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.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, January 5, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, January 2, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
It's the most wonderful time of the year
Ah, the holidays, a time of celebration, relaxation, and consumption. Christmas gives us a reason to be with friends and family. Hanukkah is incentive to kick back and chug some eggnog, and Kwanzaa is why we spend so much money on crap we'll never use. And it just so happens to be my favorite part of the year.
The cold weather and jolly holiday spirit validates my slothful lazing around, doing absolutely nothing, not that I needed a reason. I should be working on apps right now, but fuck it! It's Christmas, I deserve to unwind. The holidays give us something to strive for in our pathetic day-to-day lives, a short-term purpose.
But the holiday season also reeks of hypocrisy. The purpose of Christmas or any of the aforementioned holidays is to give, goodwill and love to all. Giving usually implies presents, fueling the absolutely unstoppable behemoth inundation of consumerism. While we clamor and gibe about giving to the less fortunate, about how "giving is better than receiving," it's plain to see that at the back of everyone's mind is a simple and irrevocable desire to have more stuff. And because we're a species of followers, once everyone decided to follow this pattern of behavior, everyone does. But this is one of those hypocrisies that are relatively harmless. What does it matter if little Timmy says one thing but really feels another? It's the holidays! Nobody cares if you're a hypocrite because they're too busy engorging themselves on turkeys and trips to the mall.
One of the most tragically humorous things about me is that while I'm shamelessly cynical and pessimistic, my tasty nougat center is composed entirely of romanticism. I'm a big huggy-wuggy teddy bear at heart, if by teddy bear you mean ferocious polar bear defending her cub. But in all seriousness, there are things that make me melt, like the movie Atonement, polar bear cubs, and corny romantic gestures. It provides a nice balance to my personality. The holiday season should also be on that list. It's a time of togetherness, love, and happiness. A time where we should all set aside pointless bickering, grudges, and ill-disguised animosity. You can resume that shit after New Year's, I don't have a problem with that. But somewhere around this time, I feel myself smiling a lot more (which is like once a day as opposed to the perpetual grimace I have on most of the time), prone to outbursts of Christmas songs, and just generally jolly and jovial, like a big fat Santa Claus. If you want to see an anomaly, just look at me during Christmastime. If I'm willing to brush off hypocrisy, then you know something's going down.
So dismiss the usual message I give out through this blog. Forget contemplating the meaningless of life, forget pondering the futility of being nice to people, forget musing the benefits of staying true to yourself and loving only what truly matters, forget wondering whether unconditional love exists or not, forget ruminating the downfalls of a capitalistic society.
Forget it all and just enjoy the holidays. One love, bruddah.
PS. The holidays make me hornier than a rhinoceros with genital warts.
The cold weather and jolly holiday spirit validates my slothful lazing around, doing absolutely nothing, not that I needed a reason. I should be working on apps right now, but fuck it! It's Christmas, I deserve to unwind. The holidays give us something to strive for in our pathetic day-to-day lives, a short-term purpose.
But the holiday season also reeks of hypocrisy. The purpose of Christmas or any of the aforementioned holidays is to give, goodwill and love to all. Giving usually implies presents, fueling the absolutely unstoppable behemoth inundation of consumerism. While we clamor and gibe about giving to the less fortunate, about how "giving is better than receiving," it's plain to see that at the back of everyone's mind is a simple and irrevocable desire to have more stuff. And because we're a species of followers, once everyone decided to follow this pattern of behavior, everyone does. But this is one of those hypocrisies that are relatively harmless. What does it matter if little Timmy says one thing but really feels another? It's the holidays! Nobody cares if you're a hypocrite because they're too busy engorging themselves on turkeys and trips to the mall.
One of the most tragically humorous things about me is that while I'm shamelessly cynical and pessimistic, my tasty nougat center is composed entirely of romanticism. I'm a big huggy-wuggy teddy bear at heart, if by teddy bear you mean ferocious polar bear defending her cub. But in all seriousness, there are things that make me melt, like the movie Atonement, polar bear cubs, and corny romantic gestures. It provides a nice balance to my personality. The holiday season should also be on that list. It's a time of togetherness, love, and happiness. A time where we should all set aside pointless bickering, grudges, and ill-disguised animosity. You can resume that shit after New Year's, I don't have a problem with that. But somewhere around this time, I feel myself smiling a lot more (which is like once a day as opposed to the perpetual grimace I have on most of the time), prone to outbursts of Christmas songs, and just generally jolly and jovial, like a big fat Santa Claus. If you want to see an anomaly, just look at me during Christmastime. If I'm willing to brush off hypocrisy, then you know something's going down.
So dismiss the usual message I give out through this blog. Forget contemplating the meaningless of life, forget pondering the futility of being nice to people, forget musing the benefits of staying true to yourself and loving only what truly matters, forget wondering whether unconditional love exists or not, forget ruminating the downfalls of a capitalistic society.
Forget it all and just enjoy the holidays. One love, bruddah.
PS. The holidays make me hornier than a rhinoceros with genital warts.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Peepz
Geographically, in the greater sense of the universe, human beings have been around for a few thousand years, effectively surviving and thriving in the time it took Jason Biggs' character to have an orgasm in American Pie.Isn't it remarkable, then, that in that extremely short amount of time, we've caused so much degradation, destroyed so many habitats, and ruined the lives of so many other species on earth, along with ourselves? We are capable of so much more than the wildebeest living in Africa, and yet we have consistently, time after time, done just as much bad as we have good.
The 'good' I speak of, of course, refers to what we've done to propel ourselves up the ladder in the animal kingdom - what inventions we've made to prevent us from being lion food, the weapons we've forged to fight off the Megalodons. In other words, all that we've done as a species is ensure our further propagation. I suppose you could call that a success, and indeed that's what animals use to mark their success in the world, whether or not they can survive. The only things we've done are entirely self-serving, and utterly meaningless in the scope of the universe.
Everything is meaningless in the cosmic sense. Nothing ever holds significance because it's all going to be gone when the Big Crunch happens. Armed with that knowledge in mind, wouldn't it be ideal for everyone on earth to just get along? The wars, the conflicts over oil and energy and money are all futile because you're all going to die. That's just the reality. I believe the phrase "Make love, not war," applies about ten times over in this situation. Life is what you make of it, and when you fill it with war, self-righteousness, and hypocrisies, one would think you're doomed to a life of misery, but they somehow manage to still believe what they're doing is right.
People are vain. They're susceptible to making rash decisions based on impulse and floods of hormones. That's what makes us human. What else makes us human? The ability to make rational decisions and exercise judgment. That, in my opinion, is what we should pride ourselves on. But history shows us that the average human is more likely to act impulsively, aggressively, fearfully, and without reason. See: the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the Holocaust. Whatever we can't control, we actively seek to destroy so that the issue of not being able to control it no longer bothers us. But look at what rationality and reasoning has brought us. Democracy, the notion of liberty, business, and countless other things. There's almost a perpetual split between absolute pants-on-head retarded impulsiveness and stalwart rational thought. We humans, we're in a permanent state of drifting between PMS and normality. And when it's that time of the month, our periods are so bad we need to control it with medication.
In all seriousness, this whole, very rambly and inarticulate entry was just to show how my misanthropy has kind of tempered. Mankind is capable of the worst things you can imagine. We will commit atrocities without a second thought, all in the name of some abstract cause. But in the rare instances where we aren't indulging our impulsive whims, like juggling breadsticks, we're capable of so much. We can improve our world in so many ways, we just have to take our birth control pills and start taking the initiative. Because when the time comes, we'll want to have something to show to the Tralfamadorians. And I believe we're fully capable of that if we just try. The Greeks did it, our Founding Fathers did it, and our economic prosperity speaks volumes of our success. Just gotta pull our heads out of our asses and stop yapping about terrorists. There are more pressing matters, like building hovercars and colonizing Mars.
PS. I expect absolutely no one to get the jokes I made in this entry. And by no one, I mean stupid people.
The 'good' I speak of, of course, refers to what we've done to propel ourselves up the ladder in the animal kingdom - what inventions we've made to prevent us from being lion food, the weapons we've forged to fight off the Megalodons. In other words, all that we've done as a species is ensure our further propagation. I suppose you could call that a success, and indeed that's what animals use to mark their success in the world, whether or not they can survive. The only things we've done are entirely self-serving, and utterly meaningless in the scope of the universe.
Everything is meaningless in the cosmic sense. Nothing ever holds significance because it's all going to be gone when the Big Crunch happens. Armed with that knowledge in mind, wouldn't it be ideal for everyone on earth to just get along? The wars, the conflicts over oil and energy and money are all futile because you're all going to die. That's just the reality. I believe the phrase "Make love, not war," applies about ten times over in this situation. Life is what you make of it, and when you fill it with war, self-righteousness, and hypocrisies, one would think you're doomed to a life of misery, but they somehow manage to still believe what they're doing is right.
People are vain. They're susceptible to making rash decisions based on impulse and floods of hormones. That's what makes us human. What else makes us human? The ability to make rational decisions and exercise judgment. That, in my opinion, is what we should pride ourselves on. But history shows us that the average human is more likely to act impulsively, aggressively, fearfully, and without reason. See: the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the Holocaust. Whatever we can't control, we actively seek to destroy so that the issue of not being able to control it no longer bothers us. But look at what rationality and reasoning has brought us. Democracy, the notion of liberty, business, and countless other things. There's almost a perpetual split between absolute pants-on-head retarded impulsiveness and stalwart rational thought. We humans, we're in a permanent state of drifting between PMS and normality. And when it's that time of the month, our periods are so bad we need to control it with medication.
In all seriousness, this whole, very rambly and inarticulate entry was just to show how my misanthropy has kind of tempered. Mankind is capable of the worst things you can imagine. We will commit atrocities without a second thought, all in the name of some abstract cause. But in the rare instances where we aren't indulging our impulsive whims, like juggling breadsticks, we're capable of so much. We can improve our world in so many ways, we just have to take our birth control pills and start taking the initiative. Because when the time comes, we'll want to have something to show to the Tralfamadorians. And I believe we're fully capable of that if we just try. The Greeks did it, our Founding Fathers did it, and our economic prosperity speaks volumes of our success. Just gotta pull our heads out of our asses and stop yapping about terrorists. There are more pressing matters, like building hovercars and colonizing Mars.
PS. I expect absolutely no one to get the jokes I made in this entry. And by no one, I mean stupid people.
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