3.31.2009
Summah! I miss you @ 2:49 PM
I miss this already, and we haven't even been back a week from break!Summer! summahh! where art thou?
Mexico was amazing!
You must:
1. Visit a Mayan village
2. Explore ancient ruins
3. Speak with locals on buses in Spanish
4. Snorkel an underground river
5. Open your eyes underwater in an ocean inlet
6. Capture the turquoise Caribbean sea in still frames and photographs
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3.22.2009
Cancun Blue and Puppies @ 9:25 PM
Hello cohorts! Technological advances and tourists' demand have allowed for Cancun to be with abundance of Wi-Fi! Therefore, I bring you exciting news.
I am in hot Cancun right now, in a spacious timeshare unit (so spacious, I have my own bathroom, but I'll put pictures up tomorrow to show my point.) I'm not going to pull the jet-lagged excuse because the time difference is only an hour, but I can tell you that I am quite tired just from seeing foreigner after foreigner walking the long distances down the beach and throughout the streets.
I'm heading to Isla Mujeres tomorrow, but for now I'll leave you with pictures from my window seat on the plane.
Pictures: click on them for FULL EFFECT!1st row: Disneyland themed Alaska Airlines plane. How cool would that be to ride in it?
2nd row: Woke up mid-flight to these snowflakes that formed because of high altitude! Also, ominous looking clouds. I found a circus elephant and a pack of lions after staring at clouds for at least an hour.
3rd row: A coral reef formation off the coast of Mexico; View of the north end of Cancun's Hotel Zone from the south end Club Regina at Westin.
AND most importantly: new picture of our Kelly's litter. The non-black colored one is the only female!
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9:25 PM
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3.19.2009
Death Sentence @ 10:12 AM
The countdown starts the moment we are born.
Right now, all chain of events seems to lead me to news about death sentence.
I've taken up reading Prison Writings: My Life is my Sun Dance by Leonard Peltier, an American activist for the American Indian Movement, also currently serving 2 life sentences as prisoner #89637-132. The question of whether or not his sentence is rightful is beyond my judgment as even he says that his book is meant to educate, not garner sympathy.
And then there's the Austria incest case, in which Josef Fritzl, 73, is sentenced to a life in prison after being convicted of rape, incest, imprisonment, enslavement, etc. In summary, he drugged his daughter about a quarter of century ago, locked her up in the basement of the apartment house and repeatedly raped her, fathering 7 children. One of the children, a 19 year-old, saw daylight for the first time when she was taken to the hospital for necessary treatment.
Lastly, a photo of Charles Manson, flashed on my laptop, large and quite spine chilling. This picture of the 74 year old was taken recently and released to the public. Comments on the article indicate that despite nearly 40 years of imprisonment, the general sentiment against him has not abated.
I guess we are all born with the death sentence. As they say: there is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval. Well, they can't. That's prison life for you.
Labels: contemplation, news
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10:12 AM
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3.18.2009
obsession @ 9:26 PM"We all need somebody to look at us. We can be divided into four categories according to the kind of look we wish to live under.
The first category longs for the look of an infinite number of anonymous eyes, in other words, for the look of the public...
The second category is made up of people who have a vital need to be looked at by many known eyes. They are the tireless hosts of cocktail parties and dinners...
Then there is the third category, the category of people who need to be constantly before the eyes of the person they love. Their situation is as dangerous as the situation of people in the first category. One day the eyes of their beloved will close, and the room will go dark..
And finally there is the fourth category, the rarest, the category of people who live in the imaginary eyes of those who are not present. They are the dreamers."
-from the novel the Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera
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When I obsess about something, I obsess about something. Against the blue skyline, the Berkeley hills and vertical blinds, my laptop repeatedly failed (or is it the internet?) as I refreshed, refreshed, refreshed post after post of my newest latest blog addictions. I know. I really should find a more worthwhile hobby that does not involve dependence on the WWW.
From Postsecret, I bring you confessions from bus rides:
1. I make an effort to sit next to the creepiest person aboard the bus whenever I ride, in hopes that they'll do something insane and I'll have a story to tell all my friends.
2. I make a conscious effort to sit and stand next to the "creepiest" people in hopes that they will not feel like they are avoided. I hope acknowledging them as people with no differences brings a little dignity.
3. I've noticed for months now that people hardly sit next to me and when the bus fills up, I'm often the last person anyone will sit next to. Even though I don't understand why, it has had a significant effect on my self-esteem (to the point where I've brought it up in therapy).
Sitting next to me is probably one of the kindest things a stranger could do.
4. Today I sat in the back of the bus next to the one lonely person thinking about how I could possibly make their day. As soon as I sat down, they moved two seats over away from me. Some people just like sitting alone.
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Want.to.cut.my.bangs. Keep.scissors.away.from.me.
Want.to.buy.a.laptop.tablet.Keep.credit.card.away.from.me
Did not realize that I will be in Cancun by Sunday afternoon. whoa.
That is all.
Labels: contemplation, Random
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3.16.2009
protests @ 7:46 PM
Coming from a school that reputedly protests everything, I find it hard to place myself on the spectrum that measures activism. I've heard (several times) that only in Berkeley will you have a team to build an atomic bomb and have the students to protest it. Is it still true, or have the student activists become ghosts of Berkeley's past?
Berkeley student above Sather Gate, circa 1969
Berkeley tree-sitter, 2008
I had a conversation with someone about some protest on Lower Sproul some days ago.
"Did you see the people protesting?"
"Yeah, they were standing right outside of Bear's Lair?"
"Yeah, wearing skirts to protest against the skirt-assaulting pervert?"
"No, I'm talking about the protest against Panda Express."
You know you are in Berkeley when your choice of which cause to join is as vast as the combinations of routes to get from one building to another. =)
"Did you see the people protesting?"
"Yeah, they were standing right outside of Bear's Lair?"
"Yeah, wearing skirts to protest against the skirt-assaulting pervert?"
"No, I'm talking about the protest against Panda Express."
You know you are in Berkeley when your choice of which cause to join is as vast as the combinations of routes to get from one building to another. =)
Labels: Berkeley
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7:46 PM
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3.15.2009
@ 10:34 PM
Vannalyn wants to learn the language of fashion, the skill of design, the art of figure drawing.
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Today was a good birthday to say the very least. Too emotionally satisfied, too physically tired to say much. So thank you for an amazing day! It is not the food, the celebration, or the eventfulness of 24 hours that measures a good birthday (i think). It's always the people who remember it and celebrate your existence with you. The thoughts, the efforts, the seconds/minutes/hours preparing for a day to celebrate all your days.
Thank you Mom and Dad for creating a genetic miracle. ;-p
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If I told you things I did before
Told you how I used to be
Would you go on with someone like me
If you knew my story word for word
Had all my history
Would you go on with someone like me
And we don't care about the young folks
Talking about the young stuff
And we don't care about the old folks
Talking about the old stuff too
Today was a good birthday to say the very least. Too emotionally satisfied, too physically tired to say much. So thank you for an amazing day! It is not the food, the celebration, or the eventfulness of 24 hours that measures a good birthday (i think). It's always the people who remember it and celebrate your existence with you. The thoughts, the efforts, the seconds/minutes/hours preparing for a day to celebrate all your days.
Thank you Mom and Dad for creating a genetic miracle. ;-p
----------------------
If I told you things I did before
Told you how I used to be
Would you go on with someone like me
If you knew my story word for word
Had all my history
Would you go on with someone like me
And we don't care about the young folks
Talking about the young stuff
And we don't care about the old folks
Talking about the old stuff too
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10:34 PM
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3.13.2009
Spike and Mike @ 9:16 PMMmmm....Warm sugary goodness of hot chocolate.
" Spike and Mike's Sick and Twisted Animation Festival is like Disney with tits."
-Robin Williams, Actor
-Robin Williams, Actor
Just got back from Spike and Mike's Sick and Twisted Animation Festival shown at VLSB, yo! The sick and twisted in me (which is approximately 67%) really enjoyed it in a sick and twisted way. Some of my favorites, or rather, some of the ones I remember are:...Ch-chhh-check out.
CAUTION: This is not for the weak of heart or die-hard conservative.
Snowman
Cuddle Sticks
The Willowz
# Comments @
9:16 PM
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3.12.2009
Thermodynamic miracles @ 6:13 PMQuoted from Watchmen, graphic novel
"Thermodynamic miracles...events with odds against so astronomical, they're effectively impossible, like oxygen spontaneously becoming gold...and yet, in each human coupling, a thousand million sperm vie for a single egg. Multiply those odds by countless generations, against the odds of your ancestors being alive; meeting; desiring this precise son, that exact daughter...until your mother loves a man she has every reason to hate, and of that, a union, of the thousand million children competing for fertilization, it was you, only you, that emerged. To distill so specific a form from that chaos of improbability, like turning air to gold...that is the crowning unlikelihood, the thermodynamic miracle.
...But the world is so full of people, so crowded with these miracle that they become commonplace and we forget. I forget. We gaze continually at the world and it grows dull in our perceptions. Yet seen from another's vantage point, as if new, it may still take the breath away."
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Another beautiful day. Cold, but beautiful. When is this freezing spell going to end. Isn't it about time for shorts, tunics and flats?
Presti, the infinitely cool MCB professor wears green glasses. Green is the new black, yo!
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Falling In Love in a Coffee Shop @ 1:56 PM
a series of fragments I wrote while listening to Prof. Harrington talk about differential equations.----------------
From now on, I'll have a label specifically for my short writings.
----------------
He bends forward to warm his nose with the steam coming from his coffee cup, rubbing his palms on the porcelain curvature of this early morning ritual. The next person through the door was an aging man in retrospectively fashionable suspenders and a black fedora. He is followed closely by a young catch, blonde, curvy, and tall.
Ten minutes ago, he was the only person in the lonely cafe, ordering the usual black espresso; other than that, the waiter behind the counter knew not his name nor anything else aside from his choice of coffee.
To a curious bystander, he could pass for just another caffeine enthusiast, there for his first dose of the day. But if you were a regular, you would know. He sat in the same corner, nervously, eyes seemingly glued on the door, warming his hands as he waited. If not for his clothes, you would suspect that he never leaves this cafe. But he does. He always leaves after two hours of surveying who comes in and out of that black frame and see-through glass which rings a tiny bell for every disturbance.
Let me tell you his story. I first noticed him last year, about late summer. He was just another regular customer, who got his coffee to go. He came in, bought coffee, then left. That was his routine. He never once stopped to gaze at the interesting signatures on the coffee tables nor the homey ruggedness of every wooden chair. That changed. November, I think it was. He showed up with a beautiful woman with enviable auburn hair and the clearest porcelain skin life can create. They sat on that table by the corner where he sits now, happy from fits of laughter and who knows what else. They stayed until closing time.
The next morning he came in alone, but instead of getting his coffee to go, he sat down in that spot where he had been in temporary euphoria with the woman. But he was alone, his laughter replaced with the silence of hopeful longing. This became his routine, and frankly, I think he never really left this coffee shop since then.
From now on, I'll have a label specifically for my short writings.
----------------
He bends forward to warm his nose with the steam coming from his coffee cup, rubbing his palms on the porcelain curvature of this early morning ritual. The next person through the door was an aging man in retrospectively fashionable suspenders and a black fedora. He is followed closely by a young catch, blonde, curvy, and tall.
Ten minutes ago, he was the only person in the lonely cafe, ordering the usual black espresso; other than that, the waiter behind the counter knew not his name nor anything else aside from his choice of coffee.
To a curious bystander, he could pass for just another caffeine enthusiast, there for his first dose of the day. But if you were a regular, you would know. He sat in the same corner, nervously, eyes seemingly glued on the door, warming his hands as he waited. If not for his clothes, you would suspect that he never leaves this cafe. But he does. He always leaves after two hours of surveying who comes in and out of that black frame and see-through glass which rings a tiny bell for every disturbance.
Let me tell you his story. I first noticed him last year, about late summer. He was just another regular customer, who got his coffee to go. He came in, bought coffee, then left. That was his routine. He never once stopped to gaze at the interesting signatures on the coffee tables nor the homey ruggedness of every wooden chair. That changed. November, I think it was. He showed up with a beautiful woman with enviable auburn hair and the clearest porcelain skin life can create. They sat on that table by the corner where he sits now, happy from fits of laughter and who knows what else. They stayed until closing time.
The next morning he came in alone, but instead of getting his coffee to go, he sat down in that spot where he had been in temporary euphoria with the woman. But he was alone, his laughter replaced with the silence of hopeful longing. This became his routine, and frankly, I think he never really left this coffee shop since then.
Labels: Random, Short Stories
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1:56 PM
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3.06.2009
@ 4:22 PM
First page of Watchmen says I've seen this before. Yellow smiley face and mystifying smeared blood. Something dark, something dreary. Really. I had a dream of this combination before.
First sound wave to reach my ears. Melodic construction of pitch, beats, and rhythm says I like what I hear. I came close to the stage, closer still was the voice screaming love like it was a natural thing to feel.
First vision of dramatic shadows contrasted with pounds of trash. Art in its finest when you dissect that what is in front of you isn't how you thought something so visually strange and beautiful can make you see.
First glimpse at elevator says hello. A smile from a cute stranger from the seventh floor (?) and the menthol smell caught in that small space. Pleasant encounters you didn't think can make your day.
But it is Friday, and the finest of days happen when the week is but behind you.
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Reading: Watchmen by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons
Seeing: Shadow portraits from Wasted Youth art piece by Tim Noble and Sue Webster
Listening: Shake My Hand by The Jakes
Reading: Watchmen by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons
Seeing: Shadow portraits from Wasted Youth art piece by Tim Noble and Sue Webster
Listening: Shake My Hand by The Jakes
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4:22 PM
3 Feed Me Words(s)
3.05.2009
Sleep @ 10:10 AM
Recently, a light was put up from the still vacant constructed building next door. It shines right through the vertical blinds, into our room, reflecting the reflections on the mirror, reflecting back to the vertical blinds, painting shadows from stencils of light which keep me up at night, deep in thoughts of feeling trapped. It makes our room feel like prison. On the other hand, there is liberation to be found from having such patterns on the wall; they distract me from other uglier thoughts, like waking up early the next day.
But last night, I woke up to the sound of heavy raining, convinced that it must have been hailing because the sound was unusually loud. The reflections on the wall and the light escaping through the blinds gave the instant impression that I was somehow in a bamboo hut, that the outside and the inside were two worlds colliding. I fell back asleep, smiling.
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Is there such things as a reverse Fatal Familial Insomia? Can I self diagnose?
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Is there such things as a reverse Fatal Familial Insomia? Can I self diagnose?
Labels: contemplation, Random
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10:10 AM
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3.04.2009
shoes, shoes, shoes @ 3:01 PM
Two new pairs of shoes makes Vanna a happy girl. =)
I've always wanted to have pictures of my clothes, shoes, accessories, etc to make mixing and matching easier. But then after doing that with some shoes, I figured it would take days. Forget it. Meanwhile, here are some of my shoes, because lately, I have been obsessing about footwear! Rain, please go away. I miss wearing non-waterproof shoes. My rain boots need a break!
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3:01 PM
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3.01.2009
@ 9:33 PM
The less there is said, the more there is to say.
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Melissa, you can call me emo. It is true. I am emotional.
Im tired of being bored,
I'm through with the headaches at night
And my hands, they tremble like earthquakes,
Under the table, under the daytime sky,
Good-fucking-bye.
[ALK 3- Good Fucking Bye]
Labels: contemplation