THREE NAMES YOU GO BY: 1. Matthew 2. Matt (I guess) 3. Many people call me Litrus.
THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD: 1. GoodMisterWombat 2. mlitrus 3. beanman135
THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF: 1. Being taller than 5' 2. I sort of like my eyes 3.
THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU DON'T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF: 1. Being taller than 6' 2. Hair 3. Having a weak body
THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE: 1. American culturally 2. Indonesian parents 3. Chinese by blood
THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU: 1. Caterpillars or creepy crawly things by convention. 2. Being an insurance salesman 3. Loneliness
THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS: 1. Most of the time, I carry around a wallet, 2. cell phone 3. and keys.
THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW: 1. Glasses 2. Boxers 3.
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE BANDS OR MUSICAL ARTISTS: 1. Tokyo Jihen 2. Charles Mingus 3. Phoenix
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE SONGS: 1. At the moment, "Kaban no Nakami" by Tokyo Jihen 2. "Every New Day" by Five Iron Frenzy 3. "Kid Charlemagne" by Steely Dan
THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP: 1. Love. haha 2. 3.
TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE (in no particular order): 1. I enjoy cold showers. 2. I enjoy grocery shopping. 3. I enjoy the smell of some cigarette smoke.
THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE PREFERRED SEX THAT APPEAL TO YOU: 1. Pleasant face. 2. Moderately tall. 3. A nice smile.
THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES: 1. Playing music 2. Smash 3. Reading news sites and blogs.
THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW: 1. Have a consistent band. 2. Breath deeply in comfort. 3. Get better at/understand jazz.
THREE CAREERS YOU'RE CONSIDERING/YOU'VE CONSIDERED: 1. Something about the movies. 2. A musician of some sort. 3. Math teacher
THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION: 1. Japan 2. Hawaii 3. Home (is that valid?)
THREE KID'S NAMES YOU LIKE: 1. Katherine 2. Jean (a name for boys) 3. Marcus is a very cool name (I wouldn't give it my kids though)
THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE: 1. Be a difference in one way or another. 2. I'd hope to marry 3. Be a better musician.
THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY A GIRL: 1. I use conditioner (I have cat hair otherwise!) 2. I like quiche (HAHA I don't know if this is feminie or not) 3. I like to shop.
THREE WAYS THAT YOU ARE STEREOTYPICALLY A BOY: 1. I can eat well. 2. I avoid "chick flicks" 3. I play smash.
THREE PEOPLE THAT I WOULD LIKE TO SEE TAKE THIS QUIZ NOW: 1. Abraham Lincoln 2. Ellen Degeneres 3. Maybe my Dad.
Yesterday, I talked with my mom about the election.
I feel my mom is a terrifying person to debate with if you disagree with her, not because she's a competent debator, but because she uses irrelevant information to support her claims, or discredit yours.
For example, IF (<== extremely hypothetical) in 2004, I were to argue for Bush for being an organized and well thought out man, I could imagine her rebutting that statement by saying something to the effect of, "You can't say that though, because your room is a pigsty! Go clean up."
Fortunately, our political views coincided for this election, so I enjoyed a lengthy speech where I had nothing to argue with. My mom and I are people who approach and discern events and activities in completely opposite ways, so an debate-less discussion is always welcome.
Anyway, we eventually started talking about my dad.. I spoke with my father, a registered Republican, earlier about his political opinions. He explained to me that though he is conservative on paper, his views on politics had swayed since his registration back in the 80's.
My mom, who is overtly, staunchly democratic, did not know this. For years, she assumed my dad was a Republican through and through. When my dad told her he voted for Kerry instead of Bush in the 2004 election, she was (pleasantly) surprised.
My dad has had overwhelmingly bad luck with the candidates he decides to vote for. Since he was eligible to vote, every candidate he has advocated has lost. George Herbert Walker Bush and Bob Dole lost to Bill Clinton when he was an established Republican. When he turned coats, both Al Gore and John Kerry admitted defeat to George Walker Bush. My mom and I discussed my dad's "curse" and even joked that he should vote contrary to his beliefs to achieve the appropriate result. My family is pretty strange.
Anyway, in respects to this year's election, congratulations President Obama. I hope America changes for the better with you.
When I was six years old, my mom told me that when I turned nineteen, it would be my "golden birthday," which is the day my age coincides with my date of birth (which happened to be the nineteenth). I'm sure, as relatives do to young people, she made some outlandish promise to buy me a monumental gift in commemoration of this special day. As an impressionable child, the idea of this "golden date" intrigued me, and I grew excited for a day thirteen years in the future.
But as years went by, there were less Chuck E. Cheese trips, piñatas and transformers and more house parties, movies and gift certificates. There was nothing wrong with my later birthdays, but they simply did not produce the same excitement as the earlier ones. With the diminishing appeal of birthdays in general, the allure of the legendary "golden birthday" faded.
On my nineteenth birthday last year, I received a birthday card from my mom with a check for fifty dollars. I was content with my parents' gesture despite the massive disparity between what I had received and what my first grade imagination had expected. Unfortunately, my golden birthday marked pretty much the worst year of my life.
Being nineteen was terrible. Getting right into it, I felt estranged by the friends I had made in the previous year, and was too proud to admit it. I made rash decisions that led to disastrous consequences that dragged me further in my social destitution. My academics weren't as large a success as I had expected them to be, and I actually dropped classes because I feared I wouldn't pass them. This was the year I decided to drop trumpet, my planned career vehicle as well as instrument of choice for nine years, because of inadequacy and impracticality. Any other musical development was hampered by sheer apathy and lack of proper instruction. My health declined when I developed breathing problems and the worst sleep deprivation I've ever experienced.
Summer break, decidedly horrendous, is a story in itself. I couldn't find a job to occupy my time or pay for all the impulsive purchases I made on credit card. I lived alone for half the summer, but was lonely (at a high magnitude) for more than ninety percent of it. I didn't play nearly as much music as I desired to and the times I did were rather unproductive and short.
Due to the burden of my self-caused havoc, I plummeted more and more into negativity as the year progressed, to a point I actually sanctioned myself to write positive things on my blog and my journal because I didn't want to face my sadness and loneliness. In fact, I ended up privately posted many entries on Xanga because I found them to be too dark, even too hateful, to put on a public website.
Granted, this year was not one hundred percent nefarious. I guess in an imaginary year evaluating system, it would be 40% good, where an average year would be 55-60% good. An influential talk with my brother and a filially developed relationship with a more obscure friend prove noteworthy and possibly life changing. Those two occurrences, to a small credit, redeemed some of this abysmal year.
Also, being a habitually depressed loser is what showed me how little I can do about myself. "God" has become a word that is tossed around to explain all things miraculous, but this year, I found that He comforted me with an occasional pat on the back while otherwise making me run blindfolded on an oil-slick floor while throwing knives, chairs and bowling balls in my path. God is capable of blessings as well as holy heck. Literally.
I firmly hold the idea that cuts and scrapes, gashes and amputations are all didactic. Simply put, "with calamity comes adaptation, if not just fear." There were many lessons in my nineteenth year, both practical and theoretical, that will hopefully aid my pursuit of the "true education." But like in war, victories, small or large (mine, the former), do not bring back what is lost or dead. Despite a sweeter taste from the past two paragraphs, I will maintain that this year was overwhelmingly loathsome. I will look to the future with hopes and initiative to make life better, but I will undoubtedly look at the period from October 2007 to October 2008, marked by my golden birthday, with infamy.
I was swimming like I usually do on sunny days when I need exercise. In the middle of a fifteen lap block, I heard yelling and screaming several times as I was taking breaths. I assumed the commotion was caused by excited children, so I kept swimming.
After I was finished, I took a minute to catch my breath and stretch. I looked around and saw nothing in, out or around the pool. It was odd because I could have sworn someone very near was making the noise.
When I was leaving, I met with a person I knew from the complex. We shared some small talk until I told her about what I had heard while swimming. She looked down as if she was trying to recall something
She looked up, suddenly, with a pale countenance. She explained that two or three years ago, she remembered that two little girls were found, murdered, in the apartment pool some time around mid-October. The killer was never caught.
I DEFINITELY heard a little girl (maybe two little girls?) while swimming. I did not make those noises up.
The story, however, is nonsense. I didn't see a friend after I swam and there was (I hope) no murderous history in our community pool. So let's rewind back to when I was leaving our pool.
As I was opening the gate to leave our pool, I heard someone say, "HEY YOU." I turned around, and, standing in front of me, was a young korean girl (maybe six or seven). She asked me, "My sister want to ask why you are swimming in this places."
"Excuse me?"
"I say, My sister want to ask why you are swimming in this places," she repeated while pointing to a younger Korean girl, hiding behind the door of the rental center. Shocked by the general strangeness and grammatic nefariousness of the question, I responded,
"um, Just because?" I really didn't know what to say.
"Oh," she said while running back to her younger sister.
Okay so the course of events were not as bizarre as I hyped them up to be, but my head was still spinning by the surreality of the situation. Anyway, I gathered up my composure and gave a more dignified response to her question.
"I was swimming for exercise. Swimming is good for you."
She acknowledged my statement and joined her sister in the building.
Last night, I exited my friend's apartment complex to be stopped by a car's horn.
A mid-90's Toyota Camry pulled over next to me, its lights flashing me in the eyes as it turned around the fountain in the middle of the building's driveway. An elderly man rolled down the windows and yelled at me in an enunciated, cantankerous tone, "Do you have the buzzer?"
Startled by the old man (who didn't really make sense), I promptly replied, "No," without a clue of what he was talking about.
"You see," he continued amiably in his raspy, sharp voice, "I came home and found out my buzzer was busted. I can't get into the garage now! Thanks, anyway. Have a good night."
It was strange how quickly my perception of the man changed. He was a friendly, old man that just happened to have an extremely grating voice. It will be difficult, but I should try to avoid making flash judgments about people solely due to strange appearance or poor first impressions.
On a slight side note, I believe that at the end of the day, people that criticize the eccentric will obsess about their own appearances.
Though, I will mention that people who sound mean will naturally give a wrong impression or will miscommunicate in some way or another. If only everyone spoke in a tone similar to those of the two people in the video below, there would be fewer mixed messages.
