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| transfer from my old OK Cupid account (warning -- long!) - part IImy personal irony | June 22, 2006 9:35pm
In response to Ironic
Taste Comes Full Circle :
I was sitting in a bar last week when the song "Living
on a Prayer" came on through the speakers. People sitting in the
bar seemed to genuinely get into this song and when there were
intentional spots where the song stopped playing, these same people
gleefully (and poorly) filled in the missing lyrics. This wasn't
ironic or pretending to like Bon Jovi because it's funny in the
same way that people pretending to like Chuck Norris is (that is to
say... not). These bar patrons were completely sincere in their
love for Bon Jovi. Which is exactly when I knew that Bon Jovi had
become the new Star Wars.
There was a time when liking Bon Jovi was patently uncool. It meant
you were a) New Jersey white trash b) a dork or c) obsessed with a
bygone era to the point that you would consider ordering one of
those hair metal compilation albums that advertise on TV late at
night. Usually all three. But now here were people in a bar in
downtown Fullerton with their tattoos and cool (dumb) haircuts
openly rocking out to Bon Jovi. These are the same people who had
just paid 4.50 for a bottle of Budweiser on a Tuesday night in
Fullerton.
In the early and mid-90's, claiming to like Star Wars usually meant
that you were either a) a nerd b) 40 years old and living with your
parents c) 8 years old d) part of a growing faction of those
hip-to-be-squaresque self-stylized geeks or some combination of the
various categories. If you wanted to get your ass kicked in middle
school, you simply gave Danielle a Darth Vader valentine that said
"Join me Valentine!" Vengeance would be swift and decidedly
anti-fat kid. But with the release of the new films, somehow
society embraced loving Star Wars. Triumph the Insult Comic Dog
stemmed the tide, but not for long. Now it's cool to like Star
Wars, even though these are empirically bad movies.
Bon Jovi has finally reached that transcendent state where people
somehow forgot that Bon Jovi is really not good music and that Jon
Bon Jovi actually made homoerotic reference to "riding a steel
horse" and even wrote the song "Blaze of Glory" for Young Guns 2.
Fortunately grunge music came along and rib-kicked Bon Jovi back to
the jukebox of white trash America. Until last Tuesday night.
The sad thing was, during the quiet spots in the song, I found
myself automatically filling in the words. Maybe Bon Jovi is the
new McDonald's slogan...
This is the sort of analysis that I wish I had written. The only
problem is that I really like Star Wars and Bon Jovi is one of the
many shitty guilty-pleasure artists on my piepod. Haha, I just
realized that if I played a Bon Jovi song on my piepod right now,
it would be the ultimate embodiment of this blog entry, since my
cover came in yesterday, and this what it looks like:
But... it's not my fault | June 22, 2006 8:08pm
For the past 6 years, I've had about half a dozen dreams that all
follow a similar pattern. I've boiled down certain qualities that
each of the dream has. Firstly, the dream involves a male that I
know and encounter with some level of frequency but for whom I have
no real non-platonic feelings. Secondly, the dream somehow implies
that I am married or otherwise committed long-term to the male in
question. Thirdly, I exhibit some degree of indifference to the
male as well as the expected affection and/or lust. Lastly, the
dreams involve someone outside of the male in question and myself,
and that individual or set of individuals somehow comments on the
relationship. For the sake of clarity, I will italicize all
dream-action.
My first such dream occurred when I was in middle school. A kid who
was in several of my classes (my 8th grade class consisted of just
under a hundred people, so that wasn't uncommon by any means)
appeared to me in a dream during Winter Break. In it, I was
cooking and cleaning, but he kept kissing my back; I was aroused
but wanted to focus on my chores and expressed my annoyance to him
rather unconvincingly. My last such dream involved the
editor-in-chief of the religious campus newsmagazine for which I
write.
Before I state the dream, let me describe some ground rules for
assessing his behavior in the dream. Good Muslims establish a gap
of "respect" between the genders, which includes as little verbal
contact as possible between members of the opposite gender and no
physical contact at all (this extends even to such harmless and
platonic contact as handshakes). Women are expected to dress and
conduct themselves modestly in the presence of men. If a man is
interested in a woman, he might speak to her first, but it's always
with the intention of marriage. In addition, the bulk of things are
handled between the families of the two parties.
Anyway, the dream: I was lying down on a sofa (I'll call it
a sofa for the sake of clarity; I truly am not sure if it was a
sofa or bed or pallet of some sort), talking to an all-female
group of fellow writers and editors. He walked into the room, and
my first impulse was to sit up and straighten myself, but I felt
rather lethargic and didn't want to move. In the small gap of time
between my thought and my reaction, he sat on the sofa with his
back to me, leaning against me, warm as only males are. He spoke
with the group, then left the room. After he left, the girls
started giggling and teasing me about his sister always made nice
to me.
Not very erotic, really --- the least erotic of the series of
dreams, in fact. I've discovered a correlation between level of
eroticism and the male involved in the dream: the more attraction
(in the platonic sense) I feel towards the male in question, the
less erotic the dream is; I like the editor-in-chief a lot as a
person. I have joked with my friends about "getting religious
again" though marrying a religious guy, and he is always the one
that comically pops to my mind when I imagine that
impossibility.
Here's the weird part: the dream in the series that I had before
the last one involved my section editor for the last issue of the
newsmagazine. I actually tiffed a bit with this guy concerning the
controversy with the Danish cartoons (I'm pro free speech, he's a
religious nut). I was making out with him in the dream and we
were feeling each other up, and my father caught us and got
angry. The dream occurred in November; in April, eight days
after my eighteenth birthday, I got my first viable "marriage
market" probe of interest, and it was conducted by a friend of his
mother's ... for him. Of course, he probably never knew it
occurred, but still. I mean... ah, don't think too much about it,
it was only a dream.
Ok, that didn't work. I'm clairvoyant. "Only a dream" can (and has
been) much more. *sigh*
wow, I could've ended up like her | June 19, 2006 4:25am
From Sex and Christianity
(emphasis is my own):
Teresa of Avila is certainly one of the best representatives of
this world of repressed nymphomania who throng in Christian
paradise. From her autobiography:
While Christ spoke to me I contemplated the extraordinary beauty of
his humanity... I felt such strong pleasure that is not possible to
feel in other moments of life... During ecstasy the body stops
moving, breathing becomes slower and weaker, you only sigh and
pleasure comes in waves... In ecstasy an angel appeared to me
in its bodily form and it was beautiful; I saw a long arrow in his
hand; it was gold and the tip was on fire. The angel stabbed me
with the arrow through to my bowels and when he pulled it out it
left me burning with love for God... the pain the arrow wound
left was so acute that I could only sigh faintly, but this
indescribable torment gave me such sweet delight at the same time
that it was not bodily sufferance even if the body took part
completely... Our lord, my husband, gave such excess of pleasure to
make me say no more except that all my senses were
enraptured.
Illustration, anyone?
Sexual repression helps dam back energy that can then be translated
into religious fervency. Big Brother knew this.
Thank FSM, I'm not going to end up like poor Terry, Ramen bless her
soul.
mysteriousness | June 5, 2006 9:35pm
What is it about 2 a.m.? I have had two seperate discussions with
two different people in the past few days on the topic. 2 a.m., 2
a.m. Back when I was a regular insomniac, 2 a.m. would be the time
when my mind would finally whir a bit more slowly, allowing me to
catch some (rather precious if short) snatches of rest. One time, I
fell asleep before my robotrip kicked in; the next morning, my
father informed me that I was delirious and thrashing at around 2
a.m. and he had to calm my drowsy yet frenetic panic (I have no
memory of it). A March night not too long ago, there was much
whirring in my mind as well as a rather pounding case of writer's
block; I fell asleep early but awoke at 2 a.m. to write the poem
that relieved the burden from my consciousness.
2 a.m., 2 a.m., I should write an ode to thee. Instead I will post
some panels I've found of a now-defunct one-panel comic that was a
rather cruel and satirical homage to thee: Randolph Itch 2
AM.
May as well post some comics in which a parody of me was a
character. This was the overly-religious, hyper-sensitive,
ridiculously-PC Heina of early high school, renamed Hyena. The
panels are big and I hate side-scrolling bars, so I'll post
links.
Hyena takes
offense
God's little
angel
On a rather unrelated side-note, I hit over 1000 tracks on my
piepod today. Now, to listen to all the new stuff...
Transcendence | May 15, 2006 5:07am
When I was born, he, a three and a half year old child, came to see
me, his eyes widened at the thought that this tiny red person was
once inside the lady lying, exhausted, on her hospital bed.
When I was a child, he'd mock me: my functional and necessary
illiteracy, my athletic ineptitude, my deficiency in videogaming
skill, my parents' strictness about my television habits, my
preschool's lack of a principal, and, most of all, how young I was.
So I learned to read (Bears on Wheels was my first), joined
AYSO's Blue Dolphins team, played Super Mario Brothers 3 until my
head spun, grew obsessed with the Power Rangers (original still
> all else), and moved on to elementary school with its
principal, all of which but especially the last signified my
increased age. I could never quite keep up with him; I still
persisted in trying. Although I felt fiercely competitive when
working on my own to meet and/or exceed him in all things, in his
actual presence, I felt pleased when I had any improvement of which
to speak with him, whether that meant I could match him or
not.
Our families changed, as well. All of a sudden, both of our
respective sets of parents decided that religion was to take
precedent over all else, including sanity, and so we were to move
"back home". About the time we were to leave, my father and his
sister (with whom we were supposed to stay) had a falling out, and
so those plans were scrapped. Whilst my young competitor was to
move to a tropical climate for four years, I was to end up in a
much colder one for a meager year. In that cold climate, the seven
year old that I was thought of him, missed him, was even teased
about him by the girls I knew...
Let's play jump rope.
OK! Which game?
The boys' names one first. *giggle* You first.
OK!
A... *beat* B... *beat* C... *beat* D... *beat* E... *beat* F---
Haha, you landed on effffffff, and we all know what effffff means.
It means---
STOPITSTOPITSTOOOPIIIIT! *furious*
I also experienced my first existential moment. My cousin's wife,
his childhood sweetheart and the most genuinely affectionate lady I
have ever known, was killed in a car accident. The night she died,
I bought chocolate "cigarettes" from the corner store. My mother
warned me that since the candies looked real and came in a
seedy-looking carton, if I bought them, that meant that I would buy
cigarettes when I grew up. Worse, she gravely informed me, if I
were to pretend to smoke one, I would grow up to actually smoke.
That night, the eight year old I was went into the backyard,
allowed her friends to bum some from her, and "lit up", staring at
the sky, wondering what the point was when one was possessed by
such hollowness. I tried to feed that hollowness with what I'd fed
my spiritual doubts: religious dogmatic fervor. When we travelled
to the country in which he happened to reside, my father and aunt's
quarrel held at a temporary truce, I remember sitting there,
eagerly telling him about the state of such a virtuous and pious
woman's soul in the afterlife. His eyes widened with wonder, and he
informed his father of his new knowledge. The light in his eyes
made me dance, and I tried to get to his house as often as
possible. My bliss was short-lived, as it was just a visit, and we
were back to the cold country again much too soon.
After boomeranging back to the other side of the Atlantic, time
again slipped by, and his older sister was to attend college. Their
whole family moved back. I can still feel the bidding breasts and
straight torso of my ten year old body at that airport, eagerly
awaiting to catch a sight of them, and then, seeing him emerge from
the terminal, taking my young breath away. He was bald from a
recent pilgrimage and smiling that cocky grin of his. I was
enraptured. That night, he and others ganged up on me and insulted
me, leading me to tears, not the first I had shed thanks to him
)and most certainly not the last), but this time, they were
different somehow. It wasn't his teasing that made me weep, but
that I perceived that he thought less of me.
His opinions had always mattered the most. His words had always
rung the most repeatedly in my mind. I had always wondered what
he'd thought of me. I'd missed him the most sorely.
I wrote a poem for him, now lost, but its essence was to engrave
itself into my heart, and I was to write many a poem and shed many
a tear over that boy. He was my dearest ally and then my most
ruthless foe, a trickster in every way. I was the religious naif
and he the worldly intellectual, but time spent in one another's
company seemed to lead to a role reversal, and he grew religious
enough to eschew the company of mundane young females and instead
go to study in both the tropical place of his past and the cold
country of mine.
Time again passed, and I was to visit the cold country. I eagerly
awaited the visit, but the reasons were not as clear-cut as they
would seem. I had left a part of myself in London, and I wanted to
retrieve it, to cherish the precocious chick I had been, to stand
in the backyard, no cynic's cigarette in hand, to cast off the
hollowness and to think, resoundingly, that there was a
point. I didn't quite reach that point, but I did retrieve some
fragments and work towards letting go of an affection so obviously
unreciprocated.
Time again passed, and the call that had resounded in my soul for
him was reduced to echoes --- sounds, still, but rather weakened. I
heard news that he was to wed, and my heart rejoiced even as I felt
a pang of sadness, for if he were to wed, I would have to let go of
the minuscule shred of hope that I would someday marry him. He
married; on the car ride home, I let a single tear roll down as we
passed the car dealerships and consumer orgyhouses that so
liberally dot the landscape of the California freeway, a tear for
the girl I had been and the man he could have been --- and yes, the
lovers we should have been.
Yes, for a good year afterward, whenever I caught sight of him or
heard his voice, I'd swallow hard and feel something breathe into
the hollow in me, making it more noticeable than usual. Gratefully,
he and his bride departed for his version of a honeymoon (religious
studies in various locations in the Middle East), and I was spared
the sight of him. In the few months that he was gone, I learned
that I was loveworthy, that I was not doomed to gloomy, unrequited
passions for all of eternity.
Last night was his homecoming get-together. All the older, married
women in the group always grow cruder and more shrewish when placed
together, much to the amusement of the young women present (myself,
my sister, and his wife). When they spoke of how being a widow was
a relief, I laughed and remarked that I hoped to remain unmarried,
if marriage would seem to me like nothing but someone for whom to
cook and do chores and about whom to fuss. Dinner was excellent, as
was dessert, about which I complimented his wife. I even took some
leftover dessert home. I felt my gaze about to catch sight of him
and so began to flinch, knowing what was to come and--- nothing,
nothing worth even the most cursory of winces.
This fine evening, I had a phone conversation. It got cut off and I
seized the opportunity to eat dessert. As I scraped the bottom of
the dish with my spoon, it occur ed to me that had things gone as I
had wished them to go, I wouldn't have been eating an excellent
dessert at this precise moment. It seemed hysterical and I laughed
and laughed until I was breathless.
If things had gone the way I had wished them to go, from the time I
was an easily-impressed child to a high-strung adolescent, I would
be married, trotted off to an unromantic honeymoon, impregnated,
and making painstakingly layered desserts as soon as I arrived home
exhausted. I know this for a fact because the woman that is his
wife is living so in order to please him. Instead, I get to eat the
desserts in peace and explore my identity at my ease.
I guess it all worked out for the best. I'm going to savor the
taste in my mouth and the joy in my heart now.
we are all connected | April 20, 2006 6:29am
Matter is neither created nor destroyed, it simply changes the
state in which it manifests itself. So do I believe is the
essential nature of each individual, but that's another blog entry
in and of itself.
All the matter that exists on Earth was once formed inside a star
(remember that one song by Moby, "We Are All Made of Stars"? We
are). When we die, our bodies turn into something else, which in
turn is transformed into something else. That piece of lint you
picked out of your pocket could have once been your
great-great-great grandmother's heart. Let me explain: her heart
decomposed, some of that matter became part of the soil that grew a
cotton plant, that cotton plant was harvested and processed into
cloth, a piece of lint detached from the main cloth, and then ---
you flicked it away like it was nothing.
Reductive? I find it fascinating. Water is the best example of them
all. The water I used in the tea that I just drank could have been
T.S. Eliot's piss once, hmmmm.
In this very materialistic sense, I wholly believe that
reincarnation exists and that we are all connected. Infinite
potential, that's what I glean from the whole deal. As a matter of
fact, infinite potential is what I end up believing in after
delving into all sorts of cruxes. I guess that perhaps that's my
One Truth. Who knows? The truth lies in the question, of course.
Wear Denim Day | April 19, 2006 7:10pm
Link: Wear Denim Day at my university.
The Denim Day campaign began in 1999 with CALCASA and LACAAW, the
Los Angeles Commission on Assaults Against Women, as part of an
international protest of an Italian Supreme Court decision to
overturn a rape conviction because the victim was wearing jeans.
The Italian Supreme Court dismissed charges against a 45-year old
rape suspect because his 18-year-old victim was wearing jeans at
the time of the attack. The Court stated in its decision that
“It is common knowledge…that jeans cannot even be
partly removed without the effective help of the person wearing
them….and it is impossible if the victim is struggling with
all her might.”
Sick, sick, sick. If you really need some sex, hire a hooker, get a
lap dance at a strip club, take the town slut out on a date. Don't
rape someone. That seems like stating the obvious. I do understand
that some women send mixed messages and that we women should do our
best to avoid circumstances that would lead to men taking advantage
of us (it's sad but true), but still, doing anything to someone's
body without their express wish for it violates the right to
personal freedom of choice.
This violation of freedom to choose can apply to anything, really,
not just sexual things. I'm reminded of the path behind me, despite
my wish to simply move straight-on into my future. When I was a
kid, my dad would tickle me until I couldn't breathe and was crying
and nearly urinated (sometimes, I did). That not only was
uncomfortable, it has put me off to tickling. I mean, I don't mind
physical affection (just recently, in fact, I've been bitten badly
by the cuddle bug), and I imagine that being lightly tickled for
fun would be nice, but I don't know. When I imagine being tickled,
I can't help being reminded of what my dad used to do. It doesn't
gross me out or anything, I just feel somewhat annoyed.
I'm not all baggage-laden, by no means, I simply wanted an example
that fit certain criteria, and this one fit. I'm sure that if the
right person were to tickle me, I'd like it.
I shall blog a question | April 6, 2006 6:08a
Off The OKCupid Test:
So, if a implies b, does that mean not b implies not a?
- yes
- no
- I don't know
- I don't know, AND I'm bothered by this question
I had a revelation concerning how to reason with this question just
now. I was reading the other side of the cap of my Peach Iced Tea
Diet Snapple (or is that Diet Iced Tea Peach Snapple?), and it said
this on it (I would take a picture but I'm not at home):
"Real Fact" #149
Theodore Roosevelt was the only president who was blind in one
eye.
So I got to thinking about how some kid who was teased about being
blind in one eye might read it and say, "Well, it doesn't matter if
the other kids make fun of me, someday I might be a great president
like Teddy Roosevelt!" and wipe his/her tears and move on. It's a
nice idea, isn't it?
Not if you're me. For me, such hope is something to dissect. People
say things like this to others and to themselves all the time. They
create false causality in the name of hope (just as many religious
beliefs eschew logic in favor of comfort). To say that one could be
President one day because one is blind in one eye and so was Teddy
Roosevelt is to unwittingly create this syllogism:
President Teddy Roosevelt was blind in one eye.
I am blind in one eye.
Therefore, I could be President one day.
Obviously, this is a case of false causality. It could be applied
to any situation. Plus, statistically speaking, look at how many
people have been and are blind in one eye and were not and won't be
President. Sad, isn't it?
Back to the question. I suppose that this gives away my learning
style and a fragment of my personality, but I'd apply all sorts of
facts, both random and linked, to the variables called a and b and
see if what is purported is necessarily true in all cases.
Yes, I actually think this way on a normal basis. The only effort I
expended on this entry had to do with putting it into a sequence
that was somewhat logical and rational, or at least comprehensible
by another human being.
I heard it's cold out | April 5, 2006 7:53pm
So it's cliche, and I swore not to do it, so I won't.
Some say that cliches are cliches for a reason. What's implied by
that statement that cliches are often true. I don't deny that
cliches and trite, overused statements in general can be true, but
the truth is not the issue. My problem with sayings is that they're
reductive. Yes, it's helpful to be reductive at times and then to
assess what it all boils down to and work from there, but most
people only perform the first step and not the second. It's a
shame, really.
As to the truth of cliches? I quote Anatole France: "If fifty
million people say a foolish thing, it is still a foolish thing."
Yes, it remains foolish, but it often becomes true. If enough
people believe in something whole-heartedly a fervently, it is the
truth to them and therefore true, despite the fact that it's a mass
illusion.
All my philosophical thoughts lead me back to solipsism, a concept
with which I've been mentally toying for a while but for which I
didn't have a name until very recently. Maybe the whole world is
nothing but a collective illusion, or, even better, a projection of
my mind. Either way, this is the world, and I have to live in it.
From the new frontiers of physics (What the Bleep Do We Know is an
excellent way to discover the idea behind it) and from solipsism, I
simply glean this: human beings have infinite potential, so stop
whining, make no excuses, overcome pre-set patterns of thought, and
manifest existential (as in self-made) purpose.
That last sentence was a command to myself, since I always lament
the fact that I never myself take the good advice that I dispense
to others.
| | |
| transfer from my old OK Cupid account (warning -- long!) - part II don't usually go there but here I am | November 8, 2006 2:59pm
Pretty much every single election, California voters have to decide on
whether or not to impose parental notifications and court delays upon
pregnant teenagers who are considering abortion. Every single election,
both sides campaign hard with posters and television advertising,
attempting to appeal to voters' religion(s), emotions, and personal
lives. And every single time, notification is voted down (albeit by a
somewhat slim margin, at least this time around). It seems, to me, to
be like such a waste of time, energy, effort, and, quite importantly
importantly, taxpayer money. I used to be of a different mindset when
it came to abortion issues, but I've realized several things. Those
same people that oppose abortion also oppose teaching non abstinence
only sex ed. It's hypocritical and is proven to lead to teenage
pregnancies. They have the highest rate of teenage pregnancies and STD
infection as well as the highest number of ab-only programs. What the
more socially conservative fail to realize is that restricting teenage
access to contraception doesn't stop them from having sex if they're
determined to anyway, they'll just get pregnant or infected with an
STD. Texas proves that, hands-down. Evidently, keeping kids ignorant
and contraceptiveless doesn't keep them from having sex, even if
they're religious. I am personally opposed to the idea of abortion and,
in that situation, would never consider one myself unless there were
some extenuating circumstance, but am against banning abortion because
of the ab-only programs that keep girls ignorant, not only of proper
contraceptive use but of biological fact in general. Take the example
of some some girl with little to no knowledge of biology and her
boyfriend assures her that "you can't get pregnant the first time" or
that "I'll pull out, then you can't get pregnant" and she buys it; I
would find it hard to blame her. Now, if she were taught properly about
ovulation/menstruation as well as about the ineffectiveness of coitus
interruptus (i.e. like most girls in the more liberal states who live
in areas with decent school districts) and the proper use of a
condom/the Pill, and still she makes the choice to have unprotected
sex, I would have little sympathy for her if she were to find herself
pregnant. In the end, it's not really protecting the youth that is the
agenda of those who want ab-only and no contraceptive access for teens,
it's imposing their religious beliefs on others, and I consider it
offensive to those of us who don't share those beliefs and downright
dangerous to society as a whole that they espouse such an attitude of
"we know best. logic? pish, God says so, what more do you need?" There
are a lot of religions and takes on religion out there, and if you
consider them all, it seems like "God said" a whole lot of
contradictory things.
hah! | November 4, 2006 8:36pm
So I just took a test which was supposed to determine whether you're a
woman of quality, but as I was taking it, I realized that it was
created simply to measure whether you're a silly little girl looking
for a sugar daddy whom you could please. I messaged the author:
Hey,
you like the type of woman that you like, whatever floats your boat,
but you ought to call the test "My Dream Woman" instead of "The Quality
Woman". Not every man likes a sunshiney, slightly dumb broad for his
life partner.
His damn near instant reply:
From: [name deleted to prevent some brand of flame war]
I realize that some men are incorrect.
The man couldn't even acknowledge that different people have different
tastes. And some people wonder why they're still single. I am not going
to reply, it isn't even worth it.
10 tips on Quickmatch | October 4, 2006 4:03pm
- Don't hate the Quickmatch. Really. Embrace playing the
Quickmatch. It's fun. Don't feel guilty.
- Make sure and keep your details current as to what you're
looking for and what your relationship status is.
- On that same not, be a good Quickmatch! Make sure your
profile and all your pictures would attract the attention of
the type of person from whom you're looking. If you're looking for
sex partners, talk about kinky things in your profile and post a
nice sexy shot (that, of course, does not violate the TOS); if
you're looking for the one, type out a profile that reflects your
inner soul and post a good-looking picture of yourself. Those are
the two extremes; most of us fall somewhere in between.
- Set your parameters for what you think you want, but branch out
once in a while... you never really know.
- Don't be too superficial. You always hear the "You looked
better on Myspace" stories, but pictures can belie a person's good
looks as well.
- Don't hesitate to flag pictures that violate the TOS. People
who post pictures that do so are insulting everyone on
here.
- A "Yes" does not equal "I want to be your friend", "I want to
meet you", "I want to date you", or anything like that. What
does it mean, then? Like it says, that you are "Interested",
which means that you'd like to see who this person is and what
they're about. In other words, chill.
Don't hesitate to use Google if you really dig someone. It sounds a
bit creepy (and some think it defeats the purpose), but hey, you
see something you like, why not go for it?
- Drunken/stoned/high Quickmatching is safer than cruising whilst
drunk/stoned/high. Just throwing that out there.
- One thing many of us have wondered is whether the proper
etiquette is to click "Yes", "No", or "Can't Tell" when
encountering the profile of someone we know. My answer is that it's
your call. It can be fun to Quickmatch to someone you know and
laugh about it afterwards, or you may not want the hassle and extra
inbox space taken up where a new and potentially awesome person
could be (I still have activity points leftover, if any reader of
my blog wants them *cough* I'm more inclined to give them to you if
you comment and/or message me about my entries but I'm not too
picky).
- Don't take it too seriously, it is teh innahweb, after all (and
Web 2.0 at that). I am of the belief that if you're supposed to
encounter someone in life, you will.
manifesting the essence | September 29, 2006 10:25am
Recently, I stopped wearing the Muslim headscarf in order to stop
representing a faith of which I no longer felt a part. For a few
months following up to that, I had been building up an
"alternative" wardrobe, mainly comprised of band shirts, which I
wore whenever I thought could get away with it. Now that I no
longer pretend, I've begun to think a bit more about my
wardrobe.
My history with clothing is a rather odd one. As a young child, my
mother would dress my sister, who was two year my junior, and I in
similar or even the exact same clothing. That, coupled with having
the same friends and going to the same school, led to she and I
being lumped together as a single entity. Naturally, for years we
resented each other and competed; it was only when we developed
independence from each other that we developed the closeness of
bond that grows only stronger with each passing year.
As a student at private religious institutions, I had to wear a
uniform. My mother, ever pragmatic, would request navy shirts
instead of the usual white. In addition, she would send in the
order for uniforms to my aunt in Pakistan, who would pass it along
to the tailor, who would sew them in long-lasting yet cheap
material. Wanting her daughters to be modestly covered, she would
have us wear the long-sleeved button-down shirts under jumpers and
then pants underneath as well (most girls just wore tights). Atop
that, we'd wear our little white headscarves. What bothered me as a
child was that my custom-tailored getup looked so different from
everyone else's standard Kmart or Sears-bought uniform. The layers
didn't bother me at all, and, in hindsight, influenced me later
on.
I entered a public school for the first time since first grade for
my final year of middle school. My mother disapproved of jeans, so
I mainly wore skirts, along with a few pairs of elastic-waisted
(*shudder*) denim pants and khaki trousers. In other words, my
wardrobe was rather old-ladyish. Still, I had begun to develop my
sense of individuality, playing with color and lack of color. By
high school, I had begun to experiment quite a bit. Layers came
back with a vengeance: fitted denim dresses over jeans; long flowy
unstructured skirts trailing under mid-length, more tailored ones;
long, solid, body-hugging tops under slitted, airy, printed ones;
three-quarter-sleeved tops capped by cheap colored stockings with
the toe cut off; stacks of bracelets and delicate winding rings
twined over simpler ones; and jangling combinations of mismatched
bangles. Back then, the look in vogue was a bit simpler and more
casual, so I looked a bit overdressed and out of place at school. I
didn't care at all, not by any means. I felt rather proud of
sticking out like a sore thumb.
I looked even more overly formal when I begun experimenting with
make-up --- behind my mother's back, of course. I'd surreptitiously
apply it in the school locker room or bathroom before my first
class and frantically scrub it off after school before heading to
the parking lot. All of my make-up was comprised of brand new, free
gift cast-offs from my older cousins, meaning that I was provided
with outrageously colors and items I didn't know that I didn't
need. For example, there existed an obscene number of lipsticks in
fearful colors, and because they were there, I had to try
them. My eyes would be ringed with aging bruise-purple shadow and
my lips smudged with a ridiculous shade of rose, a layer of
slightly uneven powder and rouge lying beneath.
Yes, it was terrible, but towards the middle of my junior
year of high school, I wised up a bit and began matching my
clothing and limiting my make-up. By the commencement of my senior
year, I was quite savvy and drew many compliments on my eclectic
coordination and devastatingly-applied eyeliner. In the middle of
my senior year, however, I began to think of college. All the
college kids I saw were dressed in jeans and shirts with hoodies
over them when the weather grew slightly chilly. In an attempt to
leave high school behind, I began accumulating a new wardrobe for
college in a box in my closet: jeans and tunics (with jeans, my
mother would only accept as "decent" tops that adequately covered
my rear end and crotch area). My mother approved of this venture,
as she considered the loose, flowing tunics an improvement over my
supposedly butt-revealing "clingy" skirts and "short" tops. I
busted out a few pieces from the new wardrobe early and met with
some approval from the people I knew; their compliments either
concerned finally seeing me in pants instead of a skirt or were
directed at the beauty of the embroidery on the tunics. I broke in
the new clothes during my summer trip to Canada, and began my
school year ready to fit in as a slightly bland, slightly bummy
college kid. I kept things relatively simple, although I'd
sometimes wear two different colors of Converse high tops (one
green, one blue, the latter to match my pants and the former to
match my tunic) or wear some leftover items from my high school
career as Overdressed Girl.
Time passes by, as always, and I'm now a college sophomore. I'd
felt like returning to my former flamboyancy for a while but was so
concerned with the other big action item re clothing (i.e. the
headscarf) to bother with anything else. Now that that's not too
much of a concern anymore, I've begun to simplify my wardrobe,
keeping only what I like and tossing the rest over to Goodwill (I
am a bargain bloodhound and so don't feel too bad about that). Much
of what I'd stopped wearing but somehow retained --- mainly the
colorful skirts and the bohemian jewelry of my senior year of high
school --- has been dug from out the back of my closet. I've
divided my clothing persona into two: the bohemian/Indian/"ethnic"
girl, and the rocker chick. The first look is kept from becoming
too hippy-like by the spirit of the second; the harshness of the
second is softened by echoes of the first. For example, I'll wear a
band shirt and jeans but add a pair of dangly (if simple) earrings
to the ensemble. Hair is something I am not used to dealing with,
but I'm learning. I still need to acquire some more pieces before I
feel like my wardrove is complete, but I really feel like myself
again. That I'm often the sharpest-dressed person in the lecture
hall? So what! I enjoy looking and feeling feminine to take the
edge off my competitive, loud, demonstrative geek/tomboy
tendencies.
Hilariously enough, I've noticed that much of what's on the cutting
edge of fashion these days -- the layered tees, doubled skirts, and
stacked bracelets --- is alike to how I dressed in my craziest
phase. However others choose to dress, it's good to feel like
me again.
define me, she sneers defiantly | September 11, 2006 4:15am
She wants to stay up late, and so she asks her mother why can't
she. Why, my dear, even the birdies fly home at night to go to
sleep at sunset. She thinks of the owls but doesn't say anything
until seven years (or more) later, and her mother just rolls her
eyes at her, and tells her that she thinks too much.
THE END
that last entry was a bit whorey, but not this one | September 6, 2006 6:00am
A Clarification
(again, X-posted anywhere I have an e-presence)
There's a difference between rebelling against rules and no longer
believing in the foundations of dogmatic religion.
There's a pronounced distinction between resentfully going against
"restrictions" and methodically reasoning out one's own moral
code.
Discernment is required between the actions of a sullen child who
expects her parents to do as she says with full support and the
decisions of a thoughtful adult who compromises after ensuring
that, if her parents accept her not, she will be able to provide
for herself.
Total realignment is not a phase. I didn't try to run away leaving
only a note behind, despite the fact that I sprung my decision on
my parents after the fact. I sorted out my life, found a place to
live, a sustaining job, a car with insurance, moved out my stuff,
got a credit card and arranged for student loans... I was, and am,
totally serious. This didn't come out of nowhere.
I will not endure condescension. I'm not a naive Freshie who
decided to party it up because she finally arrived at college, or a
ridiculous girl who yearns for the PDA that she thinks she missed
out on high school, or a reactionary "Westernized" clone who
recoiled from her faith due to terrorism and women's rights, or a
cloistered and repressed Easterner who decided to truly integrate
--- none of the above.
I repeat: I will not stomach condescension, no matter how
well-meant it might be. As I have expressed to a few people close
to me, I feel like I am between the sword and the wall (the Spanish
expression "entre la espada y la pared", which is like the English
"between a rock and a hard place" but more dramatic). I have lived
a double life in mind since I was 13 and in body for about two
years and have constructed two roles, both equally valid and
important and true to what I really am. I need to synthesize the
two based on the common ground between them. Everyone I know, and I
mean everyone, has a conceptualization of me that I have helped
them to build and to which they hold me --- the double-edged sword
of being a well-liked individual. I have to mine own self be true,
despite the fact that that oft-quoted piece of advice was uttered
by the Fool of the play from which it hearkens. Still, many people
have been helpful to me or have at least tried to be, and I
definitely appreciate it. It's nice to know that so many care for
me and about what becomes of me.
I will not name names, but take whichever one speaks to you the
most.
Pasts/Present/Future
~ I know that you've known me one way for a long time, and that
this is all quite a shock to you, but let me assure you that as
sudden as this seems, it has been developed over a long period of
time and through a methodical and agonizingly painstaking
process.
~ I know that you haven't been rubbing it in at all, ever, but...
you were right, and your words, no matter how flippantly uttered or
how long ago spoken, were catalyzing agents for which I am
grateful. You've left your mark, although this is now my battle. I
appreciate and respect you.
~ I have been neglectful towards you, and might currently seem
rather distracted and distractable (which I am, both in fact), but
when everything settles, I promise that I will signify how much I
appreciate you in a more substantial manner.
~ I apologize if I seemed like I was flaking out. I have not lost
my courage, you simply saw me at my worst. You have no idea how
much what you said meant to me. I had neglected to fully digest the
support and appreciation and admiration that existed on the "side"
on which you are.
~ I pray that your admiration of me is not unwarranted. I'd love to
have an extensive conversation with you to knock down any
pedestal-like tendencies you might be inclining towards concerning
the matter of me. I am only human and have plenty of fallacies,
more so than most that I know, it seems.
~ I sensed what could have been. I sleep occasionally but dream
frequently and See more than I wish to. No, I did not sense what
could have been, I know what could have been. It was fragile; to
have even exhaled ... wow, as if on cue, you contact me. Whatever
you have to say, it means naught, just as a hint towards an
insinuation towards a metaphor towards a symbol towards something
that just might exist is so close to zero that it may as well be
nothing.
Can just one person significantly change the...? | August 25, 2006 2:55am
In response to Can
just one person significantly change the...? by UnDeFind:
Can just one person significantly change the world?
OK, I am like, totally confused. I answered this question and it
said 100% answered no. I'm not quite sure I understand this.
Are you people telling me you think that people like Christopher
Columbus, Abraham Lincoln, Henry Ford, Charles Darwin, Bill Gates,
Oprah Winfrey, Copernicus, Jonas Salk, Osama Bin Laden, George
Washington Carver, Jesus, Madame Curie, Hitler, Socrates, Newton,
Einstein, Chieu, Confuscious, and etc. did not make any significant
impact?
::rubbing eyes::
None of these people changed the course of history, for better or
worse?
People's lives are not significantly different because these people
lived?
Or is there some glitch in OKC's computer.
Did anyone aside from me say yes?
Somebody, please help me ...
I said no. Know why? For every "extraordinary individual" that
supposedly came along and suddenly changed the course of history,
there were at least a hundred people (if not many, many more) that
functioned directly to provide some sort of framework upon which
that individual capitalized. Everything from art to politics can be
discerned that way.
None of the people mentioned suddenly came along and, out of
nowhere, provided some sort of fantastical illumination.
Christopher Columbus was obviously influenced by geographic
thinking that stemmed from the Golden Age of Islam, Osama Bin Laden
would have been another piece of rich Saud-shit instead of the
terrorist shit that he is would it not have been for circumstances,
and the story of Jesus's rebirth and the consumption of his
flesh/blood is pulled from mythological patterns that are evident
in many ancient cultures. For every Hitler, there's a billion
failed racists of some sort; for every Oprah Winfrey, there's a
million failed young black women who wanted to be TV stars; and for
every Bill Gates, there's a thousand poor dropout computer geeks
living in their respective mothers' basements.
I can be quite optimistic about humanity at times, but I have never
believe that one person, on his or her own, can make a huge impact.
Circumstances must be ripe, influences correct, and Fate kind (or
unkind, depending on the person and your perspective).
quotable quotes | August 11, 2006 5:21am
"That song makes me think of that fat lady in the Canterbury
Tales [Wife of Bath]." -- my sister, breaching the topic of
that craptascticular song, Promiscuous by Nelly Furtado
featuring Timbaland
"We're not silly harps that murmur when you touch us, we wail." --
me, protesting the sexist theme at work where females are
represented by harps and males by guitars
"She was like, no, and then he was like, yeah---"
"That sounds like transcripts from the Kobe Bryant case... sorry,
Kobe."
-- overheard at shift
poetry vs. "poetry" | August 6, 2006 6:15am
I am not a poetic elitist snob by any means, but it does annoy me
when people write poetry like this:
sun
M00N;
starz
...and im still empty
Many people who write free verse do so without any sound knowledge
of the very forms they purport to reject. I personally believe that
form and structure should be used as a tool to convey meaning. If
free verse or any other rejection of form is necessary to properly
convey meaning, then, by all means, it should be employed. For
example, when I first encountered sonnets, I wrote several, trying
all three schemes (the original Petrarchan, popular Elizabethan,
and offshoot Spenserian) several times each before inscribing a
bizarre, quasi-Spenserian, 15-line number. The line that doesn't
fit into the Spenserian sonnet scheme is, on its own, not very
interesting, but, within its role as the anomaly, conveyed
something of significance. I couldn't have experimented so without
having learned about, read, and written traditional sonnets first
(and hey, it was fun messing around like that).
Never considering form and structure in the process of writing
discredits a piece of poetry --- and, sometimes, the poet. How can
one reject something in a meaningful fashion without comprehending
it first? I quote the Opposing Viewpoints books (still my
favorite nonfictional series): "Those who do not know their
opponent's arguments do not completely understand their own."
My message to the poets of the world (and especially the
Internets): Go forth and write free verse, just don't flaunt what
you consider to be excellent work before becoming poetically
literate and informed.
I can see the future before my eyes. You know, people messaging me
along the lines of "if you're such a great poet, show me something
amazing" or "I don't see any poetry on your blog/profile, you
afraid?" My answer to the first sentiment would be that I do not
consider myself a great or even a good poet, just a poet by nature
and a literary critic by preference. As for the second challenge, I
maintain two other blogs where I post poetry; I am by no means
secretive with my works. Posting my non-prose writings here would
just feels like overkill. I do send my poetry and/or links to my
blog(s) to those who ask politely.
I am not a problem to be fixed | July 17, 2006 9:26pm
I am a strong believer in self-improvement in the realms of the
physical as well as the intellectual. I use make-up as well as
hair/skin care products and take care of the manner in which I
present myself. All that said, I try not to take the whole thing
overboard, but sometimes, it seems like everyone's out to make me
go that way.
The fact that I am possessed of curly hair?
"Oh, I once used this great serum/flatiron/chemical treatment
that can fix that for you."
Maybe, just maybe, I like my curls and think that they're an
extension of my crazy self?
That one little zit that always pops out right before that time of
the month?
"I have some drying serum right here, let's get rid of that
before it ruins your look."
Yes, I hate zits, but I won't let one ruin my whole day.
My height coupled with the fact that I only wear flats or
moderately elevated shoes?
"Oooh, this brand of heels is just so comfortable, it's like
you're not wearing heels!"
No matter how comfortable a pair of heels may feel, such footwear
does irreparable damage to one's knees and back. Plus, I mean, come
on, I am a full 5 feet 5 inches tall, that doesn't exactly confer
midget status upon me.
People, and by "people" I mean fellow females, need to stop
projecting their insecurities onto me. I'm a recovering
self-loather and the last thing I need is for someone to constantly
highlight my flaws (or what can be perceived as my flaws) and make
me feel like they're my fault (since they remind me that I
technically could do something about it). I'm not a slob but I'm
not a fashion victim, either. I prefer maintaining what I have
naturally to slopping on the fakeness, appreciating what's there to
pursuing endless quests for what isn't, and interacting with people
who will offer me both ends and means that are realistic to being
lectured by people with perfection in mind. Is that
unrealistic?
problems... | July 9, 2006 6:00pm
In response to :
Many ask, why is it that Islam is being associated with
international terrorism? Why does such a peaceful religion cause so
many to carry out hateful crimes? Well, a cursory glance at the
Koran might answer these questions. Any well researched website
will tell you thus:
======================================================================
Sura 5:51 commands Muslims not to take Jews and Christians as
friends.
Sura 9:29 commands Muslims to fight against Jews and Christians
until they either submit to Allah or else agree to pay a special
tax.
Sura 2:65-66 and Sura 5:60 contain references to Jews as
“apes and swine to be despised and rejected.”
With regard to militancy, the Koran not only condones it, it
commands it:
Fighting is prescribed for you, and [some of] you dislike it. But
it is possible that you dislike a thing which is good for you, and
that you love a thing which is bad for you. But Allah knows, and
you know not (Sura 2:216).
Fight and slay the pagans wherever you find them, beleaguer them,
and lie in wait for them in every stratagem of war (Sura
9:5).
*A side point; pagans means non Muslims. Christians are accused by
Islamic fundamentalists as being "Polytheistic" which, for the
benefit of the liberals, refers to a belief in many gods, hence
'poly' instead of Monotheistic. Thus, we Christians are in defiance
of the first Commandment and are therefore "infidel"
Fight in the way of Allah . . . and slay them [the unbelievers]
wherever you find them and drive them out . . . and fight them
until . . . religion is for Allah (Sura 2:190-193).
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, how can so many people think the Koran advocates violence.
Some people are just so simple. Here comes the hate mail. Bugger
off to Syria, liberals and apologists for terrorists.
Disclaimer: I'm no longer religious, really, but I wonder how a
website can be considered "well-researched" when it's so sorely
lacking in context (and doesn't know how to spell "Quran" to
boot).
The word for "friend" in Surah 5 Verse 51 is wali, which
translates more to "protector" than "friend". The verse applies to
a time period where Muslims were a persecuted minority and couldn't
trust anyone.
The Jizya tax for non-Muslims was applied because
non-Muslims were not obliged to fight for the Muslim state, whereas
every able-bodied Muslim man was.
Surah 2 Verses 65-66, Surah 5 Verses 60, Surah 2 Verses 190-193,
and Surah 9 Verse 5 are all cases of meaning lost in translation
and oft-quoted without context, which, in this case, referred to a
period of time in which a treaty between Muslims, pagans, and Jews
was broken through a conspiracy between certain tribes. As for the
Christians-as-pagans thing, that's completely contradictory to the
truth of the matter. Christians and Jews are considered People of
the Book by Muslims and are given protection under the rules of the
Quran.
Yes, I know that terrorists use these verses to justify their
heinous actions. I've always been a questioner of the faith into
which I was born and quite the maverick in the religious community
for being a "good girl" and yet seeing the flaws in Islam. However,
I don't think that corroborating the terrorists' warping of the
Quran by analyzing Islam based on it is the solution. Like it or
not, it is the religious text followed by 1.3 billion people (and
growing). Lack of understanding simply contributes towards the "us
versus them" mentality which is one of the root psychological
causes of terrorism.
the one you haven't heard of | June 26, 2006 3:50pm
The Kama Sutra... now, everyone knows that one, but what of the
Anaga Ranga? Whilst the Kama Sutra is more concerned with reaching
Nirvana through sexual and sensual acts and thus even contains a
section on how to seduce "other men's wives", the Anaga Ranga is
more concerned with maintaining satisfaction within the context of
a monogamous relationship.
I like its description of Gujarati women. That's the particular
ethnic subcategory to which I pertain, by the way:
The woman of Gurjara-desha (Gujrat, or Guzerat) is wise and
sensible .She has beautiful features, and eyes proportioned as they
ought to be; she delights in handsome dresses and ornaments, and
though warm and devoted to the pleasures of love, she is easily
satisfied by short congress.
| | |
| Save Balki!Hey there, cosssin!
Save Balki!
Because you know that Perfect Strangers totally rocks your socks off.
 | | |
| flash mob!You know you wanna attend. Here's the e-mail I received about it. Bring
people; I'm planning to make a flash mob Facebook group after seeing
who wants to participate. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flash_mob for more info on flash mobs.Hello: The details of the event have been settled; they are as follows: WHEN: Friday, February 17th, 7:30 PM.
WHERE: Barnes & Noble Booksellers @ the Irvine Spectrum. (directions are further down)
WHO:
Upwards of one hundred people or more, and You; forward this to
interested parties as well, and you are more than welcome to bring
friends along. Bring a book you like; poetry, fiction, non-fiction,
etc. If you don't bring a book, plan on clapping.
WHAT: First of all, visit the following site sometime on February 17th:
http://www.time.gov/timezone.cgi?Pacific/d/-8/jav a Synchronize your watch to that. We will enter the store at 7:35 PM. Upon entering, do the following at 7:36: -Take out the book you brought.
-Stand in place and read aloud for as long as you desire, or until the mob disperses.
-Those without books, clap. By
no later than 7:41 PM the mob should have dispersed wholly. There
should be no mob participants in Barnes & Noble after this time. ----------------------------------
DIRECTIONS to the IRVINE SPECTRUM: http://www.shopirvinespectrumcenter.com/ On the bottom right of the image, click Driving Directions.
---------------------------------- Any
changes to the event will be related as/if they occur. Let me reiterate
the importance of number; the Orange County Mob Project series depends
on this first mob, and without proper numbers of mobbers the project
will falter before its time. For this reason, forwarding this email is
vital, as is bringing friends, enemies, etc. As 'Bill' himself said:
"In my mind (the mob) is led by whoever forwards the e-mail around.
People make the mob through whoever they know." Also, remember
that the purpose of this is not to destroy private property. While at
Barnes & Noble respect the items and do not steal and/or destroy
them. Excessive damage could lead to trouble that is wholly unwanted. Any
questions, comments, or concerns can be forwarded to this address
(ocmobproject@gmail.com), and will be responded to promptly. Yours in irrelevant transient excitement, -James. | | |
| hanging out with Kona after near a year > studying for midtermsIt all happened on a total fluke. Or destiny, you might call it.
I was getting a Shishkaberry on campus when I ran into Annie. She told me that she saw Kona on Monday. I knew Kona was back home this week, but didn't have her number. Annie had it!!!! I called but Kona was asleep, but her mom took my number and said that she'd tell Kona to call me.
Sometime between 3 and 4, she did! And then she called me at 5:30 to say that she was at University Town Centre! I dropped all my philosophy books and got my ass over there as soon as I could.
Catching up, "turning around" the most innocent phrases, conceding to each others' occasional correctnesses, and giving each other static -- good times.
Yes, we took a few pics... Japanese style, yo! No need to ask anyone to take them for us! We're self-sufficient. *hums* All the women, independent....
Now I'm just gonna miss her more.
| | |
|
