage, it was still six hundred steps, and the view was magnifique. the top was off limits to all humans that day, although we saw mysterious elevators climb slowly up the rails towards the blue zenith. it snowed slightly. our breath trailed out before us, a ghostly vapor that wafted down the tower steps as we climbed the many stairs. it mixed with other water vapors and became a rain cloud that rained upon the coast of north africa. when the rain hit the parched ground, our voices could faintly be heard rising from the earth. spooky.
we also saw the venus de milo. before we reached her we saw a large and impressive statue of athena. i told kevin i wasn't interested in the least in statues with arms. i then was asked to take a picture of him with fists thrusted in the air before the statue, in a posture of power and/or victory, mouth wide open in mock roar.
the eiffel tower was also scaled by us today. we were accompanied by a girl who was studying in spain and who could not for the life of her stop talking about spain and slipping "helplessly" into spanish, even when speaking her native tongue of english. despite this minor defect, she was much fun to spend time with, and would regale us with stories about spain, spanish grammar, spanish food, spanish host families, and even spanish lispy accents. she scaled the tower with us. even though it was only to the deuxieme etage, it was still six hundred steps, and the view was magnifique. the top was off limits to all humans that day, although we saw mysterious elevators climb slowly up the rails towards the blue zenith. it snowed slightly. our breath trailed out before us, a ghostly vapor that wafted down the tower steps as we climbed the many stairs. it mixed with other water vapors and became a rain cloud that rained upon the coast of north africa. when the rain hit the parched ground, our voices could faintly be heard rising from the earth. spooky.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
la france, je t'adore
i am in paris, france. it is a most enjoyable city, called "the city of lights," and the boulevards are bustling with frenchmen, baguettes, and cigarette smoke; the air smells of sugar coated on pastries, espresso comes when you order "cafe," stone fountains adorned with sculpted angels, heroes, or Joan D'Arc are found on most corners, the facades on most apartment buildings put the finest brownstones in the city to crying shame, the saliva produced from the populace uttering the french language collects in the gutters and surges into turbulent rivers that carry small children and farm animals away, never to be seen again. a small casualty for a tongue of such exquisite aestheticism. it has made me swoon countless times, almost straight to the ground, where still-burning cigarette butts and half-eaten crepes wait to sully my face.
kevin and i have been on two free tours -- the first with a charming young chap from smalltown texas whose knowledge of parisian history was not only surprising but highly improbable, almost to the point that he must have been lying. however, i believed it all, as this was more attractive than denial, since he talked of van gogh, picasso, bloody battles, beheaded kings, and revolutions. today we walked for four hours with a girl from boston named mary who i fell for completely, mainly because of her unbridaled comedic reposes amidst a fury of historical speech, humor that kept me laughing and stories of revolution after revolution, beheading after beheading, dethroning after rethroning after revolution again, accompanied by a seine that seemed to flow with blood on a constant basis for a good five hundred years. she warned us not to drink from it.
tomorrow we journey to the louvre perhaps, or the tour eiffel. regardless of where we go, i know we shall have a splendid time, and i shall eat at least one pan au chocolat. and a crepe avec creme de marron. and three more assorted pastries. and then five more pastries.
kevin and i have been on two free tours -- the first with a charming young chap from smalltown texas whose knowledge of parisian history was not only surprising but highly improbable, almost to the point that he must have been lying. however, i believed it all, as this was more attractive than denial, since he talked of van gogh, picasso, bloody battles, beheaded kings, and revolutions. today we walked for four hours with a girl from boston named mary who i fell for completely, mainly because of her unbridaled comedic reposes amidst a fury of historical speech, humor that kept me laughing and stories of revolution after revolution, beheading after beheading, dethroning after rethroning after revolution again, accompanied by a seine that seemed to flow with blood on a constant basis for a good five hundred years. she warned us not to drink from it.
tomorrow we journey to the louvre perhaps, or the tour eiffel. regardless of where we go, i know we shall have a splendid time, and i shall eat at least one pan au chocolat. and a crepe avec creme de marron. and three more assorted pastries. and then five more pastries.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
oh, so at peace
i cannot be more at peace. unless i was dead. but then i could not enjoy it. so blog, let me tell you. i forced my boss to fire me to collect unemployment compensation, and once fired realized i could not collect it because of time technicalities, although i potentially could if i am still unemployed by (shudder) april, and i have spent my days traveling azeroth and seeing friends. my dear friend misha has come to work a stint for a fashion company and we have been seeing much of each other. tonight i will traverse the subterranean tunnel below the east river in a clanging car of metal to arrive at the west village, where complimentary ale is being divvied out and humble works of art are presented to weary travelers. it shall prove to be a festive occasion that shall burn long and hard in the lantern of my memory. my belly is full with textured vegetable protein, left over from the other night, and my stomach will be hard pressed to generate an acid potent enough to coax it to cease resisting metabolization.
let whatever brings you light shine brightly tonight, my compatriots.
let whatever brings you light shine brightly tonight, my compatriots.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
angry again
so the superiors are away and some people ring the doorbell. the kiwi buzzes them in as usual now, as the receptionist just quit. there have been a number of interviews these days and the designer and i are always wondering what positions they're applying for. so naturally we were curious who these visitors were. she bolts down the stairs in her usual blustering way and plants herself back down in her chair and locks her gaze on her monitor. with the slightest hesitation, i ask who they are. she answers back sharply that she doesn't know, and why don't i check if i want to know so bad. so i do. i dash up the stairs with a childish fascination and find two east asian women, one a translator for the other. they are here to interview the executive director for a magazine article, i am told. oh, so no one is interviewing her? i ask, gesturing toward the woman not fluent in english. no, says the smiling interpreter. well, i was just checking... sorry! i say, then return downstairs. when i take my seat and tell them what i learned, the kiwi remarks smartly that she already knew. you already knew? i am surprised. of course i did, she says with an undercut of disgust, i am completely competent to handle situations like that. i don't know why you went up in the first place. because i was curious, i say. this is a professional environment, she reminds me staring at her screen still typing, and that wasn't very professional at all. you know what, i say, i guess i just don't give a shit... and that's it. yeah, i guess you don't, she finishes last.
some people just can't release themselves from the boundaries that have been created around them, either by themselves or by outside forces. they are to be pitied. who can hold such a rigid and uncompromising ethic about a workplace even they are set on leaving?
some people just can't release themselves from the boundaries that have been created around them, either by themselves or by outside forces. they are to be pitied. who can hold such a rigid and uncompromising ethic about a workplace even they are set on leaving?
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
my jar of genmaicha
my Ball jar of genmaicha looks like a beaker of settled pond water. yet it remarkably tastes like toasted brown rice, macha, and green tea. the tea leaves and rice have precipitated to the bottom of the jar, creating a deep green textured surface where all manner of creatures may hide, and the algae-soaked layers above pale to a cloudy yellow until they reach the surface, where a light green froth gathers around the rim, certainly brimming with frogs' eggs.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
cats vs dogs
i was arguing the superiority of domestic felines to canines in my office when i stumbled upon a great revelation. shamelessly quoting myself, i quote: "convincing one's cat to be affectionate is an art form. upon arriving home from the shelter with your new cat, she does not instinctively jump into your lap and slather you with hot bestial saliva! she dashes terrified under your couch and peers out at you with justifiable fear, for what small animal should voluntarily enjoy being stroked by the large hairless mitts of a gargantuan, possibly predatory, bipedal monster? i say to you, fellows of my workplace, workers in cooperation, that just as two dueling minds play not a game of chess with but two pieces, one invested in intellectual satisfaction should not prefer an easy conquest of a pet's affection, but rather a long, arduous, and romantic battle with crying rains of arrows and the ceaseless whinnying of rearing steeds–which is very much like living with a cat."
Thursday, January 17, 2008
don't know what to do with myself
sitting in a chair and staring at a monitor might be celebrated as the new modern pasttime, but for me it gets old fast. i have things to do but my mind is arrested by tedium. there are actually many things for me to research, nearly too much, but i am not confident that anything i do will be implemented, or for that matter, appreciated. what am i to do if everything i produce, often through some travail, is criticized and kicked back to the drawing board instead of supported and viewed optimistically as a work-in-progress. as a scientist (or as close as i can get to one), i understand the need for meticulousness and planning when it comes to beginning a project. however, i feel like i am working alone and forced to report to one who doesn't even try to understand my work. instead, he barks corrections at me and goes off on tangents about WWII and the CIA. he still refuses to understand the technology (which i've offered to explain more times than i can count), and this is a detriment to the progression of the project. he also can't stand staying within the bounds of my papers, and insists on wildly speculating about all sorts of ideas, sometimes not relevant to the project at all (such as unmanned army spy planes).
given all this, why would i desire to continue working hard? frustration is something that a strong mind should be able to combat effectively enough to reinstill some comfort. but we all have our thresholds. i shouldn't have to fight for my superior's attention, i shouldn't have to explain things to him multiple times, i shouldn't have to rewrite the same proposal 6 times to get approval.
the atmosphere here is unnecessarily oppressive.
given all this, why would i desire to continue working hard? frustration is something that a strong mind should be able to combat effectively enough to reinstill some comfort. but we all have our thresholds. i shouldn't have to fight for my superior's attention, i shouldn't have to explain things to him multiple times, i shouldn't have to rewrite the same proposal 6 times to get approval.
the atmosphere here is unnecessarily oppressive.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
happiness
i am happy this morning. it feels good to write such a simple sentence with such a simple message. these days my brain has been clouded with too many interwoven thoughts. and like with an audience at a crowded lecture, one cannot pull apart the idiots from the scholars. some of these foolish thoughts have been constricting the righteously informed ones with their thick sluggish coils, and left me gasping for mental direction. sever the serpent's foul head and toss it o'er the cliff to be battered by the rocks below!
lo, the skies are quarreling with the seas, and a furious color hath wrecked the soft yellowing of dawn! these times are times of legend, and every day a noble conquest. has chivalry taken its last breath? have iniquitous knaves been given liberty to run amock and set the hills afire? then i shall stand atop the tallest green hill and plant my sword in the earth, allow the wind to carress my face, and wait for the final settling.
lo, the skies are quarreling with the seas, and a furious color hath wrecked the soft yellowing of dawn! these times are times of legend, and every day a noble conquest. has chivalry taken its last breath? have iniquitous knaves been given liberty to run amock and set the hills afire? then i shall stand atop the tallest green hill and plant my sword in the earth, allow the wind to carress my face, and wait for the final settling.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
ideas as caged doves
If our ideas were caged doves, my boss would be the happy customer with the rented rifle who shoots them down.
And just when i thought i couldn't get more pessimistic, all the world's polar ice melted and sea levels rose seventy-five meters.
And just when i thought i couldn't get more pessimistic, all the world's polar ice melted and sea levels rose seventy-five meters.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
