1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, and find line 4. I felt silence awkward after what had been said, but what to say I did not know. Oh, Tolstoy.
2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. What's there? wall
3. What is the last thing you watched on TV? Heroes
4. Without looking, guess what time it is: 12am
5. Now look at the clock. What is the actual time? 11:59pm
6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear? water running upstairs
7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing? Walking home from the bus-stop
8. Before you started this survey, what did you look at? livejournal and my e-mail
9. What are you wearing? Nara t-shirt and black floral skirt
10. Did you dream last night? I dreamt of my shadow. It "means" I am unaware of a part of myself, could be creative. ::shrug::
11. When did you last laugh? With my roommate, talking about smart sexual conquests.
12. What is on the walls of the room you are in? Arcade Fire and Beatles Yellow Submarine posters, raven & girl art print, baby picture with cherry blossom sticker, pictures of my mother's family when they first moved to the states, print of Klimt's Le Baiser, cross-stitched peace flower, white oval mirror, London Calling poster, vintage postcard, magazine cut-out of Bjork in her bedroom, and a collage I made in design school of my "customer profile"... Yeah, I tried to limit myself.
13. Seen anything weird lately? The collage I made in Art Studio today.
14. What do you think of this quiz? I don't really like talking about myself...
15. What is the last film you saw? Wes Anderson's Hotel Chevalier
16.If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy? More books! And a house to keep them in. And a puppy.
17. Tell me something about you that I don't know. Who is this?
18. If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do? Honestly, food for everyone.
19. Do you like to dance? Yes.
20. George W. Bush: misguided product of nepotism
21. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her? Anne
22. Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him? I like Charles.
23. Would you ever consider living abroad? Of course. And I will.
24. What do you want to say to God when you reach the pearly gates? "That was entertaining. All of it. Now what?"
Go to IMDB.com and look up 10 of your favorite movies. Post three official IMDB "Plot Keywords" for these 10 picks. Have your friends guess the movie titles.
Anyone who I've lost contact with/don't know that well is free to guess! They may be a little tough, but any movie buff could probably get these. I tried to pick out the fun discreet ones from more well-known favorites.
1. opposites attract, sneeze, fake subtitles Annie Hall, ballroom_pink 2. secret, dancing, capital punishment Dancer in the Dark, pinkheartxo 3. title based on song, social consciousness, crush 4. writer's block, whiskey, photograph 5. aquarium, masquerade, forbidden loveRomeo & Juliet, folksy and facinado 6. idealism, adult bookstore, vegetable manAmelie, ballroom_pink 7. scrabble, pendant, peep holeRosemary's Baby, ballroom_pink 8. fax machine, foot injury, whisperingLost in Translation, folksy 9. problem child, trapped in mirrors, sequelReturn to Oz, ballroom_pink 10. underwater, utopia, glass eyeBig Fish, anonymous
It's about time that I get real. Seriously, like down here on the first Earth. For the past few days, I have been compulsively watching X-Men cartoons on veoh.com and eating grapes. While it does take me back to my childhood and those glorious Saturday mornings, I've been putting off quite a bit of adult duties. Finding a job, mostly. I'm so pathetic- I give myself breaks for mere inquiring, over the phone. So far I've only looked at one place. And it's probably a no. I'm just so picky after dealing with the hellhole Scoop was. And free labor at Teen Vogue, the excitement wore off. I can't do fashion anymore. (Wish so badly that I could.) I just want a nice, chill workplace that won't take offense to me reading a book. Especially since I'll be going to school full-time, tutoring Asian-American kids, and freelance illustrating for IndyKids... Ha, so I can live vicariously through these lucky kids' blossoming lives.
My last resort is shopgirl at a Barney's Co-Op. Although I'd rather not stare blankly at another rack of clothes. I'd rather not feel as though my life is going to waste. Here's to hoping that won't happen.
I was feeling nostalgic today and purchased the first edition of this book on Amazon. I threw in the first edition of Meet Felicity from the American Girl series for a buck fifty too. This was the first compelling book I've ever read as a kid. I remember intently looking at this cover, lying on my bedroom carpet with my legs sprawled across the bookshelf. From that point on, I finally understood my discomfort with my mostly Caucasian group of friends and why I became angry with some of the jokes my best friend would make. Well, I understood a little better at least. This is when I first learned of the word "prejudice". Little did I know, it would prepare me for a life of first-hand experiences.
One of the worst mistakes my family made was to send all of our books to California. Long story, short- we were rewarded with a free trip to Hawaii. (Don't ask.) I still remember boxing up all of the heaviest ones and most of the lighter ones. Then when we didn't have enough, I offered the rest of my books. These included recipe books and encyclopedia sets my grandmother had collected. I had every young adult series imaginable and I read them all too. Which is the only reason I could come up with for my submitting to this ridiculous plan. That and I probably thought I was too old to read BSC anymore. It was only but one of my father's horrible ideas.
Although I am probably still too old to read the series again and I cringe at the impostors on the new covers, I plan on keeping this one in my library. You live, you learn.
It's funny how Livejournalers like material things. They like to actually see them... as pictures, preferably in lists. If you say too much, they don't want to be your friend anymore. So in honor of my unfriends, I'd like to present my list of material things. Because I'm still cool, even though all I have- ahem, want to offer are my words.
Currently coveting:
One of which I'll be sipping with french pastries for Happy Hour, with my beloved exroomie and beloved lover.
all which isn't singing is mere talking, and all talking's talking to oneself - ee cummings
"It is true that convictions can best be supported with experience and clear thinking. On this point one must agree unreservedly with the extreme rationalist. The weak point of his conception is, however, this, that those convictions which are necessary and determinant for our conduct and judgments cannot be found solely along this solid scientific way. For the scientific method can teach us nothing else beyond how facts are related to, and conditioned by, each other. The aspiration toward such objective knowledge belongs to the highest of which man is capabIe, and you will certainly not suspect me of wishing to belittle the achievements and the heroic efforts of man in this sphere. Yet it is equally clear that knowledge of what is does not open the door directly to what should be. One can have the clearest and most complete knowledge of what is, and yet not be able to deduct from that what should be the goal of our human aspirations." - the genius
Note to self: never get into a theological 'debate' with a blindly religious Atheist.
"If only I hadn't wandered out here," she said. "If only I'd stayed up there!" "One of the worst mistakes a person can make, sometimes, I guess," he said, "is to try to get away from people and think. It's a great way to lose your forward motion." "The band is playing so softly I can hardly hear the music," she said.
Today, the first reading material I pick up is The Epoch Times. Headlines read: Organs Taken From Singapore Coma Patient, Mortgage Crisis Spells Trouble for American Dream, Chinese Embassy Tried to Silence TV Network. And a winning Madonna-esque photograph of one mother and child, in the most natural state, splashed across the frontpage.
While this particular newspaper probably serves as an honorable source of worldly information, it fails to record the details of each account. (As does any newspaper, I'm sure.) I'm talking about real details... This Singapore family had their beloved son's organs removed from his unconscious body without their consent. Despite pleading from all members of the family, the hospital underwent surgically removing the fresh organs. What were they left with? An explanation that they had failed to sign a statement saying that he did not agree to organ donation. And a now-deceased relative. Did it not occur to the hospital that their son was in critical, merely unconscious, condition? That they might be in despair? That they are still hopeful that he will awake? That they cannot worry themselves with conscious efforts to dispute their disposition? Even if it is a matter of signing a piece of paper. I'm sure the intentions on behalf of the doctors meant well, as they were trying to preserve another one's life. (Another person whose family is going to such lengths to have this surgery performed, I presume.) Although, in doing so, they are hiding beneath this cloak of universal acceptance of what is "right". And consequently, fail to acknowledge what is "true".
"The more people who own their home, the better off America is. See, we want more people owning something because when somebody owns something, they have a vital stake in the future of the country," said President Bush. This article is citing the statement in reference to the current mortgage crisis. First thoughts were Hm, that is actually very true, Mr. Bush. Second thoughts were ...Then again, what do you really know about the trouble of obtaining "something"? Then I got to thinking about what exactly is in my possession. I have a sufficient amount of clothing, some discounted designer. These shoes on my feet, handed down from an affluent aunt, are a market value of $300-400. Now probably worth nothing since I've worn them a few times. I have a vintage record player and two crates full of thrifted records. Obselete technology, scratches from actual listening, worthless. Books and art supplies galore. Wear and tear from actual reading. Who wants art supplies? So should go without saying: on paper, I have absolutely nothing. Therefore, as of right now I have absolutely no outlet to getting anywhere in this country without some stroke of luck.
"What are you doing here?" "I didn't get into art school."
"What do you want to do?" "I want to start my own business."
What I really wanted to say is... I'm here because someone didn't give me the chance I had hoped for. I'm here for another chance, because I want to change the world. Such utterances would be seen as: idealistic, naive, irrelevant. Take your pick.
Then as I somewhat sulkily walk myself away I hear, "Good luck". As I open a door for a father and son, I think to myself Boy, do I need it. Exhausted in both respects, emotionally and physically, I reluctantly go on with the voyage back to sanctuary. Sitting pretty on the subway, attempting to seek temporary refuge in Dostoevsky, I am distracted with about a gazillion thoughts. My peripheral vision allows me to see stares from a multitude of MTA patrons. All longing stares from both my male and female counterparts on this train. Longing for what, I do not know. I can presume the man standing across from is longing with curiosity and the obligatory sexual desire. I can assume the occasional glance of an elderly woman is due to a longing for something she does not have, or something she once had. All curious, longing stares. I regard even myself as a curious, longing character. Intentionally oblivious to my surroundings, I want to get into this man's head... why does he proclaim a fullfilled, beautiful soul as The Idiot?
I soon realize that I am just a mere parody of this instinctive curiosity. I am an idiot. Then comes the harsh realization: I am idle in the eyes of God. Or, if you don't believe in a higher power: I am idle in everyone else's eyes but my own. But internally, I am utterly exhausted. I seem to have put my heart on a platter and essentially allowed people to say, "No, thank you."
I am insightful, but idle. I am compassionate, and idle. I am intelligent, yet due to the idleness, my efforts come up as mediocre. I too am hiding beneath a cloak of what I proclaim to be universally "right", and failing to see what is universally "true"... You need something to get somewhere. Although, honestly, I am just tired. It's a curse from birth. My name's literal meaning is Weary Mother of God.
Then, a handicapped woman backs herself onto this bus, the driver triggers the lift and buckles her in. Codependence, forever. Here I am, standing clad in discounted designer and second-hand heels. I am walking in these constricting heels by choice. Despite these material constrictions, I am still crippled in the system. I am crippled in my niche. I am crippled, mentally. Maybe Freud is right. Maybe women are meant to be married and sit pretty amongst their possessions. Their estate. Maybe it doesn't matter whether one is more insightful than the next, more compassionate than the next, more able than the next. We are all victims of the disabling nature of mankind.
I look at all the people who are underneath this cloak of what is universally regarded as "right" and "true"; and discreetly shed a single tear. The photograph across the frontpage is of a mother and child, entitled "Love Like the Amazon". Maybe Betty Friedan is fighting for something, in vain. Maybe this feminine mystique exists because this is all we as women, due to our biological nature, are capable of achieving. According to what is universally just, even our bodies aren't in our legal possession. A universally-accepted proverb says Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Alas, it seems the beholder has nothing else but this.
It just occured to me that I seem to have, all of a sudden, woken up. For awhile, I was pointing fingers at men. (Exboyfriends: root of all evil.) But the truth is, I really just discovered myself without the distraction of men.
I'm laughing at myself because I'm in the middle of reading The Feminine Mystique. And it's 5:00 a.m.
I don't know how it happened exactly. I do know that it isn't as simple as picking up a book or absolute depletion of funds. (Although, these are likely contributing factors.) And a big part of me wants to believe it was leaving Owen, once and for all. Essentially, it was leaving codependence. Then, there are the people you meet. They teach you something and change your life forever. It seems that we as humans are the most impressionable during these years. Even more so than your childhood years because our brain capacities, as far as motor skills and such, are nearly completely developed. We are out of college. We are off track. We don't know anymore. We don't care. We are smoking pot. Our wisdom teeth are growing in. Do we have health insurance?
I obviously digress.
Life is progressively getting worse. Reality is sinking in. And that is... fine with me. There is no need for me to take things with that proverbial grain of salt. I am breathing and living it. This is why I have such a strange relationship with education and acquisitive success in general. As a friend of mine recently sang to a small crowd, reminding us: What is it good for? Absolutely nothing.
In the early 60's, Betty Friedan wrote about these "educated" women who, fresh out of college, no longer found need to probe their mental capacities. They've agreed to devote their lives to their roles as humans: as baby makers, as thing buyers. They've agreed to conform. Then came the future generations of women... fresh out of college, had absolute zero direction for fear of becoming their mothers. Fast forward to now and we have these self-proclaimed "women". Declaring their femininity through narcissism. Rouge at all hours in the day, toting around miniature dogs as accessories. "Well-behaved women RARELY make history" on their Facebook or Myspace profiles... which is really a pathetic excuse for being a bitch without a cause.
After you've found your perfect mate, your perfect man, nothing else matters. You don't matter anymore. After school is over, you are constantly and desperately searching for that someone. And not that something. Hell, if he isn't perfect- I'll make him perfect! For eternity! Suddenly, your 50 years old and wondering why he isn't interested anymore. He wants you to stop living vicariously through his life. Then what? This constant desperation is making a mockery of us. It's called objectification, ladies. (And p.s. men don't know how to fix it. They just want you to shut the hell up.)
It's ironic actually. Well-behaved women rarely make history. And here we are, abiding by the laws of a flawed system created by men. Without the slightest clue as to where these tax dollars are going. We are baby makers, thing buyers. Only now instead of playing housekeeper, it has become... playing Don'tcha wish your girlfriend was HOT like me on ipods. Playing housekeeper, in bed.
I have had to come to the harsh realization that it doesn't matter if your mother was the perfect soccer mom, cutting out PB&J sandwiches in little hearts. Even if you don't have that mother figure, you are conforming to your peers. My mother was pretty much absent for most of my life growing up. In a way, I'm grateful for that. She inadvertantly raised me to be my own person, before I had even realized that I was a person.
Before I go off on another tangent... Basically, you don't have to be a rocket scientist to realize who you are. You don't need a college degree or a man as arm candy. You don't even necessarily need a mother. You are your own person. What you experience and ultimately know is the only truth that exists.
By the way, I am not a "feminist"... I am a humanist.
(Special thanks to Philosophy and English 101, of which I passed and failed respectively.)
Sky's The Limit (dm) 4:38 The Notorious B.I.G Feat. 112 Life After Death 1997 Velouria 3:40 Pixies Bossanova 1990 Sexy Boy 4:58 Air Moon Safari 1998 Do You Realize?? 3:32 The Flaming Lips Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots 2002 Bottle Up And Explode! 2:58 Elliott Smith XO 1998 Dig For Fire 3:02 Pixies Bossanova 1990 Car 2:59 Built To Spill There's Nothing Wrong With Love 1994 Take Me To The River 3:47 Al Green Elephant Woman 4:49 Blonde Redhead Misery Is A Butterfly 2004 23 7:25 Jimmy Eat World Futures 2004 No Woman, No Cry 4:32 Fugees The Score 1996 Loomer 2:38 My Bloody Valentine Loveless 1991 At Last 2:57 Etta James At Last! 1961 She Talks In Stereo 4:00 Gary Myrick & The Figures Valley Girl 1983 Sleep 5:56 The Dandy Warhols Babylon 4:24 Outkast ATLiens 1996 Ghetto Defendant 4:44 The Clash Combat Rock 1982 Can't Make a Sound 4:18 Elliott Smith Figure 8 2000 Scar Tissue 3:37 Red Hot Chili Peppers Californication 1999
I have quite a bit to say... and I fear I have been writing in my paper journal so often that I've forgotten how to get my thoughts out through typing. Which could be a problem since my personal essay will be due in a few weeks. It's in pieces. I can't seem to muster up enough motivation to put it into one cohesive idea. So much hope, so much to say, so little time, so little discipline.
I have been living the good life here in Flushing. Home-cooked food in constant supply. Good food, at that. Relieved to have found another person who enjoys cooking shows (Barefoot Contessa, anyone?) and Martha Stewart as much as I do. Dave likes to make fun of me for liking someone named Ina Garten.
"Her name's Ina Garten and she's in a garden." I beam at him and say, "My dream."
Hours at night spent sprawled across my full-sized bed, indulging myself on Cadbury Fruit & Nut, lemon Pez and a good book. The sunshine wakes me every morning. And I found a few albums on vinyl that Risa allowed me to borrow/keep. Carole King - Tapestry... Mint condition! I almost squealed and clutched it close to my heart. Also, Simon & Garfunkel - Sounds of Silence (already own this but it was a thrift find, I believe) and Miles Davis - Kind of Blue (listened to it twice). To my delight, my beloved yet temperamental vintage record player decided to not squeak as I laid in bed, closed my eyes and completely took in each and every crackly note. We have an understanding. It likes Miles Davis.
P.S. 32 and a set of swings, just across the street. So I get to hear the lovely sounds of school children letting out every afternoon. On the way to the bus, I saw a few kids skating and found myself comforted in the fact that I can have my own little piece of the East Village here.
All of this, is free. Lovely.
The commute, I'm afraid, will be a hefty trip. I don't mind though. It makes me feel a little more like a true New Yorker. Besides, I look forward to finding a good spot on the train to read and admire the view. I quite like being in transit. Sometimes, I wish I could stay there forever.
I keep promising myself that I'll be less emo. I can't help but get emotional when misfortune and miracles alike seem to come in waves. Not to mention, listening to Cat Power nonstop. Never fails.
Surprisingly, as I watched her croon in this sexy yet effortless manner... I could only smile in utter admiration. Chicken dance and playfully rowing, pretending to sniff invisible cocaine with each hand as she sang
Oh how time flies With crystal clear eyes And cold as cold When you're ending with diamond eyes
These sad melodies that used to comfort me as I quietly cleaned my room were now being sung in the flesh; and so happy she seemed. Sober and aware of her audience. Ended with a modest, "Sorry guys, I suck. I need to stop." And so she did and handed out an assortment of flowers.
I now find myself doing the same as I did in New York, cleaning my bedroom to the hushed whispers of her smokey voice... except with a hint of optimism. Emotional, in the most healthy way. Hopeful for better days, yet aware of my past. And still, can find a moment to laugh. Not alone, for once.
...we will have our universe for the first time again rings around our sweet friendship will tear open into a run galloping forevermore til tomorrow is gone... ...we gotta stake this thing out we gotta laugh the whole day through we gotta live the way that we want to...
So you've just won $5,000... what will you spend it on?
Well, I didn't actually win the money. It's a loan from my parents to start a clothing line. But I think this, a huuge amazon haul, a working dress form, maybe a sewing machine (if I can't get my grandmother's ancient sewing machine to work) and yards&yards of cute fabric would be a great way to start.
Hmm?
Can someone indulge me in some Condé Nast internship horror stories?
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chloie_kiss's journal
