Round 2

It's extremely likely that I've touched on this subject a million and one times, but I feel it must be reiterated, because my position on the matter has changed oh-so-slightly, I've learned a few things or whatever, but the underlying principle remains the same: the concept of an omniscient and all-powerful being is a big whopping pile of bullshit, and it doesn't take George Carlin's standup routine or the ridiculous stupidity of my English class to show me that. But I suppose this entry isn't so much about religion as it is on my thought processes and the beliefs I subscribe to.

Let's get the festering bile out of the way first. Religion and the concept of a God is useful in a few instances, but the severity of these instances are what have turned religious belief into such a lumbering behemoth. When things go wrong in life, people turn to God for comfort; just knowing there's a higher power there to support you gets you through the day, maybe assuages the depression of the tragedy or whatever event. Religion is useful, maybe even critical for some people, to help them get past whatever roadblock has been thrown their way. Even when their life isn't difficult, people often use God as inspiration and support, to stay happy. I have no problem with that, it's their belief and it works wonders for them. But it must be said that these people are living in a bubble, which isn't bad, per se. The illusion is nice for a while, but the happenings of the world will make you question your beliefs. If God is so kind, why does he let the genocide in Darfur happen? Why does he let soldiers get killed in the Middle East? It is my belief that these questions, these observations are what cause the erosion of religious belief, no matter its usefulness or inspiration.

If you had to attach a label to me, I think I would be called an atheist. But the problem with labels is that they entail certain things; if I'm an atheist, I must be stalwartly against religion. As the above paragraph proved, I'm open to the concept of religion as a means of comfort and support, not as a way to explain life's mysteries and trends. But my main belief system is such a hodgepodge of bullshit and schools of thought, it's hard to pin it to anything. I believe nothing happens to you after death - Albert Camus' existentialism. I believe life is what you make of it - Ayn Rand's Objectivism. I believe life is random, cruel, and absurd - Nietzsche's nihilism. I believe that the universe is governed by a higher power - the laws of physics and biology. I believe environmentalists are self-righteous, self-serving, arrogant douchebags - contrary to liberal thought. I believe that the government should exhibit stringent oversight on big businesses - contrary to conservative thought. We attach all-encompassing labels to certain beliefs, but those beliefs are generally assumed to carry a package deal or something: human thought is so gray that it's impossible to pin it down to any one thing. Nobody is a complete liberal or conservative, atheist or devout. We don't operate like that. We take bits and pieces of what we think represent our interests the most and smash them together into a mosaic of randomness.

This is a pretty rambly entry with no clear topic or anything. Somehow, it's all relevant and fits together, I'm just not sure how that is. I guess I'll end this with a clip from an extremely wise man who is unfortunately no longer with us. Watch it, you will not regret it.



PS. If you were an invisible man, you would also be blind, so that would suck pretty hard. If you ever went on a date, your date would be talking about movies and vacation spots with a pile of what looks to be vomit.

Exalted return, redux.

Jesus Christ, it's been a long time since I've updated this motherfucker, and the last entry was a rant on the state of Israeli affairs, hardly an exciting bit of prose, or whatever. Having a nice long break really sets you up to be bored out of your damn mind, unwilling to read any books, play any video games, watch any movies, or listen to any stand-up or music. It's weird how ennui affects us; we'll bitch about being bored, but there's a multitude of activities you could be engaging in that would take it away instantly. Maybe I'm just exceptionally lazy.

Ranting about personal issues are what blogs (what a weird name for an online journal, by the way. This was kind of brought to light when I watched Yahtzee's review of 50 Cent: Blood on the Sand, wherein in described the word as "...something that sounds like it lives on a riverbed that communicates throught farts." I LOL'd) are usually about, so I think I'll take the opportunity to discuss the future, a subject that I've beaten like several dead hippopotamuses. But several things have shaken up the status quo, like an asteroid colliding with earth, only much more small-scale.

In about six months, probably less, time, I'll be off to college, to a bastion of higher learning, partying, and sunshine, onwards to a journey that I know nothing about, like going on a diamond-hunting expedition into a war-torn African nation and acting surprised when you get crucified by the local warlord. That's what I automatically liken the experience to, but it's clearly not as black and white as it seems. It's not a simple black or white, a a shitty, vomit-your-balls in disgust romp through dorms where the alcohol flows like the Hudson or a personal development wherein angels shower you with happiness and knowledge and you're extremely content. No. I can't speak from personal experience, but all of life is pretty gray, a concept that's served me pretty well so this is probably no exception. I expect it to be fun - learning specific parts of literature and writing, along with historical periods will be great. Sprinkle in a bit of film into the mix, and we've got ourselves a recipe for a good education. And isn't that what school is about?

The education side of college is just one head of the hydra, however. What about friends? Everlasting connections? So while I'm certain that I will receive the greatest quality schooling possible, what worries me is my social attitude and socialization skills. At the moment, I have a small group of friends, the coolest motherfuckers ever, most of whom I've known for a very long time - we go way back. See, they're used to me and my eccentricities, my attitudes, and my ticks. If they don't find it amusing, at least they tolerate it enough that I don't feel like I have to change myself too much. But I will be wiping the slate clean entirely, thrown like chum into a shark tank populated by malnourished blue sharks. So what if I'm incapable of making new friends down there? Am I just going to follow Karan all damn day? That's one of my primary concerns - I'm not a great socializer and never will be, and so maybe that particularly damning inability will cause a miserable time at Santa Barbara. I may be exaggerating and using the Slippery Slope fallacy a little bit, but it is a realistic problem. I am instantly reminded of RYLA, how kids become such fast friends when forced into close proximity. I suppose that's definitely possible if I'll be living in a dorm, but that thought continues to ominously linger in the back of my head.

That segues nicely into my next utterly depressing topic. How will I deal with leaving the people I know here behind? My parents have been pretty hysterical at the prospect of me just going on a weekend camping trip with friends, but the idea of moving down to Santa Barbara for months at a time has kicked their craze into permanent overdrive. Constantly I hear "You must call me every day, tell me about absolutely everything." It's not been a week since my acceptance, and already I'm being bombarded with decisions regarding housing and financial aid. I appreciate the concern, but it's getting a tad irritating. It'll be easy to deal with, because they're parents and will always be around, but the hard part is coping with the lack of friends, as I mentioned. The few friends I have mean quite a lot, especially that tall white dude I know, that short white girl I know, and some other colored people who know who they are. Confidants, gone. I mean, it's inevitable, but actually staring at it in the face, as it's coming towards me like a freight train driven by Yosemite Sam really shakes things into perspective. I'll learn to deal with it, but that doesn't mean I won't be miserable. And I can't even think of a metaphor to describe that.

Which brings me to another point (man, I am just killing it with the transitions and segues tonight), am I going to change? Will the big scary college absorb me and remold me into whatever shape it deems? Will I sacrifice the years of knowledge that reading and writing and watching have afforded me to become some sort of chugging, smoking, fucking douchebag? I certainly hope not, but let's be real. Something as earth-shattering as lifting up all your roots and planting them in another field will result in changes on a micro, maybe a macro level. But one of my unbending principles is to simply be who I am, not succumb to the more idiotic norms of college life, like staying out till 5 in the morning piss-faced. Maybe being smart makes you miserable. I don't know what to fucking think, to be honest.

I don't think I want to bum whoever's reading this out too much, not that I think that anyone's going to fucking read it, so I will end with some happy thoughts. I believe those people who claim "they can't wait for college" are being disingenuous. Nobody's life is so shitty that they want to move to the North Pole. In the buildup before you leave to an institution of higher learning, make the most of your time. Like inmates on Death Row - they exercise, educate, meditate, to yank some meaning and fun out of their last months of life, something I fully intend to do. Go on camping trips and other such adventures, smoke a little, read some books, watch some TV and movies. No point in whining about how everything's going to change when I could be utilizing that time effectively.

That is, if you people want to, of course. ;)

PS. Apparently in Santa Barbara, during the Halloween festivities, they send fucking mounties into the campus to beat the shit out of drunkards. That's just badass.

Exalted return

I haven't really quite ranted on this blog in a long time; perhaps I fear everyone not reading me to death, but that doesn't really quite matter. A recent screening of the movie Waltz with Bashir has turned on my angry rant mode, so prepare for a lot of loud bile and snide remarks. I guess this will also be a mini-review of the movie as well, but...

Anyway, Waltz is a Hebrew movie about Ari Folman, who continually experiences nightmares where he's chased by 26 hounds, which he believes to be connected to his experiences in the horrific 1982 Lebanon War, one of the many conflicts between the Israelis and various other ethnic groups out for their blood and to drive them out of the Holy Land. The movie, while there's a focus on Ari's interviewing various other soldiers during the conflict on their stint in the Israel Defense Force which effectively gives it a kind of documentary edge, is animated and is an extremely creative and original way to tell Folman's story, which also contains themes of memory, the enigmas of the mind, and repression. It's a brilliant movie, with some particularly cool bits (like the opening scene and the "Waltz" with Bashir). The animation really makes the movie stand out - if it weren't like that, this movie would've definitely failed. Overall, a good contender for Best Foreign Film.

But it got me thinking about some stuff, an opinion I'm not exactly proud of, but I feel needs to be expressed anyway. It's about Israel and its hawkish military policies and its vast abuse of human rights.

As we all know, Israel was formed after World War 2, through various annexations and carvings of the region. The Jewish have their own homeland, smack dab in the Middle East, amongst a host of Arab nations that detest its very presence. With the first few skirmishes between Israel and its Arab adversaries, it managed to gain a little more land in the Six Day War. Most of these states, Jordan, Syria, etc have refused to acknowledge Israel's right to exist, with Egypt recognizing its sovereignty only just recently.

Here's the problem I have with Israel. It's nice to have an ally as powerful as us in the Middle East, a nice little pie in the sky if you will, but their very existence has caused so many miniature wars, so many pointless conflicts that you really have to ask whether or not it's worth it, to squabble so vehemently over a small piece of land. It's like fighting over the last cupcake in the shitty school cafeteria. You may feel good when you win the cupcake and triumph over the guy who's a few feet taller than you, but remember that you're still eating crappy cafeteria food! The Knesset and the opposing parties may not feel this way, probably feeling some religious connection to the land, but to everyone else, it's fighting over the bigger rock.

I realize it's probably not just fighting over a rock. It's proving you have big guns. It's proving you have balls of brass. You don't have to fight over the Suez Canal to do that. You don't have to secretly assassinate supposed "heads of terror." Furthermore, what right do you have to bulldoze areas of the West Bank, "relocating" Palestinians? What right do you have to pursue an aggressive expansionist campaign to collect more territory in the Gaza Strip and the West Bank, pushing Palestinians out of their homes? When you bait a wild dog, hit it with a stick, do you expect for it to just sit there and yowl? No, it's a dog that'll defend itself if attacked. You can hardly be surprised when the PLO, Hezbollah, Hamas, whatever governing body of Palestine decides to retaliate. The recent conflict that erupted was a result of Palestinian aggression, but it hardly comes as a surprise considering Israel's track record with local foreign relations. It's also a little hard to sympathize with these warhawks when they're supported by the might of the United States and their foes, who don't even have an established capital for God's sake, has to make due with whatever they can scrounge.

Do not get me wrong. I am not anti-Semitic. I fully support Israel's right to exist. They deserve a homeland. They've been trodden on for the better part of forever; it's only fair they get reparations for their suffering. But when your uncle gets you a really cool BB gun after you've come out of your gastric bypass surgery, that does not give you a free pass to shoot people in the eye. Don't act surprised when they get angry when you attack them. Two of the big players, Egypt and Jordan, have established friendly ties with Israel, but a large part of the Arab world still seems averse to their very existence. Here's some free advice for the Knesset. Stop firing rockets. Stop bulldozing refugee camps. Stop relocating transients. Stop angering the Palestinians and drop that gung-ho, imperialistic attitude. The Arab world hates America and Israel, and did you ever thought to wonder why? Could it be because we're warmongering, resource-thirsty, expansionist superpowers? The other kids in school will conspire to bring down the biggest bully in the yard, so quit giving the rest of the world wedgies if you want to maintain some degree of respect in the international community.

flash fiction

Roots

When the town of Daisy was built up in the late 19th century, with its frontier style storefronts, its unpaved roads and, most notoriously, its saloon, the people were surprised to see a rather large tree growing at the north end. From their observations, this town was in the middle of nowhere, smack dab in the middle of the Mojave Desert, exceptionally dry and miserable, something to be expected from a desert town. The patience that was required to get through the day was saint-like, and any real pleasure came from a shot of a whiskey down at Al's Saloon. The tree was tall, thick, with green and hazel leaves hanging from its branches. It provided a nice shade, and the smell of its leaves in the summer was especially refreshing. The tree sprouted a delicious fruit every spring, something the town would take advantage of every season. The harvest would be plentiful, and it provided the people of Daisy a nice respite. This tree made life tolerable. Men toiling in the mines would return from a long day and lounge along the trunks, knocking back drinks from Al's. Women would pick and store the fruits to make all kinds of things – candies, juices, cocktails. Along with the nice “beverages” from next door, the tree was one of the few things that made life semi-tolerable for the town of Daisy.

Railroads and industrialization cut through the land, deeply scarring the vast expanses of the desert, bringing about unprecedented prosperity for all who embraced its mechanized ideals. Before long, most stores in Daisy were absorbed into a conglomerate, no longer built in the typical frontier-style, radically changed. Roads were paved, rotting buildings demolished without a second thought, and man even saw fit to attempt to drain the desert of every last drop of valuable blood it had left. Whatever ore, gold, or useful substance was excavated and used to fuel the trains, the automobiles, to fund business ventures and trips. The mining towns that typified America were a thing of the past, and the power of the Industrial Revolution was too great to stop. Holding back the tide was futile.

And in this climate of radical change, one thing remained constant. The tree still stood in its isolated corner, the leaves still crisp, its colorful combination of green and hazel. Fruit still hung precariously from the branches. Even as Al's underwent renovation, the tree seemed untouched, unchanging. Before long, as time continued it unending march, as the roads became connected, as the storefronts destroyed in favor of suburban housing, a city built surrounding the town, the tree began to wither. Kids would ride their bikes down to the newly-dug ditch, laughing at the strange shape that the “Witch Tree” was twisted into. Teenagers would sneak into its now hollowed-out base and do all sorts of unspeakable acts within it for the excitement of public consummation. And one day, it was bulldozed, along with other dead vegetation. They didn't know what it was. What it stood for. Why it was there. The town of Daisy, the people who now lived there, didn't understand its significance. It faithfully and unwaveringly stood for Daisy until the end of its days. And yet, it was now gone. Roots upended, time had continued its march.

Trying flash fiction again, let's see how it goes.

The Path

From what I understand, I'm good at things. I'm a good writer, argue passionately and cogently, and criticize like a pro. I'm interested in a lot of things: Literature that has a philosophical base, movies with compelling stories and interesting camera techniques, and trying my hand at writing original stories some times, to varying success, obviously. I also like biology, understanding the history of lifeforms on earth, how the human body works, the natural order (Mother Nature fucking us up with hurricanes and the like). I think it's all fascinating stuff. The sciences in general are always interesting. I also think I'd make a great lawyer, combining the passionate arguments with logical facts and procedures and the like. That kind of thing.

And while I think I would be a good lawyer, and I would get filthy stinking rich arguing in court and drafting up contracts, it's something I really wouldn't care for, honestly. What you're good at and what you want to do don't necessarily overlap. I don't want to be one of those people who sit around their thousand acre mansions pondering what to do with their money while their trophy wives go off and have sex with the poolboy and their kids do heroin. Wealth doesn't guarantee happiness, but it does give you certainty. You'll be certain you'll never have to experience poverty. And how comforting is that to know, in the back of your mind?

But you always end up wondering what could have been. What would my life be like if I took that job as writer on SNL? How would I be doing if I never stole those Yu-Gi-Oh cards? What if that stupid Jew didn't shoot me down like a plane over the Midway? And what if I pursued my passions instead of working 9-5 at a job I'm good at, but hate? What if, after getting a degree in English, I moved to Los Angeles and took up a job as a waiter in a restaurant in Rodeo Drive, trying to slip execs a script? What if, instead of transferring to Boalt Law, I went to UCLA, changed my mind and went to their renowned film school to learn about screenwriting? And what if it just so happens that I landed my foot in the door and got approved for a budget to make a film? It would be my dream.

My secret ambition has always been to become a director, a writer, a producer of films. It simply combines my love for writing and movies into a nice little package, but I always knew it was next to impossible. Martin Scorcese and Quentin Tarantino started out pretty cheaply, the latter getting his foot in the door just by talking to the right people while he was working in a video rental shop at age 22. Lightning doesn't strike twice, or seven times, as The Curious Case of Benjamin Button would have you believe. But I feel if I don't pursue my interest, I'll spend the rest of my life wondering what if.

Of course, it could be the case that I become a lawyer, get sucked into the world of torts and nonverbal contracts and only wanting to re-emerge after several years with a lot of money to burn. I could fund myself? Perhaps I should put my dreams on hold, focus on a more realistic and plausible path in life. The question can still be answered in two years, after I finish my English major. Who knows where the wind will take me? The only thing I want is to not live a life of regret.

Waxing yourself

After finishing an extremely mediocre novel, A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby, an annoyingly unfocused novel about the interesting topic of suicide, I was compelled to write an entry on the nuances and effects of suicide. Just to be clear, the novel could have been quite good if it had a focus instead of drifting all over the place like a meandering vagabond and even better if most of the cast wasn't entirely dislikable. It takes a leaf out of The Breakfast Club, only it's a lot less cogent. Book critic, I am not, so...

Suicide is a way out. The easy way out. The path of least resistance. When you're dead, you don't have to deal with the crap that life spits on you day after day. You kill yourself for different reasons - maybe the mailman who never missed a day of work for 30 years hung himself because he knew his life was unfufilling. Perhaps the depressed divorcee who never gets to see his kids ingests car fumes because he has nothing to live for. Whatever the case, it is entirely logical to want to kill yourself. Generally, you have a good reason to do it. In the case of the characters of the book, one of them is hated by everyone he meets, one of them has a catatonic son who is a drain, and the other two aren't interesting enough to even warrant a mention. Point is, unless you're a teenager looking for attention, people who contemplate suicide often have a good reason to do so.

Let's not lie - we've all had suicidal thoughts, even if jokingly and fleetingly. We all have days where's it's so damn bad that you just want out, never want to take another glance at that large pile of work, never want to talk to that asshole boss of yours ever again. I'm not going to deny it, I've had days so bad that I just want to throw myself off a roof. But we never go through with it. And the reason is because we have something to live for. It could be anything. Family. Friends. Wanting to see Christopher Nolan's sequel to The Dark Knight. Things like that, you know?

When I went to RYLA, a cabin mate of mine wanted to kill himself (nobody ever reads this blog, so it doesn't matter). What I remember of that day, and some talks in the cabin before that was that suicide was a very selfish thing to do. You leave behind all your friends, family, and people who care about you, without any concern for what pain they'll feel for you when you're gone. I don't think that's entirely true. Selfishness is a virtue, and assuming someone killing themselves is a bad thing, you don't know the whole story. They may have been crapped on all their lives, and whatever the problem is, it's unfixable. Obviously, if you can fix or at least try to improve whatever problem that person has, you should do all you can. But forcing someone to live a life they no longer want any part of is akin to not letting a terminally ill patient die. Death may be ugly, but that's entirely in your control. If you control your life, you should also have control over when you leave this world to go to the Great Gig in the Sky.

It's my opinion that life is worth too much to throw away. Many will disagree with that, but that's what I think. I wouldn't dare think of killing myself even if I were evicted from my apartment, had my funds seized, and my children died in front of me. I would be devastated, broken, dead to the world, but perhaps the human spirit can rise from the ashes like some sort of disfigured phoenix. Life is beautiful, but if you don't want to live it - if you've been trampled on your whole life, you can't get anywhere despite the best help in the world, you've lost the will to live, you're pretty much dead, that's fine. Let them do it. No matter what you do, nothing can improve their lives. Existentialism dictates that we make our own happiness. When we can't do that, life is no longer worth living.

What am I saying? Live life. Live every week like it's Shark Week. Live every day like you're going to be murdered the next. If you can't, do what you have to do. You'll hurt some people. You'll anger some people. But you don't have to deal with that any more. But please, let it be a last resort. I'm not advocating suicide, I'm only relating it to the worst case scenario, which I hope never befalls anyone.

The first entry of 2009

The New Year is upon us, and so are new opportunities to break whatever resolutions that we promised ourselves just 24 hours ago. 2009 is yet another year to turn over a new leaf, begin anew, reconstruct the broken pieces of our banal lives and build something colossally cogent. A new dawn is arising, or whatever that line was from that trailer.

But in all seriousness, recent events and revelations have caused a maelstrom and whirlwind (maelwind? whirlstrom?) of emotions and pledges. And it's not just the New Year or the chemicals talking. I look back on 2008 very fondly, I did a lot of things I'm very much proud of, and right there is the foundation I can build on. The precedent has been set: I wrote a play, my cynicism tempered over the summer, I fell head-over-heels for a woman, I made a lot of new friends, I forgave and forgot, I made a point of educating myself through literature, movies, and writing, I became pseudo-independent, and I severed some cancerous growths from my life that don't benefit me at all. I had the motivation, obviously, to do these things when I didn't even put it on my list of things to do when 2007 ended. That's some inspiration, right there.

Furthermore, recent events have transpired that made me really reexamine my life and character. I haven't changed a lot (God, what would you people do without me, right?), I still accept the absurdity of life and the rules of the universe as the absolute highest power that can be granted, but life is short. Life is also beautiful, and when you go through it miserable, angry, disappointed, what enjoyment do you get out of it? The way I viewed the world, past tense, was that it was an ugly dog-eat-dog place where you can't rely on anyone, and everyone is your opponent. Hate everyone because they're out to get you. But that really isn't the case. Life is rife with opportunity, it just so happens everyone is too cowardly, for one reason or another to seize it. I sadly fall under this demographic, but that's what the New Year is for. 2009 will be a year to kick ass, take names, and make life worth living, instead of only partially worth living to see repeated screenings of The Dark Knight.

Also, recent events have also inspired an insatiable lust for jazz music, the ultimate form of self-expression, of beautiful improvisation. This is music that really comes from the soul, the essence of the musician that controls the instrument. A friend of mine who should be reading this entry right fucking now wants to go to a jazz club, and frankly, that would be the greatest thing ever. I have such respect for the art form that I actually want to learn how to play the sax. I believe Miles Davis played it, so if I learn, I'll be as cool as the guy who made Bitches Brew. Nina, I believe your uncle is a jazz musician, hook a brother up.

All in all, 2008 was a good year for me. I wish I had been bolder. I wish I hadn't waited so long for some things. I wish some things hadn't changed. I wish some things HAD changed. And I wish some things would just go away. But I don't regret any of it. What happened, happened and that's fine with me. I may have only gotten a small bite out of that carrot, but this is the year where I eat the whole damn thing. What does 2009 bring? College, rejection, and a new frontier. And to be honest, I'm petrified, as I mentioned. But I also mentioned that I'm excited. Excited to finally be able to test my abilities. 2009 will be a year of personal success, and I'm sure whatever I do between now and December 31st, 2009, I won't regret.

Cheers. And Happy New Year.

PS. We all know the real New Years celebration is Chinese New Year. Even though I'm not Chinese. Fun fact: we Vietnamese celebrate something called Tet, although you probably associate that more with a certain offensive during a certain 20th century conflict.