liminal

Happy Birthday

2011-10-10T20:27:00.000-07:00

Eloquence

2010-12-20T13:20:00.000-08:00

Spork me in the face. F'realz.

One Day

2010-11-02T08:16:00.000-07:00

I'm going to have a coffee shop where writers, students, and general lost souls can scribble in their notebooks or read a book, and it will play music like this:

Happy Birthday

2010-10-10T20:55:00.000-07:00

希望你能一直在這裡。

Daft Punk's Tron:Legacy OST

2010-07-29T12:07:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since I posted anything non-writing related, but I'm back on another of my music binges.

New York Mag's Vulture posted a 10 minute compilation video of Daft Punk's soundtrack for Tron: Legacy this morning. After an appropriate number of repeats, I sifted through the associated songs and found this set from scene 224.

This isn't my favorite song of those listed, but the stuttering back-beat, and what sounds like a shovel scraping against cement, really caught my ear. That sounds unappealing, I know, but press play and give it a chance to see what I mean.

Pop in a pair of earphones, and even with the volume down low, something about the balancing and production makes all of the sounds pop and pulse in the back of your head with crisp amplification. It's almost like you're sitting in a theater with the sound coming from behind you on a sub-woofered sound system. Impressive for lame Apple earbuds, no? Or rather, impressive on Daft Punk's part.

I'm sure these songs are so soothing to my ear because they mimic the pacing of a heartbeat. At least, I remember reading that that's part of what draws us into certain songs -- 808's and Heartbreaks! (Note: since fact-checking is for work, I refuse to do it when posting my own entries and cannot stand by the validity of this comment. Nyah!)

It's entirely possible that every other track sounds like this, but I only noticed that amphitheater effect here. In any event, the entire soundtrack is worth listening to -- particularly if you have a job that requires sitting at a desk everyday and get distracted listening to lyrics, like me!

Zis, my friends, is ze perfect in between.

Update:Unfortunately, Pitchfork Media is saying that these songs are fan-created, not Daft Punk created. Regardless, I still recommend them because they are wicked fun to listen to.

Conan

2010-01-29T23:02:00.000-08:00

"Please do not be cynical. I hate cynicism. For the record, it's my least favorite quality. It doesn't lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get, but if you work really hard, and you're kind, amazing things will happen. I'm telling you, amazing things will happen."

Highline

2009-11-25T10:37:00.000-08:00

Columbia Journalism School: Thanksgiving Check-in

2009-11-24T12:51:00.000-08:00

I am popping at the seams. I find myself listening to The Fame Monster by Lady Gaga on repeat, staring out dark subway windows on the 1. Half the time I'm just staring at myself in the window wondering whether I made the right choice to come, to be here, to pursue this profession.

I'm not the best in my class, in fact I'm far behind many of classmates in both reporting and writing. Whatever relative prowess or ability I thought I had with writing before has gotten mostly, if not almost entirely, swiped from my hands. Not to be a whiny pain in the ass, but my tail is in between my legs and for the last two weeks my self-esteem has been dragged through the muddy, sewage ridden New York gutters. A good analogy would be me as Peter Pan (circa Disney's 1953 animated release) and my self-esteem as his skittish, unattainable shadow running the hell away. I've attempted to re-attach my self-esteem but, like Peter, I've found that soap (or perky "you can do it!" chants in my case) just aren't cutting it to keep that sucker tacked to me. Who has a sewing kit I can borrow?

RW1 is the basic reporting class each of us has to go through before we can finish our Fall term. It is the largest, most demanding time and emotional suck of a class I have ever had. RW1 requires that you pick a beat to cover for the entirety of the semester -- a topic (food, money, health) or a physical neighborhood (Astoria, Harlem, LES, or in my case, Hell's Kitchen) and find stories for the duration of your time as a cub reporter there. This is how old-school daily print reporters have been trained for many, many years. You learn basic news writing style, how to structure a story, and get the shoe-leather reporting skills that generations before you have perfected. Ask the right questions. Find the leads. Get the story. Before we arrive, it's what we're all looking to learn at some level otherwise we wouldn't be here. We want that real world experience when so many of us have come from a reporting background of desk phone calls, press-releases or googling. Or, we have no experience at all.

The reality is you knock on doors and get rejected time and time and time again. You get laughed at when you tell people you're a student, you feel like an ass because you aren't publishing the work you're getting people to give their time up for, and everything you inevitably find out is about 50 percent less than you actually need. But really, these are all very good lessons that you learn. Every time you don't get what you want gives you a smack on the butt to get up and get it right the next time. Every failure feels terrible, but oh the successes, those sweet successes that come few and far between, are worth every terrible story idea or interview before it. The time you got that source to talk when no one else could, when you find the story that you've always known was there and everyone missed. It feels like you have been vindicated more, better, than you have been in years. Goddammit, you were right.

They tell you it's going to be hard when you get here. Actually, they tell you before you get here, when you get here, and while you're going through it. But lately that often doesn't seem like enough.

Almost all of the young journalists I've talked in the last few weeks, especially my classmates, have begun to voice questions, doubts, and concerns over whether we should be pursuing journalism. Are we built for this? Is our writing good enough? Is our reporting strong enough? Should we really be following this path? The industry is tough right now, tougher than before, and as the previous generation of journalists continues to get booted from newsrooms around the country, we're catching the trickle down of their messy company breakups. People are bitter, terrified, and often still cling to a model or ideal of journalism that doesn't match up with the world our class is seeing today.

We're being taught a standard of journalism that worked for more than a century, primarily based around daily newspaper production and writing. But we're also constantly confronted with these points: the industry is structurally changing, newspapers need to consider what content they're going to be good at cause, uh, people get most of that info elsewhere now (for free!), magazines no longer have ad pages coming in, and online journalism isn't yet generating enough revenue to be a feasible business model even with millions of followers. So, young reporters, what do we do?

There's no answer to that question right now. All I have are these curiosities sitting in the back of my head that need to be fleshed out, "unpacked" as so many professors here love to say. What I do know is that I feel like I've gotten smacked and kicked around a decent amount in the last four months. Speared, roasted, flambéed ... but I can't deny that I haven't learned a ton. I do feel infinitely better at reporting than when I entered (hmm, what does that say for how well I used to report if I'm still not good?), I'm reading more voraciously than before and I'm producing work I never thought I'd produce. I guess it's working the magic it's supposed to work, but goodness it's been a slog. I don't know if it was entirely worth it just yet.

Here's what I'm hoping: first semester presents you with all of the background, all of the questions that are being asked, and all of the situations that you might shy away from if you didn't have an organization shoving them in your face. I'm praying that second term will bring some solutions, some answers and a clearer path. I still find journalism titillating and engaging in a way no other industry really strikes me. But working in a daily newsroom seems like drudgery and frustration to me right now. I like reporting, but I struggle when I'm not interested in the story I'm telling. Maybe that's normal, though, and I'm just being an epically big cry baby. I can't decide if the pull I feel to radio broadcasting and photography is something worth pursuing, or just another path that will lead to the depressing realization that I'm not cut out for this.

Get broke down before you get built up. Right? ... Right. If I have a fit of tourettes when you next see me, please know it's not meant to offend in any way. I'm just a little imbalanced right now. Happy Thanksgiving, peeps!

Central Park in October

2009-10-27T19:52:00.000-07:00

Fall finally started to hit New York City this weekend. The leaves are changing now and the air snaps you awake in the morning with its vibrant crispness. I've only felt that energy on the East Coast in the Fall, which is one of the reasons I'm always excited to experience it again.

J was here visiting for the weekend, so the usual suspects including Rysiebops and Shwow popped out of their respective work hiding places and took her about town for a couple of nights.

The next day, D convinced me away from one of my finals for a quick walk in Central Park. Seeing that many families together, couples strolling the park, or kids frolicking, is strangely invigorating. I'll be sad to see it go when winter hits.

It's funny, the more photos I take, the less I feel I have any concept of it. Hopefully the next few months of staring at photos, and watching serious editors discuss them, will help me out. Till next post.

xoxo,
See

Riverside Park + Puppy Encounters

2009-10-06T21:28:00.000-07:00

In an attempt to avoid my third 700 word story yesterday, I took a quick spin to Riverside Park to snap some shots. I spent a lot of time taking pictures of, uh, scenery and landscapes. Primarily because I don't really have the gumption just yet to go up and take pictures of random people.

For example:

However, this gentleman saw me taking photos of that shoe stuck to a fence -- it's practice! -- and asked if I would take some photographs of him with his dogs. His two viszlas Lucky and Coby will departing in the near future, along with his soon to be ex-wife. Sadness!

But hopefully the few pictures I took will be a reminder of all the love between them. Keep on keeping on, sir.

Till tomorrow!

xoxo,
See

Photo of the Day

2009-10-05T12:25:00.000-07:00

I don't really have a ton of time to be writing here, so I'm just going to start posting a few photos that I've been taking for school. (I stole this idea from D since he started posting pics on his blog.) But, I figure it'll be a nice way to track what's changing as I'm doing more at school. Hopefully these photos get better over time. Or rather, they BEST be getting better.

<3 D90.

J-School and All Its Terrors

2009-09-21T20:57:00.001-07:00

6 weeks in. And, as such, I am on deadline for my (can't remember how many-eth) 700 word story. It's my second story in my "beat," or in non-school slang, the neighborhood I'm covering for the entirety of first semester. One story per week, every week till Christmas. My writing better improve, or I will be one sorely upset cub journalist.

More descriptions to follow about j-school life and all the tumult that it entails, but since I'm on deadline and I only JUST figured out the angle for my story that's due at 9am AND I'd like to get a fair amount of sleep tonight, I'm just going to leave you with my pump up song for the entire week.

It's a rediscovered fav, a song I haven't heard in months but caught in a bar somewhere recently. It touched a nerve. Holler at your girl.

xoxo,
See

High School: Round 2

2009-05-12T02:06:00.000-07:00

What's painful about a past is usually nothing to do with what actually happened then. There were things you did, things you wish you'd done, things you really really wish you hadn't done. But any decisive action you took, or heart breaking decision you made then has disappeared into the ether never to be seen again. The hard part is figuring out how to bring it all forward, how to meld all of that junk and debris from before with the palpably vibrant present day -- while you try to prevent it all from exploding.

Memories are often so potent they can overpower your vision of a situation at hand. In my case, that means this entire post-work pre-school period since March has been a strange re-telling of my senior year in high school. (It hasn't helped to watch a show about the lavish, hyper-aggrandized high school experience on the Upper East Side of New York. Or that they just aired their big prom episode tonight). I hated and loved my senior year in high school -- and college at that. Nothing went how I wanted it. I didn't get to go to the school I wanted, my boyfriend was suddenly my ex-boyfriend before the pinnacle of our relationship could be reached by attending prom together, and I basically almost flunked out of school. Every piece of the puzzle I'd perfected and excruciatingly carved for myself, kept falling to the floor and dispersing into innumerable molecules of shittiness. I promised myself I would never come back to San Francisco for more than a short stint at my parents' house, and even further, I would never allow it to suck me into its sick, twisted plot where I would love this place and want to bring my eventual family here.

Flash forward to college graduation, and suddenly I'm relegated to a few months on a couch. I am quickly sensing that all of my worst fears are going to be played out in the HD version of California Real Life: This Sucks and have decided that in protest I will do absolutely nothing but review and re-live (but only in my head) the year I experienced prior to it. This, of course, will ensure that nothing in my actual reality can play itself out. Six months later, I find that this brings only greater heartache, a fat dollop of delusion, and a seriously bad case of "holy-crap-I-have-no-money-since-I-just-spent-everything-I-have-and-I-live-with-my-parents"-itis.

Flash forward again. Suddenly I find myself here for a year, moving into an apartment in San Francisco proper with two high school friends, and falling into the trappings of a relationship that supposedly came with a self-imposed expiration date. (Foiled yet again, brain.) Another year later, I'm just home from a whirlwind Eurotrip, planning for the last type of Grad School I expected to attend but whole-heartedly want to partake in, and moving to a city of curiosity which I've been ambivalent about since I left college. Somehow, while I tried my damnedest to disentangle myself from a city I was terrified of, I managed to unfold the exact existence I'd hoped for years ago. All out of a situation which, at the time, seemed abysmally unfavorable.

There's no picture perfect prom this time, there's no high school boyfriend to ask me in just the right way, or a beautiful backlit stairway to walk down. Not that those existed the first time around. In fact, none of them did -- maybe the perfect dress, but everything else was light years away. Which was almost the reason I was angry in the first place. However, there's also none of the unfortunate realities of the time that left me bitter, heartbroken and determined to leave behind anything remotely related in the first place. Or if there were, I think somewhere along the way I forgave them, accepted my responsibility there, and decided to watch my life actually happen the way it was going to -- not the way I wanted it to.

Which means that suddenly the memories don't matter as much, and the everyday now matters a lot more. All there is, is a wonderful family, these amazing irreplaceable friends, and an incredible unexpected love. Though this may be one of the happiest times of my life, I can feel that it's also the end of a wonderful (but difficult) era. But even so, I couldn't be more grateful for the people and the place that has taught me so much.

Did it really only happen because I opened myself to it? Or was it all bound to happen in the first place? Even more, did it happen because I expected absolutely nothing, so have been caught off guard?

Maybe it totally pays to have nothing expected, to smash all pre-conceptions and just fly totally blind. And maybe it pays to read more books, see more art, go to more parties, and listen to more music. Cause even if you don't want to, you're still trying to take it all in.

Keri Hilson Gonna Knock You Down

2009-04-16T01:11:00.000-07:00

Tis the awesomes. Her new single Knock You Down (featuring none other than Kanye and Ne-Yo) is absolutely delicious to the ear. Even if it takes a couple tries before you take to it. See below for unadulterated musical yummy:

Cosmo: Making Girls Everywhere Dumber -- Especially Me

2009-02-13T16:11:00.000-08:00

I love jezebel.com. If you want to see what I think when I pick up an issue of Cosmo (consciously or unconsciously) please refer to the following diagram from Jezebel's post about Cosmo's March issue.

I went on strike last year, swearing off Cosmo due the explosively bad effect it had on my body image and biological clock issues. But somehow a subscription found its way to my door -- thank you Blockbuster free magazine deal at sign up. So, I read it every now and then. It has some good shopping tips, up to date make-up stuff, celebrity gossip and then I'm just flipping through a little... and Kate Hudson is giggling about being divorced and her shoes are so glam! And, ooh I wanna know How to Be Just Bitchy Enough so I keep flipping, and suddenly -- shame spiral. Then one day I walk into my living room and S goes, "Hey! That new issue of Cosmo is crazy! Some really interesting articles." Apparently, placing the magazine in tantalizing, easy to reach places (read: bathroom), led S, D and R to have some needed to be heard guys' perspectives on the articles in the issue. What ensued over the course of the next couple hours was hilariously honest discourse about the truthiness of the magazine, and since then, every new issue will usually spring up another similar discussion.

S thinks the articles are fascinating studies of the female psyche. D and R think they're absolute horse crap and the magazine should be burned, but that it still provides some insight into general girl-thought strangeness. I always ended up understanding the most when I acknowledged the disjunct between thinking logically (them), and thinking so hard that you're trying to think logically but end up thinking stupidly (me + Cosmo). They've taught me to read the magazine with a skeptical, yet non-chalant, eye. Everything is a joke, and while there may be a hint of truth buried in the articles, sort the facts from the extrapolated and suggestive theories. Better yet, pretend Maxim made a spoof of itself and the spoof now has a circulation of 2.9 million readers. Simple enough as a concept, yes. But comprehending the idea fully that the "woman's sex bible" was total horse crap after reading it throughout my formative years, was like prying my hands off the world's last bowl of Udon.

Our most gratifying moments usually revolve around debating the "what he really means when he crosses his arms, scratches his armpit, blinks, sneezes, or breathes" section. The gist is usually:

See: These are kind of right! C'mon. (Reading) He's Oddly Distracted -- it means he's so embarassed about something, or maybe totally hungover, or maybe told a friend of yours a secret, or maybe he lost your cat, or maybe...uh...

R: He killed your sister and forgot to tell you that he did that and then he ate your dog. This is ridiculous.

See: So it's a little out there. But I've seen a lot of guys do that stuff. I mean a LOT. D used to do that stuff when we first started dating!

D: Yeah, remember how well that worked out. "You blinked hard! What are you hiding that you don't feel you can be honest with me?!" Now, we talk.

See: Hm...

S: It's just a quick and flawed way to simplify guys. These are just insecurities from the early months of dating played way up. It's all so individual. Once you get to know your partner, you can discuss what's going on.

See: But... that's not the fun part! You guys have officially made being psychotic and over-analytical totally lame.

I take it back, mostly reading Cosmo with my roommates and D is like the embarassing wake up call all of my girlfriends and I never wanted during round robin discussions of "the undecipherable boy codes." There's significant value in understanding real men. But what's the fun in it if you can't idealize, sexualize and demonize them for at least a little bit? Right, right, balance between the two parts. Fun and logic -- like Battleship or Monopoly! So there you have it, four years at a women's college + one year of living with guys = objective perspective on men. Until I read a Cosmo. Or see a guy talking to a girl while raising his eyebrows and scratching his nose because did you know that means he's totally lying to you about like, everything?

Elizabeth Gilbert and Creativity

2009-02-11T13:20:00.000-08:00

Elizabeth Gilbert wrote Eat, Pray, Love. The epic woman's tale of finding yourself in foreign lands after a torturous divorce and rebound relationship gone wrong. Ostensibly, this book is everything that I, and any woman familiar with self-loathing and flagellation after being steamrolled by "man," could hope to read. It should appeal very particularly to women with firm groundings in feminist and independent female thought. Yet, I got maybe forty pages in before I dropped it on my bookshelf in disgust. (The first twenty-five pages is morose and self-pitying, with overly perverse depictions of her balled up on bathroom floors sobbing into tile. Really, uplifting. Try reading it.) I should go back and muscle through the pity since her trips to Italy and India are apparently transcendent vicarious experiences. Especially given my upcoming "walkabout" in Europe. But in the meantime, I'll just post the talk she gave at TED in Long Beach a couple days ago.

She talks about being a writer to some extent, but mostly she discusses the origins of creativity, and why it's often thought of as a torturous and soul depleting process in recent years as opposed to -- wait for it -- the blessing of an unknown being, inspiration from on high, or simply being in the right place at the right time.

I live in San Francisco, so mind you I am big on understanding. (Momma See last night actually said, "You're so tolerant with people. Maybe you shouldn't always be so tolerant, because until you demand, people won't perform.") Since moving home from Boston, I've become a little too "oh, you're such a special little snowflake" for my own tastes. But what Gilbert is suggesting -- the Daemon, deity, or whatever you want to call it, who visits you as you're working and imbues your work with creative genius -- is both the best and most ludicrous presentation of the creative process I've heard in awhile. I believe in the concept of divine inspiration. It's been around for millenia, and if anything I think talent and ability are gifts given before we're aware of their existence. But mostly, and I am a bit biased, I think Gilbert is a bit of a gas bag. My guess is she gave the speech as some disclaimer to how potentially bad her next book is going to be. Then again, if I were in her shoes (and really, who am I to critique since I'm not a New York Times bestselling author, now am I?) I would probably feel the same way.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is, she brings up an interesting idea about how we find inspiration. Or, rather, how we pursue inspiration by writing endlessly in spite of the long bouts of uninspiration between one good piece and another. But I hate that she presents it as this idea unique to her and a very select few. Many writers and artists, with the exception of the ultra narcissistic ones, feel that there is an ebb and flow to their talent. When there's an ebb, they usually start praying to God or bartering with the devil to get the slightest hint of creative ability. While I was at Robert Mckee's seminar last march, one of the best pieces of wisdom he offered us (and one which will stick with me probably for the rest of my life) is that 90% of what you write is going to be absolute shit. But you keep writing so you can get the 10% that is absolute gold.

Hopefully my diatribe hasn't swayed you from watching the twenty minutes of her talk. If you've never thought about the creative process in this way before, it's worth hearing just so you can turn it over in your head a few times. I'll give Gilbert credit for that. You're not the only one who thought that up, but keep spreading the gospel, sister, apparently that's what you're best at.

P.S. Does anyone else think she seems kind of like she's trying to look like Steve Jobs at MacWorld?

Grammys zOMG Moment

2009-02-09T18:25:00.000-08:00

To be replaced with a real post later:

M.I.A. started having contractions at the beginning of the Grammys broadcast last night. She was so ridiculously pregnant, and yet totally not going to bail out on the performance.

Impressive commitment? Or terrifying disregard for the safety and health of your, at that particular time, unborn child?

It's like Sarah Palin re: Trig. Except this time M.I.A. isn't evil the way Palin is. She's just crazy.

Kanye's New Single

2008-10-17T11:01:00.000-07:00

Coldest Winter. It's heartbreaking. This album is going to sell like nobody's business. Vulnerability in a single dose from a man who has made his career on ego. It's so sad how fascinating that is.

Fall Back

2008-10-17T01:17:00.001-07:00

San Francisco is sweltering tonight. The clingy, slightly suffocating, heat that envelops the city during Indian summers feels like it's invaded my body, pulsing my arms and legs while it pushes at the seams to escape. Even though it is 1am and a work night, the city is vibrant. From the street below my kitchen window, I hear laughter and drunken banter as the bar on the corner reaches capacity. People too inebriated to leave are now hanging over the side of an elongated open window that stares out on Sutter street, and very likely, they are all smoking cigarettes. In this greenest of hippiest of most sensitive cities, there are smokers who are dirty, loud and don't hesitate to ask for a hand out; and often, they are proud of it. This is especially true when you live daringly close to a neighborhood where a stretch of piss-stained sidewalk is valuable real estate both night and day.

Yet in spite of all that below me, I am here, sitting on my bed in an apartment I love, admiring the smirk on Reese Witherspoon's face as she stares at me from the cover of this month's Vogue. I never thought I would read Vogue, I never thought I would attempt being a writer, and I never thought I would embrace complexity and uncertainty in the ways that I do now. But I don't regret any of it, and I am happier that I am trying and somewhat succeeding at taking chances, even if I will fail in the near future. One day, I'm going to look back on these lively, enigmatic days, and tell my daughter that in order to find yourself, you have to lose yourself a little bit first.

Oh, and I'm also going to tell her that living on the top floor of an older building is all sunshine and rainbows until you realize that everyone can hear every breath and move that you make, and that those flights of stairs may be cute now, but they'll be your worst enemy at the end of a long day in heels.

S brought me pomegranate seeds tonight in a bowl, and left them for me on my desk while I was chatting on the phone. It reminded me of Poppa, and how he'd cut melons, apples, pears, any fruit and leave it for me on my desk after dinner, every night, without fail. I would sit in my room with my face pressed against the computer screen, listening to the gentle swish swish of his slippers approaching on the parquet floor. All I'd hope for was that he wouldn't want a long drawn out conversation with me; but I was such an introverted adolescent by then, he knew better than to try and engage me. Instead, he would smile and lean towards me with an outstretched arm placing the bowl safely on my desk, a napkin tucked neatly underneath.

"Here you go, kiddo."

As I would mumble thank you, he'd smile, then amble back down the hallway to his favorite chair in front of the TV. If he'd timed it right, Monday Night Football would just be returning from their half-time show.

Makes me wish I'd known a little better back then, about how quickly time passes and how much life can change. Hugs, love, cocoa puffs. Thanks for everything, San Francisco. It's your people that are making all the difference.

sheng ri kuai le

2008-10-10T19:56:00.000-07:00

Murakami and Eastwood

2008-10-06T00:55:00.000-07:00

From the New Yorker Festival that just passed this weekend, a couple snippets of tastiness.

The first, words of wisdom (via the NYF blog) from Haruki Murakami on writing.

"He began by telling the story of a jazzman who, when accused of playing 'just like Charlie Parker,' handed his saxophone to his critic and said, 'Here—you try playing like Charlie Parker.' He said that we should draw three conclusions from this:

1. Criticizing somebody is fun and easy.

2. Meanwhile, creating something original is very hard.

3. But somebody’s got to do it.

He went on to reveal his writing secrets:

On inspiration: 'I became a writer all of a sudden. I don’t know why.'

On the three essentials to literature: 'Reason. Harmony. Free improvisation.'

On momentum: 'I wanted to turn the pages, but there were no pages—I had to write them. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, so I write it. And then I don’t know what’s going to happen next, so I write it.'

On happiness: 'If the protagonist is happy, there’s no story at all.'

On the toughness required to be a writer: 'You have to be Rocky.'

On writing in general: 'It’s fun.'"

And the second -- well, everyone wants to be a little more like Clint Eastwood. Duh. Time to pick up a musical instrument! Did you know he composed the musical scores (including the theme of Mystic River) for many of his films? Me neither. Watch this clip of him playing piano at the Directors Guild of America. He plays a little ragtime, some honky tonk, and picks out a squeensy bit of what sounds like a Chopin Nocturne. Clint, if you hadn't won me over already with your serious directing chops, you definitely did when you had your way on stage with those ivories.

Sartorial-ish

2008-09-23T16:41:00.000-07:00

I'm no Sartorialist, but I saw this gentleman walking to work today and couldn't resist taking a picture. It might be a little hard to see (iphone cameras, no zoom, didn't want to look like stalker) but he was carrying the best 1960's style tan leather briefcase and sported that fabulouso cuban inspired hat. Not to mention, I had to give props for his ankle length trousers, donned without socks, and his dress shoes.

Tina Fey is my Favoritest

2008-09-15T10:48:00.001-07:00

On SNL doing her Sarah Palin impression with Amy Poehler as the Hill. Maybe SNL isn't dead after all?

In a Girl's Head

2008-09-11T17:04:00.001-07:00

It's all complicated. Even for us. You know, there's all this blathering about your loved ones, and your not-so-loved ones, and about what you're wearing, and about how long you take in the shower, and omg I didn't do the write-up correctly for this meeting AGAIN. Generally, you're multi-tasking all the time, more so than men, and as soon as one of the many balls you have in the air drops you become overwhelmed by a wave of anxiety and worry.

To combat all the building concern, we use this handy tactic of discussion with our lady friends. Otherwise known as Girl Talk (thanks, NYtimes ). It's how we've been socialized since we were little, sorry, boys. What few women realize, though, is how terrible too much talking can be. Science has happily named this overshare of feelings "co-ruminations," and let me say that post women's college, I can frankly say that this happens all too often. You spend so much time discussing one worry over and over again, that eventually you end up losing the original point while becoming mired waist-deep in depression. Whoops. Read to finally unravel why girls never. stop. talking.

Point of resentment: while this was a discussion of the brain, and the results of various psychological studies, somehow this entire article got placed in the "Fashion & Style" section. WTF, NYT?

Anxiety Can Kiss My...

2008-09-10T17:42:00.001-07:00

fMRI! Wired Science does it again, delving into the nitty gritty fun stuff that everyone wants to learn about. Like, say, finding out whether it's possible to control anxiety and fear that people experience in touchy situations. Apparently you can be trained to manage the anxiety, and even better, it's possible to overcome your fears! It's an old concept, with a new brain-study twist a la Stanford's researching team that use fancy fMRI's to measure your responses. Fair warning, it's informative, but for the real deal, you'll have to wait for a book that's coming out in March '09.

Oh, gmail, thanks a lot for the heads up! I like how personalized that selection was for me. I just wish you wouldn't read my emails, and my chats, and basically everything that I do with such frequency and dedication to do that. It freaks me out. Thank goodness I haven't installed Chrome...yet.

well, that was unexpected

2008-08-29T13:31:00.001-07:00

This morning, McCain chose Sarah Palin (Governor from Alaska! Hockey-mom of 5!) as his running-mate in an obvious attempt to pick up all the Hill supporters sitting on the fence about Obama.

Just because you have ovaries does not mean I will vote for you. Tidbit: if you stand for pretty much everything that Hillary was fighting against, why would I ever consider giving you my vote? I will definitely not vote for you if one of your goals is to overturn Roe v. Wade. I can understand being anti-abortion, however, I cannot understand how you think it is your right to decide every other woman's fate in the country.

I also find it vaguely offensive that she claims she wants to break the glass ceiling by putting a woman in the White House. I want a woman in there, yes, but I want it to be for the right reasons and at the right time. Bad reasons to end up in the White House: being chosen by a presidential candidate so you can strategically pull in the votes that he's lacking -- not based on your policies, or your achievements, or any other substantial reason, just because you're a woman. Otherwise known as, you are a giant tool. Literally. I don't want a pawn of the Republican party being called a force for women.

I would rather lick a syphilitic toilet bowl than hand over my country to you.

For Your Ears

2008-08-25T14:43:00.001-07:00

Tracks that deserve a little aural fixation:

T.I. -- Swagger Like Us (feat. M.I.A., Jay-Z, Kanye, and Lil' Wayne)

Ne-Yo -- Miss Independent (feat. Lil' Wayne, Kanye and Jay-Z).These boys love to work together. Talent magnetized to talent?

On a similar musical note, I am currently addicted to Pandora. I love the way it breaks down each song into its "musical genes." Like, R&B tones, syncopation, dissonance. It pulls out all the technical aspects of composition, puts it in layman's terms, and finds songs that have the same qualities and make-up as your suggested one. I was impressed that Pandora even managed to make up a Japanese channel off my "Utada" request. Well done, American company. Well done. They also have incredibly informative podcasts, if you're willing to take the time to listen. This one does a great job of breaking down dissonance and consonance, even if it is a little heavy on the technical music terminology.

I think I'd go crazy if I didn't have my music. Looks like your plan worked, Momma See.

Summer Loves

2008-08-04T18:05:00.001-07:00

Watch: Mad Men. As if I even need to tell you about this, most likely
if you've watched any television, read any online news source, or
turned on any radio, you'll have heard what an amazing show this is.
Nominated for 17 Emmys (and already winners of 2
Golden Globes) this show is like intellectual crack. For a glimpse
into 1960's society (and, let's just put it out there, our current day
society) this show delves into all the stuff you didn't think possibly
existed, but did, and all the stuff you wish you knew more about, but
don't. It's painfully ambiguous in regards to relationships, pasts,
and futures -- and reflects so amazingly our reality that you can't
help but see a little bit of yourself in every character. Second
season premiered a little more than a week ago, hop on the bandwagon
already so you don't hear all the juicy spoilers ahead of time.

-- Sidenote: The Hills season 4 premieres on August 14th. I don't
watch it. I just, you know, read about it whenever I see an article
about it. Or, um, try to catch re-runs. Or, umm...whatever. It's a
cultural phenomenon. Don't judge me.

Listen: The latest addition to Timba's team, Izza Kizza, just dropped
his mixtape last Wednesday for free on his myspace page. While my
opinion of Girl Talk's Feed definitely improved over time, I'd say
that the first listen through of Kizza's album was on the same level
as my initial reaction to Night Ripper. HELL OF GOOD! My favorite
track so far is Don't Stop Go! but, each track grows on you the more
you listen to it. Zomg, the buttery hip-hop goodness even made me
groove at my desk. Embarrassing? Yes. Uncontrollable? Unfortunately.

Read: Twilight by Stephanie Meyer. This is possibly the biggest
pop-culture drop that I've done in a long while (minus aforementioned
Hills premiere), but after her big appearance at Comic Con with juicy
tidbits about the film version's development, even I got suckered in.
Plus, it's August, and who wants to read about Vampires around
Halloween? That's so cliche. It's like the smutty romance novel you
don't want anyone to know that you're reading, but you can't detach
from your hand. I already read 200 pages, and I only bought it 36
hours ago. 18 of which I spent sleeping. Chew on that one. (Haha,
punny. I swear one day I'll recommend something of greater literary value.)

Buy: Sarah Jessica Parker's Bitten at Steve and Barry's.
Everything is $8.98 (I'm not kidding) from jeans, to dress pants, to
tshirts. The line is surprisingly well-tailored, and while the
material is not the greatest (and I have yet to see how it handles
wear and tear) there is something incredible about slipping on a pair
of jeans that costs lest than $10 and watching them hug in all the
right places, and fall to just the right length. Plus, I can attest to the fact that their cotton tshirts can even withstand a sturdy round in the dryer and maintain its general shape and form even though you meant to hang dry it so it would never shrink.

Pop-culture overload brought to you by endless hours of internets and
lazy summer weekends. Gotta love it.

Ska-doosh

2008-07-24T15:35:00.000-07:00

Also known as, holy mother bunk.

Space held for legitimate blog post TK (haaa) which involves coherent thought at TBD time.

Unstoppable Force, Immovable Object

2008-07-21T00:45:00.000-07:00

I originally had a long-winded post about Dark Knight's midnight showing here. I was waxing poetic about the performances, and the complex story-telling, and the undeniably breathtaking cinematography -- but it really boils down to this.

Never has a movie rocked me to the core as much as this one. Three days later and I am still listening to the theme music, I'm still pondering the plot points, and I can still envision the sights and sounds of the climactic scenes. Perhaps because I have grown up loving and believing in Batman's morals, Bruce Wayne's dilemmas, his ultimately ludicrous and insane devotion to self-sacrifice -- but those should have been drawbacks in watching Dark Knight. I should have hated it, because I went in with the highest expectations I have ever had for a film. I went in hoping for more than I could possibly ask for, and the best part, is that I came out feeling like I'd gotten more than I could even have imagined. I don't do film analysis, I don't understand it well enough. All I'll tell you from a story-teller's perspective, is that Nolan and his cast have done an incredible job of creating multi-faceted, realistic characters who you understand so well and recognize so blatantly as echoing the darkest parts of yourself, that you will be afraid to blink lest they show up as the person sitting next to you.

If I can tell you nothing else, how about this.

Dark Knight makes me believe in men, after I so bitterly lost faith in them. Maybe not all men, (alas), but in the courage, in the strength, in the valor of the good ones. The Dark Knight makes me believe in love again. (This idea, less easily discernible from watching it, but we'll just say it's because my conception of Bruce Wayne as a little girl was brought to life by a man whom I have adored for a number of years.)

And that's only after my first viewing. At midnight. In less than optimal absorption mode.

Can you imagine what will happen after my second?

Uh, what is that thing next to your keyboard?

2008-07-14T11:52:00.001-07:00

CREEPY, is what it is. Think the 3D head of a person (ew) sitting on your desk as you work. Inside a plastic box. The technology is exciting, don't get me wrong, but why the blogger decided to comment on its abilities as a "significant other" reminder is beyond me. I love having 3D decapitated versions of people staring at me as I'm typing, don't you?

One Small Step for Women...

2008-07-10T12:16:00.001-07:00

A very small, itsy-bitsy, teeny... step.

Apparently some really awesome (?) peeps got together and decided to create a comparable "gadget" website to gizmodo or engadget for the ladies. Quaintly named Popgadget the site features all the latest and greatest in popular tech/somewhat useless information.

I think I feel degraded...ish. But alas, tis true that all those popular tech blogs probably appeal to more gents than ladies (blah, blah blah, but I read them, blah blah blah). So, I am grateful for a group of people who got together to try and inform les femmes about all the wicked cool gadget-y stuff out there.

Plus, they try and feature cute/pretty things. It's like a weird amalgam of cuteoverload and gizmodo. Which, I guess, I do kind of like. Ah! I've been niched into a demographic. Someone buy me an it bag and make me feel better. OR, I could just start looking for an outfit to wear to a friend's 2011 wedding in space.

Sick Beats Never Felt So Good

2008-06-19T16:24:00.000-07:00

As Girl Talk's newest album. Feed the Animals dropped today, and in typical "I'm an awesome Artist" style, Gillis has made the album acquirable from donations of any amount (including 0).

Jury's out on whether this mix is better than Night Ripper, but I hate to say that from what little listening I've done so far, it's pretty good, but not as good. I'll have to wait till I've heard it on speakers. It gets pretty badass a little later, probably closer to 7-8 minutes in on the seamless mix -- which is opposite from Night Ripper in my opinion. NR starts out really strong, gradually loses steam through the middle, and ends a bit weak.

Anyone want to go to GT concert? If we combine our powers for good, maybe we can get tickets this time before they sell out immediately.

Gotham Knight

2008-06-17T00:06:00.000-07:00

Someone get this to me, pronto. Um, please.

So, this is pretty late news, especially since I heard it from Big Bro at dinner and, if Wired's already picked it up as a legit story on their blog with a Kevin Conroy interview, then it must have been all over the net for at least a week. Gotham Knights, the animatrix DVD derivative set to come out just before the release of Dark Knight on JULY 18th, is apparently loose in more palpable forms than occasional leaked photos. Wow, you know what would be cool? To work at Wired and be Scott Thill who got that packet of information plus DVD ahead of time. You know what would be cooler? ... I won't say it, but you all know I'm thinking it.

I pine. I perish. I... really want to see the movie and get this DVD already.

Oh Me, Oh May

2008-05-26T17:38:00.000-07:00

So many movies, so much music, so many life changes. Wait, those don't really relate, do they?

My absolute favorite part of traveling is, funny enough, the time in between places. Especially after work started, I rarely find time to journal. After regularly journeying from coast to coast, I always found my most soothing and contemplative moments squished into a center seat somewhere in Cattle Class; which is probably why I knee-jerk to pulling out my moleskin as soon as I've snapped my seatbelt into place. Maybe it's because I don't have the option of wi-fi. Actually, that's likely. Or, maybe it's because I just plug my music in and do nothing but put a pen on paper. No distractions, and no necessity to conduct inane conversation with the person next to me. Or, is it because leaving familiarity gives me a sense of freedom and quiet honesty? Probably some of the first unfiltered honesty I'll experience with myself in however long its been since my last trip. I'm always more creative, more adventurous, more alert and less inhibited when I'm not around everything that I know. But, isn't that everyone? That's what studying abroad was -- what happens in ______ stays in _______, right? What you think about on the plane, stays on the plane? Or, it trails behind you like cans on the Just Married car, clinking against the concrete, reminding you to take some time and untangle everything before you return home dragging that beat up metal crap. How quaintly existential of you, See. That was actually just a vague gesture at explaining why I've been a lazy bum and haven't posted in three weeks. But, you just got to Seattle, how can you possibly have been that busy before all this?

Oh, well just you wait for the daring exploits and tales of the city about our intrepid soon-to-be living in Nob Hill trio. Close read that one.

Upcoming topics for discussion:

1. Sex and the City. Three days till Thursday's premiere. I hope against all hope that it won't be the train wreck that Indy was last week, which might have been a better movie if I was deaf. Or blind. Or in a coma. I'll broach that later.

2. Gossip Girl (TV and Book version!) Reading the book at 23 makes me think Cecily von Zeigesar is a master of satire and irony. Thinking about how I would have read it at 14 makes me want to never have children. Or at least, if I do, sit down and have the birds and bees talk when they turn 8. No, wait, 4 1/2.

3. Summer albums are dropping everywhere we look. Usher. Coldplay. Chris Brown. Movin' mountains won me over since Raymond's hearkening back to his origins -- angsty love song ballades. For his upbeat siiiccckkk club sound: Play Me. (No pun intended...ish). Viva la Vida is going to be another Coldplay classic -- props to the group for integrating classical sounds with current day pop. They did it oh so long ago, but the best part is how they've kept it going. R.I.P. The Verve. Chris Brown, well, need I mention Forever? But, that's so 6 weeks ago. His now it song is Last 2 Know.

4. Rogan for Target's GO International line. Till June 28th. Saharan prints. Trendy. Cheap. Go buy it.

Till I'm back from my travels up north and more capable of structuring and writing a coherent entry, here's a little current music joy to partake of:

Aww

2008-05-07T11:58:00.000-07:00

Boys are so funny.

Not in the "wah, boys are such strange creatures that I don't understand!" whiney way that, yeah I know, I have lamented in the blog before. What I mean is guys are just funny. They are creatures of entertainment, and are quick to take every opportunity to crack an inappropriate joke, or make people squirmishly uncomfortable. They have comedic timing, usually, and they're witty, hilarious, and I swear they just get away with so much more shit than women do. Look, I just typed shit, twice. You know what I think when I write shit (thrice!) in one post? I think, damn, now I look really unlady-like. I think, well great, now I'm an uncouth female writer and I'm taking cheap shots because I ran out of the really melodic, lyrical bull that I'm used to putting out in the world. I think, I seem like freaking Amy Poehler, and I don't think she's funny. I think she's crass and a little disgusting and like I'd rather rub a dead rat on my hand than watch her on TV. When a guy swears in his writing, like say in another blog that I frequent written by a certain boyperson/coworker/I bet you won't notice this for a week does, the profanity comes off not only pithy and adeptly turned, but I swear to God sometimes it sounds brilliant. Like fuck was the greatest word ever invented, or shit was the best descriptor anyone has ever used. I have never had so much aggravated language in a blog post before, and I will brazenly admit that it feels both liberating and, well, twitchy. My leg is popping up and down now. Swearing in public turns me into the squirrel from Hoodwinked.

I was reading Marie Claire which, I still think, is one of the best women's magazines out there today. It's informed, intelligent, and it makes a damn good case for being an independent, free-thinking woman. All the important "IN" words for women. But, it's really just not funny. There are polite quips and banter here and there, and the recent article about dealing with the downside of wedding season (omg, totally do not give the same gift to every bride and groom you see this year) is supposed to be so funny because they include a sidebar on how to handle nasty 911 situations, like the bride being pregnant on her wedding day. Do NOT make jokes about her belly and how she's a mommy-to-be, FYI. Holy fuck (whoo! count 6) it's just boring. But it's the kind of humor that women are accustomed to and hits right in their comfort zone. Polite giggles with your hand held over your mouth, right ladies? Throwing your head back and laughing at a magazine would be, well, in poor taste. Boys get Maxim. Boys get Details. Boys get freaking Playboy. Not saying I want naked dudes linked in with my intellectual stimulation, but when women try to put it all together it just comes off smutty. Hello, Cosmo.

The Daily Show has all dudes, right? Are there any women? I'm not a habitual watcher, so I wouldn't know. And the Colbert Report, well, duh. Okay, but you have SNL. Or Mad TV. And Tina Fey made history by becoming the first lead SNL female comedy writer. She's funny! She wrote one of my favorite movies of all time, Mean Girls, and she's the featured celebrity (because every magazine has to feature a celebrity now) in the May issue of Marie Claire. Except, Tina Fey is one of a very few smart, witty women who have managed to retain some modicum of femininity while they stay true their inner hijinx. Cybil Shepherd comes to mind as a funny woman. Candice Bergen on occasion. And even so, in my mind, the perception of them is slightly masculine. They have a fairly mannish quality to them. Take That 70's show for example. Redhead Donna, hilarious, but with a definite air of masculinity. Brunette Jackie, laugh worthy but in such a hee-hee, airhead way. So, what, being funny means you're being like a dude?

I often wonder if I can identify a female writer or male writer just by their style. In fact, reading Marie Claire today I was trying to do that. Male, Female, Female, Female. And, perhaps pleasantly surprising enough, I was wrong a few times. But only, and get this, when it was a man writing. Men can adapt female writing, but then they seem, what, gay? Women can adapt male writing, but then they seem butch. But how many female writers are there for GQ? Or Maxim? I seriously considered applying to Maxim when I was looking for jobs, but would I be giving up my liberated woman views to work for them? Verdict: yes. Application killed. But, is that holding me back? Guys will write for a women's magazine, so, why shouldn't I try writing for a men's magazine? Because I don't ever feel like I could be funny in the way that they need. I could be cute funny, and that's what it all comes down to. Men can be laugh out loud, raucous, hilarious and completely inappropriate funny. Women can be laughable, adorable, and quaint. Fucking A.

Even at the tail end of this ranty post, all I can think is, "I read my writing and think, gee, I feel like flowers and clouds after reading this." I read other people's writing, mainly male writers, and think, "Yeah, that's it, get into the gritty shit. Do it." I can't even get myself to do it -- this entry is a definite stretch for me -- so if, as a women's college educated, independent, liberal female, I'm worrying about crossing the line, someone tell me how women in general can toe the line between funny and crass without getting shit on?

I've definitely heard at least a couple guys tell me that girls will never be as funny as boys. Is it because we aren't willing to take the chances? Or because taking the chances makes us look too much like one of the dudes. Freaking gender stereotypes. I am liberated. I've made "that's what she said" jokes, albeit like twice, but I've gone there and I've done that. I've done keg stands, watched videos I never should have watched with things in places they never should have been, and I've shot guns, I like comic books and I can beat you at Street Fighter II. And I still like pink, and high heels, and make-up and snuggling.

And the next time some asshole guy slams his arm into my shoulder because he thinks I'm a prissy bitch, I'm going to turn around and knee him in the balls or punch him in the face. Cause, you know what, I am a prissy bitch.

I just wish I could figure out how to do it all without feeling like I was giving up some special, delicate, flowery part of myself.

Clazziquai - Lover Boy

2008-05-04T02:48:00.000-07:00

Really, music is sometimes so much better when you don't have to worry about insipid lyrics. Here's looking at you, Chris Brown. Also, see Clazziquai's song "Romeo N Juliet" which will pop up in the menu, on the far right, after this song finishes playing. They sucker me in with their Jazz sounds. Tricksters.

Fatigue?

2008-05-04T02:24:00.001-07:00

Overly long post about being awake at 2a.m. has been reduced to this:

Type-A Friends, that's all of you, make sure you take time out to recharge. Meaning:

1. Spend a day/night doing absolutely nothing so you can clear out all the junk in your head (this does not include drinking. Drinking makes you more dumberererer). Get sleep.

2. Go see people. Do not stay locked at home doing mundane, silly, boringness because it feels easy and safe. Do something that will engage you socially and keep you invested in your existence not tied to an inanimate object. There are very worthwhile people to spend your time with, go be with them.

3. I sound like Stephen Covey, I'm going to stop.

Happy May! See above post for fun music. Also, go see Iron Man. If you can, sometime this weekend, when there are lots of people in the theater. Do not go for surprise plot twists (honestly, that's not why anyone watches a SuperHero movie nowadays). However, do expect snappy dialogue with healthy doses of banter, neat gadgets, and plenty of comic book references for adequate nerd-lovin'. Robert Downey Jr. makes the film laugh out loud funny, his timing and irreverence floating lines that would seem pedantic from another actor, and, for a man who's in his 40s, well, not a peep or complaint from my mouth about appearance and/or physical capabilities. Gwyneth Paltrow is luminous. Strawberry blonde hair, fabulous legs plus a killer backless azure dress (hrmm... who made that?) only highlight how well-suited she is to play a flustered, assertive, no wait, meek, no wait, feisty Pepper Potts with her demure half smiles fluttering boy hearts everywhere. Yada, yada, yada, go watch, be merry, enjoy spring.

Suppression

2008-04-25T15:11:00.000-07:00

I haven't really smoked in a long time. And by not really smoked, I'm not talking about the social smoking that happens over drinks on patios or huddled together beneath a single coat outside a bar. I'm talking about the way I used to enjoy a clove or two or four over multiple cups of tea with T and K: sitting in K's apartment, or in the Bug or the Jeep, or going back even further, behind Stone-D in those wretched plastic deck chairs as we philosophized and enjoyed the waning warmth of my first East Coast Fall.

Growing up in Northern California gave me a perennial hatred of smoking. What was the point when there was so much clean air, so many healthy alternatives -- like biking! -- to give you a buzz instead of a cigarette? My father smoked for the majority of my (and his) life, and even as a little girl I did my damnedest to get him to quit. I still remember the first time I told Big Bro I was vaguely intrigued by it, as much as it disgusted me. I couldn't help but imagine the indefinable enjoyment that filling your lungs with a foreign substance would bring. By then, my father had quit smoking -- a result of medical problems brought on by his forty plus years inhaling carcinogens -- but, his last half full carton of cigarettes remained in the "Cabinet of Forbidden Things," just below the liquor. Big Bro grabbed an unopened pack, produced a book of matches and led me onto the patio with the single command to "smoke it." I remember blubbering on about tar in my lungs and envisioning black clouds floating morbidly in my chest. Instead of lighting up and inhaling, I stood awkwardly in front of my brother's stone cold stare and ran whatever crappy stoge my father owned beneath my nostrils while I forced myself to intake the raw, upchuck-inducing scent of tobacco. Later, I would cut that same cigarette open with my swiss army knife and sift through the leaves, trying to discern what made this otherwise mundane brown substance so life altering.

So obviously, it was rather a big deal when I picked up smoking in college. Initially it was experimental. Try it on for size and see if the inner bad girl in See would revel in it the way she'd enjoyed all the other debauchery I'd pointedly avoided in high school. Much to my disdain, I did, a lot. For the first month and a half of college I was hooked, and since then it's become both a stress and an escapist tendency which produces occasional unhealthy trysts when I'm feeling anxious, or in the case of senior year, full on semester long lapses. Since graduating though, and likely because I've spent so much more time in California living a much healthier existence, the habit has subsided and for the better part has dropped from my life completely. Unless, of course, a select few people or situations pop up which bring back the familiar yearning.

Earlier this week, Big Bro discovered an empty clove box in the glove compartment of his car. Perhaps a year ago that box would have been the inevitable unearthing of distressing anxiety levels, but funny enough this was just a forgotten remnant of this past Fall and T's visit. I have reserve boxes well hidden, but they haven't been touched since she left in October. I quit! I quit months ago and whatever flare ups there have been were negligible. For the better part I decided to leave the dirty addiction behind me and find more constructive ways to relieve tension. But since Big Bro mentioned it to me, I haven't been able to get it off my mind. Is it just because I've been a wee bit stressed and, when stressed, I crave the sweet aftertaste and momentary buzz of a clove (controlled escapism at its finest)? Or, is it because Big Bro brought an otherwise well suppressed tendency to the forefront of my mind? I've never really considered myself a smoker, and if someone asks I'll generally say no (perhaps with some addendums), but is it possible that the reality is I'm actually a smoker pretending to be a non-smoker?

When we've managed to suppress or control a desire, a tendency, or an otherwise unattractive aspect of ourselves that we loathe, that doesn't mean it's disappeared. It still exists, floating patiently in the tiny corner its been relegated to, and I assume, waiting for whatever previously created synapse to fire which will bring it to the surface. Arguably, these could be referred to as "gut reactions" or "instincts" right? If I wasn't talking about smoking, couldn't I just pass this off as genetic inclination? My father was a smoker, my quasi-addiction is just an instinctual development of some kind. Hrm, there's a claim that's going to garner a lot of smacks. From the few psych studies I've read, like this one in the nytimes, supposedly our knee-jerk responses, or "gut reactions," are from years of not only evolution but of our own personal experience. Which means we're simply taking situational and circumstantial evidence and instantaneously comparing it to a backlog of information we've stored in our brains. Your immediate response is based on years of conscious or unconscious observations. But what happens now, after we've learned how to suppress and ignore even the strongest reactions we feel? Doesn't it imply that, at a very basic level, we've taught ourselves as an entire race not to trust ourselves and therefore not to be ourselves?

While this may seem like some well-formed argument to start smoking again, it's not. It's just curious to think about all the daily reactions we -- okay, I -- have and whether or not many of them are unfounded. Of late, a lot of my knee-jerk responses have been unfortunately tuned incorrectly. What I believe is something similar to X situation from my past, is actually something entirely different, often times contrary to what I originally thought. Is this what growing up means? Questioning everything you know and wondering whether it's even remotely correct? Humans are so smart now they can outsmart themselves.

A wise friend told me the other day, it's not necessarily how we recognize something as good or bad, or even how long it takes us to recognize it; it's the actions we take after we've recognized it that define us. Cue Michael Cane and Christian Bale circa 2005. Smoke, yes? Smoke, no. Bitch-smack girl, yes? Bitch-smack girl, no.

Ah well, much though cloves kept me company throughout college, looks like they're going to stay stuck in their nasty little boxes hidden away for the rest of time. Or, you know, until I have a phenomenally large freak-out that reminds me of X so much, I can't control myself.

What? Like you've never given in before. Geeze.

Wicked Flipping Cool: HAF

2008-04-01T14:43:00.000-07:00

First: Mad props to big bro for hopping a cab and venturing into the Presidio to try and get the clowntravelagency.com/ bag! Though it was fruitless, the adventure and adrenaline (for him and everyone around me at work) was well worth it. Whoever has devised the publicity/promotional/marketing plan for Dark Knight Returns is brilliant. Fanboys beware, you're predictable and easily excitable. (And yes, I'm totally on the bandwagon too.) I'll post the new trailer when it goes up, which, should be sometime by the end of today, hopefully.

Second: Oh, gmail. If only you had an auto-send feature for sending emails not super late at night so I don't look nuts when I finish work at 2am. Alas, instead you've only got custom time features. HAF!*

Third: I have decided to become an exotic dancer whilst using my artistic abilities to make elaborate macaroni necklaces to subsidize any living expenses and moral derailment.

Dear Jon Arbuckle,

2008-03-31T22:07:00.000-07:00

You were vaguely pitiful when I read about you as a child and watched you talk to your snarky cat and your uh, interesting, dog. Now, you are classically schizo. If you haven't heard about this, well, you're just silly and have been living under a rock. Garfield minus Garfield is all the rage amongst net-junkies. But really, everyone who's nerd enough to have read about the site/googled it/heard about it, somehow feels like Jon brings a well-hidden, slightly neurotic facet of themselves to the surface. Sock puppet? Hand cramp? Or, in my case, conquer the world? Pretending you're oblivious to what I'm talking about doesn't help. You know exactly what I mean.

Pre-nups, Hookups and Breakups

2008-03-26T14:13:00.000-07:00

Twenty-three is the most awkward, exhilarating, terrifying, gratifying, f-ing ridiculous time of my life (so far). I'd like to say that I always felt this way, heady uncertainty and excitement at every age and every maturity bend I rounded -- but that's just not true. Excitement about the unknown, yes, but there's this irksome belief now that I can conquer the world which makes everything seem different. I'm delusional now. I think I can accomplish anything with my meager skill and absurdly gargantuan ambition, so I go about trying to make it happen by tapping into as many opportunities as I can. However, in the process, have over-committed myself to my family, my friends, and my ambitions all while running my body and psyche down so I not only have a freaking half foot scar on my stomach to prove my insane devotion to sado-masochistic behavior, but also the constant ebb and flow of looming, swirling vertigo constantly nipping at my heels. And sometimes I still don't feel like I'm doing enough or making the most of my time. Yo, when did I get so freaking Type A?

I've had a series of interesting conversations recently: about men, about women, about ambition and accomplishment, about Sex and the City, about failure, and, of course, about relationships. I saw a picture recently that said "Someone should sue Disney for all the false hopes and dreams they gave little girls [and boys]." I want to say I disagree, but... I guess the more I'm bouncing along, the sadder and more cynical I'm becoming. Maybe twenty-three is characterized by all time high cynicism or maybe I'm prone to being twisted and unhappy because I want to be a writer? Maybe everyone around me is crazy, or maybe this is just life. (In which case, F#$&.) Yesterday, my very cynical and jaded friend Z spoke the best philosophical bullsh$% I've heard from him in years (paraphrased to the best of my ability):

"Even I know that all the work and ambition and crap that we go through doesn't mean anything if you don't have love. Because love is awesome, and love is worth living for and it's what makes everything worthwhile."

Good old golden glibbed Z. (Take that alliteration.) He stuck it to me good. The little idealistic part of See that stays safe and hidden beneath piles of drive and goals, but wants to believe every last word of it. I, in fact, do believe every last word. Especially due to the greater than handful of married friends and acquaintances. If they're not married, they will be married in the next year. Or, my fair share of single friends wending their way through pseudo-relationship and one night stand bliss. Or, even better, the unlucky few (or many) friends in the throes of mucky breakups. None of these people are under-accomplished or ambition-less. They're actually people I hold in high regard, and whom I admire. By textbook standards, they're the people who make the world go round, and are so busy making it happen they should have no time for matters of the heart. Yet, somehow, across the board I hear the same lament: Whaddafux up with Love? Lament, lament, rant, rant, boo, hiss, anger. All the smart people in the world, put together in a room, couldn't figure out the answer to that question. I know enough disgruntled, jaded, twenty and thirty (eek) somethings to start a small civilization based solely on irritation and unhappiness.

Except, that's why it's so strange. I've never felt more alive in my life. I've never felt more stimulated, and excited, and ready to face a new challenge. I'm terrified, but I'm open to anything. Somehow all the craziness of this age -- the mayhem I've attempted to quietly mask as organization, stability and ambition -- is making me believe in and appreciate love more whenever I find it. With my family, with my friends, and with all the little transient moments between people who have found a way to connect and understand each other. So maybe, in all of my attempts to understand "everlasting" and "enduring" love, I'm just realizing that it might not feel as pervasive and overwhelming as it did in uh, High School. But, it's perhaps even preferable in this form. The little nugget of happiness that nudges its way into my heart between breaths, when I take a moment to stop and remember all the fabulous people and relationships in my life. Plus, I figure, one day I'll be lying on a beach somewhere sipping a gin and tonic thinking, "all the turmoil was worth it."

HAHA, what a lie. Anyways, enough melodrama. Something to lighten the mood for a day of silly ruminations and writings:

This picture is amazing! So much for professionialism. This blog has made it into full-blown hilarity and inappropriateness.

Some Days

2008-03-25T16:10:00.000-07:00

Even my lucky rocket-ship underpants don't help.

Dammit.

My Coffee Shop

2008-03-20T12:32:00.000-07:00

Around the corner from my office there's a coffee shop I've grown a bit attached to. It's your typical java joint, a few mismatched wood tables and chairs behind the peeling plastic letters of its name stuck on a window, coffee cannisters and flavored syrup bottles cramped together along the wall. It's one of those places you'd pass by without a second glance, stereotypical Store A in quintessential City B. They say that familiarity breeds attraction, a gradual acquaintance eventually chipping away the walls of trepidation and hesitancy, and I have to admit, little JS wooed me in spite of myself. But let's back up for a second, because to properly understand my attachment to JS, you have to understand the long-drawn out history I have with coffee shops.

For years, I'd wanted to find a neighborhood shop I could go to read, to chat, to frequent. Maybe because romantic images of The Writers from the Lost Generation sitting at tables in Paris were etched into my brain; maybe because I wanted to feel brilliantly inspired by coffee fumes; maybe because I just like sitting with a book in a corner and have been trying to find a way to legitimize it for years. Regardless, it took a long time to feel even mildly inspired that I would sniff out a place that resonated with me. Edinburgh was the first city I lived in that gave me hope. The classic, cobble-stoned streets and hearty Scottish mentality had me searching all over Old Town, even hitting up JK Rowling's favorite haunts, cause if it's good enough for JK, then it would be damn good for me. But, shop after shop turned out to be a disappointment, nothing quite fitting my palate. So, little See left the UK jones-ing for a place she could happily call her place.

Then, during Senior Fall, the cafe down the street from K's apartment in Boston is seeming like a great candidate. The vibe seemed right, the food was nummy, and I had a grudging affection for the regular customers. In fact, I was a regular customer, popping in to pick up tea and grub on my daily trot back to the permanent dent I'd left on Apartment #2's couch. I even found myself donning an apron and smiling pretty behind the counter as an employee, buoyant as can be when friends stopped by to say hello, unforgettable shared misery during busy brunches with co-workers who would later introduce me to amazing friends, and a hint of romance as I watched someone special walk by the window and in the door. Yet, something about PF still didn't sit right -- which, in retrospect, might be due to the unsolicited advances of my boss.. hrm -- and while it left a deep mark on my heart, I had my doubts. Or, maybe, I just wasn't ready to dub a coffee shop with such a heavy title, at least not until I felt like I knew that kind of connection was mutual. But, let's be fair, PF left a caffeine addiction that even on my best days, hits me at my core. A couple espresso shots a day for a semester will do that to you. And now, I think about PF and how it still holds a special place in my heart, even if I pretend that I don't.

So, more than a year later and a few coffee shops down the line, I'm feeling pretty numb. No more coffee shops for See. Most of them are pretty negligible and the ones that seemed promising... well perhaps those were worse than being negligible cause those ended in disillusionment with coffee shops period.

Then, something happened at JS this morning. The owner, who at this point has seen me in various states of disarray, handed me my bagel and coffee with a smile. Smiles are underrated. After a few days of serious emotional roller coasters, a smile from an acquaintance-stranger gave me a feeling of warmth I normally wouldn't expect. There I was, scrounging through my wallet for the extra five cents that I needed to pay, feeling like an idiot picking through an unfortunately large load of pennies. And, perhaps sensing my unease, he said, "whatever you have is just fine." It's rare to find shop owners who aren't so tight-fisted they could say something like that. But, add to that a decor I like, my growing affection for the Mission, and my unquestioned appreciation for good service, and... out of nowhere I'd found my coffee shop.

This entry actually isn't about me. It's really more of an allegory, shall we say, for my dear friend, Rysiebops.

So, good sir, here is what I'll tell you. The caffeine addiction never really goes away, I don't think. Time is supposed to heal all wounds, but sometimes there are wounds that never really close. That shop, the one that sticks with you no matter what, the one that made you want to show up first thing in the morning even when you were utterly exhausted you liked it so much... that shop will always be with you, and the only person who ever has the power to take away its meaning, is you. Especially, if that shop feels the same way about you. Maybe you'll find another coffee shop that makes you feel the way this one does, but maybe you'll just find a way to make this coffee shop the only coffee shop you ever deemed worth of the title Rysiebops Place. I'm a romantic at heart, so I believe that some coffee shops are just meant to be. Gros bisous.

Barfity Bloggity wah?

2008-03-14T17:05:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I write pretty well. No, honestly. At certain points in time there's the off chance that I'll write something witty, and pithy and generally enjoyable -- even to me. That's not to sound like a pompous ego-maniac, more to acknowledge my overwhelming self-deprecating manner. (Which, at this point, having spent a fair amount of time with other "writers," I've found is pretty standard. Oh man, I'm a cliche.) I blame Dave. Dear Dave, how could you help re-popularize this self-aware writing style that is predicated by making terrible self-referential jokes all the time? I like how many dashes I used in those words just now. Dashes make me feel smart.

But really, this entire post is just an attempt to stimulate my writing brain into working again. Here's a note about writing articles on topics you think you really care about: don't do it. I have at this point exhausted what I once felt was a lot to say about this topic -- I don't feel I can be all that honest, nor do I feel I'll say anything that people won't be angry about once heard. Alas, perhaps that's the point, I'm not supposed to say what's nice, I'm supposed to say what needs to be said. Be honest, be accurate -- but it doesn't always mean you can be fair. Case in point: I'm profiling a program I originally admired, and subsequently am incredibly disappointed by, having learned that some of its participants came away from their experience with a somewhat sour attitude. It's made me question whether I have real commitment to anything. The subject matter interests me, and I can't even finish the article. Technically, I should be able to write this without a ton of thought -- but I actually give a damn about the subject matter, so now I'm not writing at all because everything is coming out mean. Whoo, I'm a commitment-phobe! But hey, I'm young, it's no big deal. I love being in my twenties. You can blame everything on youth, and inexperience, and on a desire to be a "free-spirit." No one will hold it against you, really, because hey, you're young! ::Light cigarette, take swig of vodka, frolic in otherwise inappropriate manner for a lady with any class::

So ends the writing wrant...and now I'm just procrastinating. Oh well. Rysiebops has passed this on to me, and there is relative joy to it, so I pass it to you. Even my blogging is uninspired. I'm putting someone else's vlog on my blog. Good lord.

Who Needs a Brass Rat?

2008-03-12T19:09:00.000-07:00

These rings are so much cooooolllleerrrr. Or should I say, so much nerdier. If this isn't a testament to fashion looking to all facets of life for inspiration, I don't know what is. I present to you rings by ITSNONAME, which are modeled after typical class/insignia rings... but as opposed to that Uni seal you'd expect, it's all about the periodic element that the rings are made of, with their elemental weight. Did I even say that correctly? I have completely removed myself from the scientific world, but hopefully some of you will find these enjoyable. Just don't tell anyone that the nerd in me secretly really wants one, deal?

Iron Man

2008-02-29T15:27:00.000-08:00

Tony Stark. Is. Amazing. Perhaps this explains my fairly consistent interest a certain genre of gentlemen. Nothing is quite so attractive as a man who knows how to use his brain. And, knowing how to build and create stuff with your hands is pretty sexy too. If only I were joking. Anyways, in all of my comic book nerd glory, I present you with the new Iron Man trailer. Enjoy!

Are You a Hack?

2008-02-26T23:00:00.000-08:00

Someone recently said to me that the reason they listen to foreign music, is so they can enjoy the song without thinking about the insipid lyrics. Twice the melodic enjoyment, half the soulless writing. That being said, is it actually the novelty of sound that entrances aforementioned person? Is it actually nothing to do with the words, just the expression of so-called "angst" and a momentary "catharsis" that entices them into the music? Essentially, the exoticism of the experience is actually what you crave, yet its exoticism is balanced by an idea that you are familiar with -- in this case a particular musical motif. The song construction is the same, it's just the words that provide that extra jolt of excitement. (I would have hurt myself if I wrote "je ne sais quoi" there -- it's such a cheap out for writers when they actually can't think of something. Try not to call me out for it when I actually use it in my writing since I couldn't think of something.)

So, here is the question: in appealing to the exoticism inherent in the story I'm being asked to tell, to the "extra something different and special," does that, in fact, make me a sell-out? Okay, okay, it has been pointed out that I'm not actually a "sell-out" because I make the grand sum of 0 dollars, therefore I can't technically sell-out. But, still --

am I basically exposing my writing "special parts" just to catch a break?

Bump, Bump, Bump

2008-02-25T02:16:00.002-08:00

I'm currently on a huge House/Techno music kick for some unknown reason. Although, if I can get my hands on this french album Le Bapteme by M (Mathieu Chedid) then there will be a quick deviation. However, until then, here are some joyful songs:

JJ Flores & Steve Smooth - Being in Love
Stellar Projekt feat. Brandi E - Get Up, Stand Up
Plumb - In My Arms
Gravity Rainbow Van She Remix - Klaxons

Yes, Plumb. Don't ask me how she went from pop to house, but she did. For a taste of the French album, see below post!

Aimes-tu chansons Francais?

2008-02-25T02:16:00.001-08:00

-M- : Je suis une cigarrette

Waterboarding

2008-02-15T17:02:00.000-08:00

Here's the serious post. This guy tries out waterboarding, on himself, to ascertain whether or not this is legitimately "torture." He votes yes. I trust him, because he's the idiot (?) who decided to try it. I don't even know what to say. The government is ridiculous. Americans are ridiculous. It'd be nice if I could blame only this country, but let's be real and acknowledge that this has gone on for centuries, and that other countries use even worse forms of torture and just generally say that human beings are capable of some nasty, heartless behavior. Ugh, disgust.

I do work...really.

2008-02-15T11:08:00.000-08:00

Wicked awesome dress by T-Bags that has made my wish list. Since I don't think I can afford it at the moment, or that it will look as fabulous as it could on me, I am passing on the wealth of knowledge to others. If you can afford it... well, don't tell me because I'll go waterworks on you, instantly. Apparently I have no reservations about back cleavage, even though I'm not a big fan of over-exposing front cleavage. Does that make me a back-skank?

------

(10Q racked.com)

Extra: Jovovich-Hawk for Target is debuting on 03.02.08 (old news, I know). But, it had to be reiterated because I am eagerly awaiting the release. At least J-H is coming out with a super accessible reduced line, as compared to MK and Ashley Olsen's devilishly cute Elizabeth and James which will forever (for-now) also be out of reach. ( :( ) And Elizabeth and James is supposed to be their "accessible fashion line"! See is holding a picket sign and stomping in circles. Freaking Neiman Marcus. My art history professor was right, Neiman Marcus = Needless Markups.

Yeah, need to get back to more serious information. Soon, soon! Less silly thoughtlessness and focus on materialism! Eep.

Annoying Po-Mo Meta-fiction that No One Should Read, But was Fun For Me to Write

2008-02-14T01:01:00.000-08:00

Scene:
Exterior of San Francisco's Marina District. Scott Street on a characteristically warm Northern California winter evening as neighborhood shops are closing. Shopgirls peek out as they shut doors, local residents amble down the sidewalk with flushed cheeks in their gym clothes. We focus on a floor to ceiling glass front of a trendy backlit restaurant filled with white walls and only curved furniture. A young 20-something woman (perhaps ethnic? of moderate attractiveness? no, this is not a self-reference, what are you talking about) strolls through the door and enters the restaurant, finding only an over-eager waiter and a well-dressed couple of middle-upper class upbringing. Unless one was actually brought up in say I dunno, East Oakland. But let's be serious, it's the Marina, no one from East Oakland likes the Marina.

Girl: (Thinking) Fuck. Bad idea.

The waiter dashes across the room, hrm... perhaps he bounds? yes, bounds, across the room to greet the young woman.

Waiter: How many?
Girl: Just 1, thanks.
Waiter: Just 1? To eat here? Alone?
Girl: (Pause to consider potentially slowed mental processes). Yes.

The couple, a woman and man (clarification necessary for San Francisco) halt their conversation to simultaneously peruse her.

Woman: (Thinking) Oh my god, poor thing. I am so glad that's not me. I have a boyfriend.
Man: (Thinking) Me likey.

As the young woman is seated, the couple resume conversing while the waiter bumbling pulls away the second place setting on the young woman's table.

** Po-Mo Meta-Fiction says: this part is boring, SKIP -- fast forward **

The girl is nestled in comfortably to her impressively curved seat with a book and her bowl of noodles (so not a personal reference, why are you looking at me like that) and attempting, rather awkwardly, to prevent oil splatter on the pages of the book by cautiously holding her napkin in front of it. Proving too difficult a task for a young padawan of noodle eating, she proceeds to replace her napkin on her lap and indiscriminately splash the pages of a book given to her by *INSERT VERY IMPORTANT PERSON'S NAME IN YOUNG WOMAN'S LIFE & CAREER HERE*. (see? not a personal reference. I would never splash oil on pages of books. Author's Note: Dear Dave, sorry about your book).

The woman, rather conspicuously, reaches across the table for the man's hand and strokes his fingers.

Woman: (Loud Whisper) Do you think she feels bad eating alone?
Man: (Louder Whisper) I think she can hear us.
Woman: (Actual Whisper) No way!

The woman shoots a sidelong glance at the girl -- who is still indiscriminately splashing oil on pages and eating her noodles in an incredibly sloppy, unlady-like manner. (sooooooo not me.)

Woman: (Loudly) Sweetie, I have to run the errands, you've got the check, right?
Man: (Coughs on noodle) Uh, yeah, no problem. Oh yeah, make sure you get milk. And, ya know... ya know?
Woman: Of course, pumpkin!

The woman stands and, after readjusting the shirt (?) that seems to be melted onto her moderately endowed chest, bends in Betty Boop to style to place a theatrical kiss on the man's cheeks. (You go girlfriend, hell yeah, you got a man. You got a man and he's paying for you. Shiiiiittttt.)

Woman exits.

Waiter: Thank you, sir, how was the soup?
Man: Oh, it was great thanks. Oh, you can stop pouring her water, she left to run errands. Left me with the check again, heh heh! Looks like I'm paying.

(Author's Note: Gentlemen, when left alone in a restaurant with only a waiter and a stranger, best not to let that one slip out. You look like a d-o-u-c-h-e. Everyone can hear you, despite your attempts at making your voice loud and booming. Ohhhhh, it was intentional! Okay, wait, you just are a d-o-u-c-h-e, my bad. Save the kiddies! Don't use bad words! Spell them!)

Waiter: Ha ha, yes, I bring you check now. (In case you haven't noticed, we are in an Asian restaurant. Yes, we are. The noodles were a tip. Left by me, the author. Good tip, right?)

Man: By the way, what's your name?

The man extends his hand to shake the waiter's. They maintain the shake for a significant amount of time.

Waiter: Heem. H-e-e-m.
Man: Him?
Waiter: Heeeeeeeem. Two E.
Man: Oh, right, okay, Heem. Nice to meet you, I'm Ka-ho.

They are still holding hands.

Waiter: Kaaah, ho?
Girl: (Thinking) A-hole?
Man: Ka-ho, fast, short.
Waiter: Ah, keho.
Man: Uh, yeah, close enough. It's very nice to meet you!

Still holding.

Waiter: Yes, so nice to meet you too!
Girl: (Thinking) Swap numbers! Fall in love! Start a domestic partnership! Buy a dog that will end up homeless, or halved, when you break up!

The waiter finally drops the man's hand and bounds, (yes, just like Tigger) into the backroom to write down his numb-- I mean, complete the cash transaction. While the man is left alone in the room with the girl, he gives her a full assessment, and straightens his clothes in a (mildly) pathetic attempt to preen and puff out his extremely masculine pectorals. The girl, garnering his glances using the feminine wiles of reading her book intently and eating noodles like a blind dog with the flu, remains slyly "unaware" of his position.

He strides to the table.

Man: So... tell me, why's a pretty girl like you eating alone in a restaurant?
Girl: (Mouth filled with noodles) Arfunugenheim?
Man: I love a girl who talks dirty.
Girl: (Mouth still filled with noodles) Ruffenorgenabu?
Man: Perfect. My place is on the corner. Meet me there in 10 minutes.

The waiter re-enters, bill in hand -- duhhh, smiley faces next to phone numbers at the bottom of checks are just excellent customer service.

Waiter: (Batting eyelashes) Thank you, sir. I hope to see you again soon!
Man: Uh, of course, yes, thank you Him.
Waiter: (Shifts uncomfortably) Yes. Nice to meet you.
Man: Nice to meet you.

The man awkwardly bows, assuming that all Asian cultures must bow. He saw it on an episode of Mash. And in, like, The Last Samurai with Tom Cruise. Tom Cruise is God cause he went nuts on Oprah. No one does that to Oprah. Unless they like, know everything.

** Po-Mo Meta-Fiction says: I'm bored. And sleepy. End. Also, what the hell were you thinking when you wrote this. It blows. You are le suck at writing exercises! **

Provided for a single day's entertainment and procrastination of others. This message will be (vehemently) destructed in 24 hours, because as stated: it blows. Thank you. P.S. Happy Valentine's Day.

New York is Calling My Name

2008-02-13T14:42:00.000-08:00

Okay, realistically, New York is calling to every 20-something with a dream and Type A personality; but the last couple weeks have been torture when I think about how close I could have been to the catwalks in Bryant Park (darn you, logic and maturity). Alas, I could not gaze upon the beauty that was Valentino's goodbye line, or Marc Jacobs venture into pastels, or the new fun that is Bandleader inspired coats. Uh, did I just say that? Dear former band geeks: you are vindicated. Thanks to the glory of the internet I bring you some pieces that j'adore. And no, they ain't Dior.

(thank you refinery29.com for the pom-pom worthy sets of photos -- L2R: Temperley, Robert Geller and Rag & Bone.)

The Rag & Bone is my favorite. Contemporary, but the clean lines and simplicity of the jacket will help it last beyond the trends of Fall/Winter 08. At least for a little while. Also, Orange (pumpkin?) is back and ready to whip some hiney, and it's joined by Emerald and Muted Gold.

(L2R: 3.1 Phillip Lim, Karen Walker, Halston)

Talk about killer color combos. Methinks the millennial decade will be characterized by females rolling in old-school glamour considering how glittery and glowing color palettes are these days. One day, I will actually make money and have financial stability so I can buy pieces like this. Until then, nose to the grindstone writing ridiculously inane pieces for publications and dreams of the beauty and glory that is to come whence I arrive in NYC. Le Sigh.

Thank G-d Someone Noticed

2008-02-06T14:13:00.000-08:00

Pianists are getting way out of control with their onstage showboating. (cough, Lang Lang, cough) So, thankfully, someone started talking about it. I don't have much patience for it -- a reason I've never gone to see Lang Lang in concert, and why I will vouch for Yundi Li even though he's an @$$ offstage -- but it's nice to see that Bernard Holland at the nytimes took note. <3 nytimes, <3 Bernard Holland. Musicians these days are so talented, and they're discovering and making use of that talent earlier and earlier; but, zomg do some of them not understand stage presentation. I have the utmost respect for well nuanced pieces, but like Holland makes reference to -- how can you expect to create the type of nuance needed for difficult pieces if you're too busy doing the macarena on stage? And I say this having gone through an awkward phase of "stage movement" after a summer with a bad teacher, so this isn't some unfounded critique of the musicians. You might be able to fake it well enough through overly bravado-ed passages of Liszt or Brahms, but you won't get very far in with subtle phrasing and color playing Chopin's Nocturnes or Ravel's Jeux d'eau rolling around on your bench like a playful river otter.

Rant, rant, rant. Nostalgic/happy post to come later!

Singing in the Shower...

2008-01-30T23:55:00.000-08:00

Is definitely one of God's kind gifts. Now, granted I have the glory of my own shower to revel in this opportunity, but that doesn't mean I won't still advocate that everyone, young and old, personal bathroom shower and res-hall shower(s), share in the joy despite their surroundings! Just don't blame me if you get yelled at. *insert non-committal smile here*

I haven't posted in awhile (cause at the moment I enjoy my day jobs and actually have some modicum of "work place respect" -- check back in a month, that may have changed) but I come blazing back with my recommended shower tunes for your enjoyment as V-day rounds the corner. Coupled or single, optimistic or cynical, belting these melodies at the top of your lungs makes all your woes fall to the wayside.

Classics:

Journey -- Don't Stop Believing
Tom Petty -- Free Falling
Neil Diamond -- Sweet Caroline

Fun New Stuff:

Fall Out Boy -- The Take Over, The Breaks Over
Jordin Sparks and Chris Brown -- No Air
David Guetta -- Love Is Gone

And, as a general not necessarily shower add-on, Timbaland's Shock Value still really whips booty. It's been almost a year since the album was released, and that man has still got me hooked. If you've tuned into a radio at all in the last couple months, you know Apologize is still running strong (read: overplayed). But there's a reason for it, and the rest of the album is pretty much of similar quality. Be sure to check out Bounce, One and Only, and Time. The last of which can be repetitive, but is perfect for running and working out.

If you know what I do daily -- cause let's be honest, I don't really want to put a name to the blog -- keep your eyes peeled for new pieces coming out soon. (Chinese New Year and V-day related) Wheeee exciting!

Laugh it up, Fuzzball : Round 2

2008-01-15T15:58:00.000-08:00

Robert Friedman from the nytimes, a professor of psychiatry at Weill Cornell Medical College, decided to give a little kick to the mid-life crisis. Color me amused. Proffy Friedman essentially bats the "mid-life crisis" out of the park, as he called it (often) nothing more than an excuse for (primarily) narcissistic men to come to terms with a lack of novelty in their lives. Yikes. Nothing like a good dose of reality straight to the sweet spot first thing in the morning.

Thoughts to come later, or potentially never, because the counterpoints that have sprung up in my head are numerous and complex, and coffee has made my brain run in circles. Feel free to comment on the article, though! Curious to hear what others have to say.

Laugh it up, Fuzzball.

2008-01-15T10:29:00.000-08:00

Note: Decided to actually post this since it elucidates my thought on the article more and... well, why not? Welcome to Version 1 of Fuzzball.
--------------------------------
This entry was originally a tad smug; it has since been amended to reflect merely a cocked head and a raised eyebrow. A professor of psychiatry at Weill Cornell Medical College, Robert Friedman at the nytimes decided to give a little kick to the mid-life crisis. Color me amused. Proffy Friedman essentially bats the "mid-life crisis" out of the park, as he called it (often) nothing more than an excuse for (primarily) narcissistic men to come to terms with a lack of novelty in their lives. Yikes. Nothing like a good dose of reality straight to the sweet spot first thing in the morning.

So, this middle-aged freak out is some blazing realization that you're no longer 20 years old. As a current part of the "20 something" demographic, I'd just like to raise a hand and say how damned uncomfortable it can be. It's funny, as 40 and 50 somethings are wishing they were our age, everyone I know in their early adult years seems to be grappling with a fear/terror of the unknown and struggling to find an identity outside of X education. Is it just me, or do you always wish you're another age, another job, another something or other? Maybe nirvana is just a fancy way to describe happiness with one's situation. If only those having mid-life crises could remember that the excitement they nostalgically recall abounding in their 20s, were actually uncertainty and breathlessness, and they're pretty indiscriminate about when and how hard they hit you. In fact, based on what Friedman says, the mid-life crisis is basically the same as the 20ish life:

"Why do we have to label a common reaction of the male species to one of life’s challenges — the boredom of the routine — as a crisis? True, men are generally more novelty-seeking than women, but they certainly can decide what they do with their impulses.

But surely someone has had a genuine midlife crisis. After all, don’t people routinely struggle with questions like 'What can I expect from the rest of my life?' or 'Is this all there is?'"

Ding! Welcome to the joyous post-college dilemma. Except we have zero money and zero stability, not to mention the pesky realization that this is as much, or as little, as you want to make it. Possibility is nice when it embraces you, but when it's bear hugging you till you can't breathe, stability can look mighty kind.

I won't deny that I can see how suddenly coming to grips with the concept of fatherhood and putting your life on a back burner for someone else, can be pretty terrifying. I just wonder why it "suddenly" snuck up on these guys. It's as if they hadn't already had, oh, 50 years to acclimate themselves to it prior to three kids, a mortgage and a wife who's left holding the bag. Here is See's pop-psychology analysis: since women who want to have children realize they're gonna be a walking baby habitat for 9 months, there's a fairly clear understanding that eventually your goals are gonna be put on hold, thus the mid-life crisis is smoothed into a gradual process throughout your adult life. But, it seems equal to what I'm observing to be the counterbalance in men: a gradual understanding/assumption of the "breadwinner" (pardon the feminist in me) and protector role. Ring fund, anyone? Apparently, though, the 'click' of all this has a delayed reaction time in some men. Ho hum, none of this growing up stuff seems too fun anymore.

Newsflash: women are afraid of commitment too, but somehow you don't hear about as many of them letting their flight response take over. Although, instead they get botox and buy lots of designer shoes and purses and ... oh crap, this looks kind of like a corner. Did I just walk myself here? Of course not. This is less a reflection on men and women, and more a momentary pause on what it's like to be 20ish and considering what it's like to be all growed up. To be honest, it seems like not much changes the older you get. The endless possibilities of this age are indeed appealing, though, and let it be kept in the record of See's ridiculous blog that 20 something women are afraid of losing novelty, excitement and adventure just like X aged men are. In fact, the fascination with the article comes from a fear of having just that: See's Happy Mid-Life Crisis. I can barely commit to what I'm eating for lunch, when does this whole "committing to a family" thing come into play? Yeesh.

Better make good use of my early adult life, hrm?

Strippers Write Good Too!

2008-01-07T00:40:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year all! Blessings, good tidings, prosperity, longevity, um... suddenly I feel like a tweaked out fortune cookie.

Fresh back from a screening of Juno, and I must say, mad ups to Diablo Cody for her writing skills, and the cast for their tres bien performances. For anyone who doesn't know: Juno is the story of a hilariously caustic sixteen year old who decides to keep a child from an unplanned pregnancy. It documents the journey from her finding out, to her plans for adoption with a happy suburban couple, and the eventualities of her courageous and difficult decisions.

Diablo Cody, whose experience stripping is featured in her very own book, is the brilliant mind behind the screenplay. It's witty, snarky, and yet emotionally poignant in a non-cloying way. Shocking and unbelievable, yes I know. So many movies these days go for that hilarity and emotionality balance, and rarely manage to find it. (I may get blasted for this, but case in point, Superbad or Knocked Up). Somehow it always hits slightly off the mark. Cody's characters are three dimensional in a very human, likable way. I'd say it's fairly uncommon for almost all the characters to convey their vulnerability while maintaining witty banter. That is, of course, due much in part to the actors themselves. Ellen Page is stellar at portraying Juno. I'm such a huge fan of dry/witty comedic timing, and dang does this girl got some. Allison Janney, as always, holds her own with searing on screen tongue lashings. Anyone familiar with 10 Things I Hate About You (See shakes pompoms) will remember the turgid moments in the office with Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles. I could gush on and on about the film, but this should suffice and I'll just say this: go see it if you're in the mood for something that will make you laugh and make you think.

In other entertainment related news, Guitar Hero III is terribly addicting, but I recommend it to everyone. One of the many songs worth a listen to from their soundtrack is Superbus's Radio Song. Go French Rock! I publicize this, and not others, because that's one I'm sure most of us aren't too familiar with since the majority of the tracks are American Rock. Busy weeks ahead, so onwards we go into 2008 with many fortune cookie-like happy tidings from me to you. Here, I'll even put a smiley just to prove it. :)

Ho, Ho, Holy %$*(&

2007-12-19T15:59:00.000-08:00

Poor Santa, or the people who pretend to be Santa. Just when you think you're doing good by bringing tidings of love and joy, you get shots fired into the fuselage of your modern day sleigh. Christmas supporters across the globe shake our fists at you, drug traffickers! Gosh, don't you know the jolly man when you see him? Er, even though he's in a helicopter?

Thank George and Ruth

2007-12-19T15:14:00.000-08:00

She dashes across the yard, a bright yellow dot amid the fading greens and browns of the garden. Her heavy boots plod on the hardened ground as she bounces into this familiar terrain. Toothy grin and her favorite lonely blue shovel in hand, Mimi stops only when she's found the beginnings of her hole from the day before. She'd had barely enough time to begin what would be her greatest adventure to China, like Bugs Bunny she plans to go straight through the middle of the planet, when she had been called into the house for dinner. Intent on making significant progress today, Mimi sets her face in what she believes to be a stern look of determination; the closest imitation she can muster of the look her Grandmother gives when her Grandfather falls asleep in his easy chair watching television.

As Mimi carefully removes her fireman yellow rain coat, she catches a glimpse of her Grandfather ambling across the lawn to meet her.

"So. China. Do you need help getting there?"
"No." She replies, firm grimace in place.
"Are you sure?" He asks.
"Well, I think maybe I need some supplies. But the hole has to get bigger first."
"Can I dig a little? I've never been to China. I'd like to see."
Mimi crosses her arms and looks at her Grandfather thoughtfully.
"Are you going to bring supplies if you come?"
"Of course. I'll even bring the cookies Grandmomma is baking right now."
"Cookies?"
"With sprinkles." He nods.
"Okay. Only cause there are sprinkles." She says and hands him the shovel.

Together, they put on their most determined faces and begin their bitter toil against the earth to China. At least until the bell on the oven goes off.

Read all about it! ... Hrm, wait, maybe don't.

2007-12-10T13:29:00.001-08:00

What makes for good, readable news?

There's the hard news, the "current events" that tell us how the rest of the world is fending off this political-issue, that economic-crisis, or some weather/climate induced disaster. Then, there's the "other news," perhaps what we'll refer to as the "lifestyle news." The odd bits of information that aren't shocking and mind-blowing, but they're relevant to certain groups based on their personal interests.

Stuff like how the entree is going extinct in modern dining (interesting to foodies and dining elitists), how a woman got 26 needles embedded in a her body (a personal favorite), or how the Writer's Guild of America West is still taking on LA's big studios (important to anyone who watches American television or sitcoms on a normal basis).

Any of those pieces, while interesting to me, have been critiqued for their frivolity. In fact, it was posited that I enjoy "pedantic" news. The implication being that I don't enjoy good news? So I've been considering it, what exactly makes for good news?

Is it all just subjective? Or is good news the well written news? You know, the pieces with the journalistic quality that make it worth reading? For instance, if Hemingway were alive and he popped out an Op-Ed column on drunk and disorderly conduct in America (a serious societal commentary piece), is that good news or just interesting news?

Is how widespread the effect of that news piece is what makes it important? Disasters in Southeast Asia that wipe out homes and businesses are more important than how Harvard is making financial aid more available, right? Or are they both of equal importance? They both change how people live, but one "significantly" more than the other. Is degrees of significance in overall impact on people's lives what makes the difference in what should be read and what shouldn't be read?

I'm honestly curious, so please, throw out your comments and thoughts (if anyone still reads this given my extended hiatus while traveling). I've opened up anonymous commentary too, so even if you don't have a google/blogger account feel free to respond.

In other upcoming blog updates, perhaps a Christmas story of some kind? Ho, ho, ho and all that jolliness, keep your internet stockings prepped for that little nugget of fun!

Regarding Reasonably Priced Fashion

2007-11-11T03:54:00.000-08:00

Ciao from Hong Kong!

As per my normal activities, I sampled a little shopping today, and here's preliminary information on what I found.

A quick tidbit for the ladies (since I didn't really check out the men's section) -- Zara 's fall/winter collection is solid. I should probably preface this post by saying that the current trends in fashion match my tastes more than normal, and Zara is making a strong case with the bits I am most fond of. That's right, those so called designers totally stole my long-time favorite designs and put them out there for everyone to purchase. Those bastards.

Anyways, some examples of the clothing I very much enjoy:

Three-piece suit inspired vests, which are cut well enough that they can actually accent one's waist, run rampant in both the Zara Collection and their casual line, TRF.
Fun jackets ranging from military-esque to over-sized folding collars avec large buttons, as well as plaid inspired wool zip-ups.
All manner of shorts, in both cotton and wool, that when paired with their many heel and boot offerings make for quite the trendy statement.

Generally, I've found that Zara's clothes are more quality than H&M, while being similarly trendy. As could be expected though, how much better is dependent on how much more you end up spending. While H&M clothing has a tendency to either disintegrate or fall apart after a couple turns in the washer, Zara's gear holds up well even if shrinkage occurs from time to time.

Probably more comments on clothing as I spend a little more time, uh, doing research. However, in the meantime, much love to the Spanish for disseminating awesome clothing and making little See so happy!

New England <3

2007-11-11T01:43:00.000-08:00

Open Discourse

2007-11-08T13:35:00.000-08:00

Ah, yes, abortion. The deep dark secret thing that everyone's a little bit scared of. The nytimes did a piece on Dr. Susan Wicklund, whose book This Common Secret: My Journey as an Abortion Doctor is going to be hitting bookstores soon. Here's what I admired about the article, and how Dr. Wicklund seems to be handling this touchy issue, it was neither completely supported nor completely disparaged. It swings more towards support since it was written about her profession, but she talks about her own reservations on when to perform the procedure (21 weeks was too late) and how she thinks the topic should be addressed in a smart way. We need to get it out in the open and talked about. Open discourse leads to education, and education leads to making smart choices.

"'We don’t talk about it,' she said in a telephone interview. 'People say, ‘Nobody I know has ever had an abortion,’ and that is just not true. Their sisters, their mothers have had abortions.'"

I've heard that. I've probably said it. It's a tough subject to discuss, no doubt, especially because there can be such violent reactions to even uttering the word. But, here are some shocking numbers for your consumption which caught me off guard.

Based on current rates, nearly 40 percent of American women have abortions during their child-bearing years.

Nearly a quarter of all pregnancies in the US end in abortion.

Check out the article. If you can, pick up the book. Abortion isn't pretty by any stretch of the imagination, but it's important to remember that there are people who take that step because it's necessary to them. Isn't it better if we give them all the information before hand, and provide them with safe, sanitary options than whatever desperate measures they'll take on their own?

Confessions of a Female Enthusiast

2007-10-30T11:17:00.000-07:00

Greetings from Manhattan and Boston! There's been a bit of a hiatus from blogging, and I apologize for the conspicuous (or was it?) absence. I'll blame it on the recent rush of activity in my normally "well-scheduled" life. Who loves excuses?! Anyways, down to business. While I have been, and hopefully will continue, to do my best to keep this blog unisex focused, today's post will be centered around some thoughts on females and their various contributions to modern day society. Ooh, light and airy!

First and foremost, hooray for Argentina's first female President! Congratulations to Cristina Fernández de Kirchner, the uh... former? first lady of Argentina. Apparently, that's South America's second female president in two years following behind Chile's Michelle Bachelet. I'll outright say that I don't know anything about South America, but at least in this regard it's fabulous to see the progressive changes that are being made there. Though there are some hanging questions about Ballot distribution which trouble me, it is quite heartening to know that women are pushing boundaries out in the world. Whether she is a capable leader has yet to be seen, but she definitely seems to recognize the burden that is resting upon her shoulders now.

"Kirchner declared victory late Sunday. In a speech, she said she felt not only a responsibility to lead her country, but 'an immense responsibility for my gender.'"

These first few women who are stepping into the Presidency are going to, as my favorite US AS History teacher used to say, lay the groundwork for paradigms of any women to follow. They will be judged harshly if they fail, and while I would love to believe in fair reporting, I would venture a guess that their accomplishments will only be lauded a fraction as much as a male President's accomplishments would be. Even the IHT article itself, while "fair reporting," smacked a bit of jabbing implications that Kirchner had won the elections both riding on the coat tails of her husband and with ulterior motives besides improving Argentina's foreign policy. The BBC article on key election concerns does help shed some light on the issue, but that article falls distinctly on the disparaging side as well. The least biased, or perhaps biased in the direction I prefer, article that I've found is this Q&A from MWC News. Honestly, I'm not sure if I'm pre-disposed to looking for positive presentations of women in the media (duh?) but having seen the way Hillary has been portrayed in the American press I'm hesitant to believe that other women will be given neutral reviews. Then again, the nature of the press is such that there is no such thing as "neutral."

Before anyone asks about my personal beliefs on Hillary, I'll say that I'm glad she's trying for the Presidency. No matter how you slice it, that post is an incredible opportunity and burden not only for her as an American, but also as a woman. I've kept some tabs on her policies, and while I haven't chosen a candidate that I solely support, I hate to admit the lurking feelings of allegiance towards her for being a woman and, to be honest, for being an alumna of my alma mater. She has some good ideas, and if they were put into practice I'd like to believe that they would be functional and perform their purpose. But, I'm not a politics type of a person so these are just my uneducated two cents.

In other news on women to admire, the recent break about Dumbledore's sexual orientation has caused quite the stir. Suddenly, the story about the boy who lived became completely focused on the boy being led (misled?) by a man with questionable interests. Now, I'd like to pause for a second and say that realistically no one in the world is entirely altruistic, so there will always be "questionable interests." Furthermore, Rowling never tried to refute or paint Dumbledore in a light that would show him as infallible or that he wasn't trying to use Harry as a tool in many ways. Essentially, I don't see how his sexual orientation can suddenly alter the entire universe that she has created, and at least Edward Rothstein from the nytimes seems to agree with me.

On an individual note about Rowling, I will commend her again for the entire HP series. Much though everyone picks at the books, and tries to lambast the characters and plot, I am really in awe of what she has created. As an artist/writer, she did what politicians all over the world and human rights activists have been trying to do for decades. She got people to care about something. Whoever you are, wherever you were, if you were somewhat in touch with any type of current events or media you probably knew about Harry Potter and you were probably at the very least curious about the outcome of his life. She spanned socioeconomic divides and brought together an entire world by showing them our world using magic. That sounds hokey, I know, but all Rowling really did was present modern day society and the problems we face through the lens of the fantastic, mythic, and intangible. It disgusts me the way people rip into how successful HP has become and complain that she only wrote the stories to make money. I could be wrong, but as a writer you never know how well your work will be received so I doubt she was banking on her success. Not to mention, as an author, publishing is not the most lucrative industry to become involved in anyways.

Anyways, many nods and acknowledgments to both women mentioned here for their impressive accomplishments. I'll take my feminism onto the streets of Cambridge/Boston now. Surprisingly the foliage hasn't hit yet, but perhaps I'll have some photos to post for everyone's enjoyment later.

C'est Possible?

2007-10-18T03:10:00.000-07:00

Apologies for I have been remiss in posting in the last few days. Though I would love to bring you all an enjoyable article of some kind, I haven't had the opportunity to dig up something fresh and fun.

Instead of an article, I'll venture into as of yet untouched territory, and give you a tiny sketch I've been ruminating on. It's not much, but I suppose it's a step in the "right" direction.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------

She woke without fail each night at 1 a.m. Her eyes would slowly flutter open to her husband's low, steady snore echoing through the room, and as he droned on Ellen would drop her legs to the floor and gently extract herself from the familiar nook on the bed. She would stealthily plod her way out the door, down the carpeted hallway, past the room where her sons clutched their flashlights and books beneath the sheets, and find her way into the kitchen. From the cupboard beneath the sink, she would draw out a small rusty-hinged lacquered box and place it on the kitchen counter. Ellen was always careful not to let out a sigh, or even a harsh breath, as she had once let out a cry into the darkened house that caused her husband to rush down the stairs.

Instead, she would keep her lips pursed while she mechanically opened the box's lid and removed a half burned candle and a small Bic lighter, leaving the photograph behind. Ellen would adeptly flick the lighter twice: once for her, and once for him, then touch the flame to the candle's wick. As the light would crawl its way across the counter, Ellen's lips would relax and the familiar calm of a moment reserved just for her and the photograph lying within the box embraced her. For fifteen minutes after the second flick of the lighter, Ellen would stand at the counter's edge in her worn cotton nightgown, her hand placed palm down atop the box.

At 1:18am, she would puff out the candle and deftly place it back in the box next to the lighter and photograph. Then, as quietly and surely as a thick fog rolls over the hills, she would reverse each step until she found herself nestled into her nook, eyelids closing to the gentle rumble of her husband's snore.

------------------

Hmm, ah well. It will have to do for now.

Play-Doh

2007-10-11T12:53:00.001-07:00

Many Thanks

2007-10-11T12:31:00.000-07:00

To everyone who was super supportive and helpful yesterday on short notice. Hopefully one day you can all be attributed with aiding in jump-starting my career. Or, if I fail miserably (which, realistically, I won't let happen) then I will blame and shamelessly slander all of you. Just kidding!

In order of appearance: Plee, Calveewo, Behzies, Big Bro, Mr. Spit, D-Ha, Jay Frizzle, and big ups to Momma for her fabulous addition with, "that sounds great! Oh. You guys have been eating bananas, that's good."

I love my Mother, she has such incredible timing.

Short entry for today, as it is jam-packed and action filled with activities. Mr. Spit informed me yesterday, much to my dismay, that they have potentially found the true function for the appendix. I thought, or perhaps hoped, that he was joking. But alas, upon further research, there have indeed been some findings. Theories, for now, that it works as a store house for good bacteria which are used to reboot your digestive system following encounters with dysentery, cholera, or other such bacteria purging diseases. How fitting for scientists to find a use so soon after I parted ways with my own little "vestigial" friend.

Also, check out the youtube posting in the entry directly following this one. It's Sony Bravia's newest commercial. I <3 their creativity. They also did the bouncy ball commercial where a ludicrous number of bouncy balls are sent bouncing and/or rolling down the hills of San Francisco. Their newest endeavor involves some incredible clay-mation. Apparently 3 weeks, 40 animators and 2.5 tonnes of modeling clay produces adorable bunnies, a plethora of color and one brilliantly artistic minute thirty. (Thanks to cuzzo-who-shall-not-be-named-ever for the heads up.) Enjoy!

Happy Birthday

2007-10-10T23:46:00.001-07:00

Early Mornings

2007-10-10T08:37:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wonder if I'm secretly a morning person masking as a late night person. I made the transition senior year to being a morning person. But, have since returned to my night-owl ways. However, there was surprising satisfaction for me in sipping a warm cup of tea, munching on a scone, and conversing with friends as I let the day begin. Maybe this means I'm going to like waking up early and going to work? Probably not, but one can hope.

This morning I bring you a little three-course meal of articles. All of which can be enjoyed and pondered somewhat seriously.

Appetizer: Apparently researchers have found that it's actually possible to die from heartbreak. At least that's how this article is portraying it. Really, though, all it's saying is that close negative relationships (even friendships) can cause major stress on your heart and up your chances by 34% for chest pain or a heart attack.

"'If you have good people around it is good for your health, ... If you have negative people around it is much worse for your health.'"

Just in case you guys weren't sure that negative influences aren't fun. Haha.

Main: So, if Gen-X is pushing 30 now, what the heck are we? Ask Thomas Friedman, an Op-Ed contributor for the NYtimes, and he'll say that 20-somethings are Generation Q, a generation of Quiet Americans. Friedman discusses his recent visits to college campuses around the country, and reflects on what he sees as the general mentality of our generation. Curious? Three ideas, friends: optimism, idealism, and political apathy. I'd have to agree with Friedman and say that he is spot on. If I am representative of the happy medium of our generation, I do indeed embody each of those ideas. While we may be really doing something through our commitment to relief causes, we're not nearly active enough about being heard. Anyone else miffed that Social Security is basically a moot point for us? Even now, I'm sitting here blogging to you as opposed to picking up a mic at some rally and making my voice heard. Maybe Berkeley's tree-sitters were leading the way. At least they stand up for something that isn't only a cause on Facebook.

Dessert: Just in case anyone was wondering, I will only marry a man who makes at least half a million a year. I'm not remotely serious in saying that, but there was a woman on Craigslist who actually was. Subsequently, one of these potential Wall Street half-mil hubbies answered her query by stating that her offer as a currently bombshell gold-digger, as compared to his ever growing stock portfolio, was "plain and simple a crappy business deal." This was an article on the posts, but if anyone is interested I can put the actual postings up here as I have them in my inbox somewhere. Here's an excerpt from Mr. Wall Street that I particularly enjoyed:

"Separately, I was taught early in my career about efficient markets. So,
I wonder why a girl as 'articulate, classy and spectacularly beautiful'
as you has been unable to find your sugar daddy. I find it hard to
believe that if you are as gorgeous as you say you are that the $500K
hasn't found you, if not only for a tryout.

By the way, you could always find a way to make your own money and then we wouldn't need to have this difficult conversation."

Hah. Eat that, woman who's giving my gender a bad name! And, isn't that such an interesting thought? Doing something myself to make money and pursuing my own career. Oh my gosh! It's almost as though I had a brain just like men! If she were really as smart as she claims, wouldn't she have figured out how to get one of those earning asset husbands already? Ok, ok, the snark ends there. But, I do have a particular revulsion for women like that. And, similarly, men who are so insecure that when faced with a woman's intelligence and skill, they recess into a tiny shell of misogyny to hide the fact that they're incompetent. Hrm, tastes like bitter man-hater talk to me. Just had to put that out there though.

I guess my dessert comes out just like I seem to appear in candy form. A la dark chocolate, a little bitter kick at the end. (Thanks to Holla and Nigerian Prince for defining my candy form, by the way.) But, regardless, hopefully you guys found the meal enjoyable.

And now, to find myself some coffee.

. : simple little stuff : .

2007-10-09T14:45:00.001-07:00

Today is a day of simple pleasures. Perhaps this is my attempt at remaining "zen" as my curious away message stated yesterday, but indulging in the little stuff has been incredibly satisfying for some reason.

Here's my list of little stuff that kept bouncy and smiling. Hopefully at least one thing on here makes you smile too:

1. Good Music -- Feist is fabulous. She has such a laid back jazzy sound that is just so conducive to the fall weather that's beginning to settle over the Bay Area. Both albums, The Reminder and Let It Die have kept me pleasantly relaxed and calm. So far she's been accompanying me while I write/read/work and not while I drive, but I have a feeling she'll be good in any setting. (Thanks to D-Ha for the albums). Also, I need to get my hands on some French Jazz, because Feist's "L'amour Ne Dure Pas Toujours" or Love Does Not Last Forever makes me miss French terribly and remember why I always thought it sounded prettier than English.

2. Postsecret -- This blog, which I will perma-link on my sidebar from now on, appeals to my emo-artsy side. People from all over the world send homemade postcards to this guy in Maryland with an anonymous admission of some secret. The postcards are very creative, and all convey some idea that people don't feel comfortable saying out loud or confronting. Not to say that I think people shouldn't confront their problems, but I suppose in some way this allows them to do that, and if you feel this helps you then that makes me smile. This postcard isn't my favorite, but if I posted the ones I felt most deeply, I'd be revealing some secrets about myself now wouldn't I?

3. Fun New Gadgets -- in the form of new headphones and a cordless optical mouse. Since Big Bro has mysteriously misplaced my old mouse, I was forced to purchase a new one. I promptly felt dated and out of it when I realized that cordless mice are now the way to go. Apparently I'm 5 years behind in mice technology, since I actually asked if there was any lag time. The last time I hung out with someone who used a cordless mouse (because, surprisingly enough in college most people I know only used regular mice) they were brand new, jumpy, and had lag. Silly, outdated, fuddy-duddy See, cordless mice don't have any of those problems now.

4. Cafés - In particular, Douce France in Palo Alto. Some really delectable panini-like sandwiches, cute little pastries (heart-shaped cookies with strawberry filling!) and damn good coffee. If you're a Proscuitto fan like myself, I recommend the Angelo sandwich. I get cravings for this place all the time. Good thing I make a point to go there once a week. Oh, it also reminds me a little bit of Panaficio with how homey and comfortable it is. Add to that the free wireless internet they have and begin rejoicing, if you're an Internet junky like myself who enjoys good food.

5. Laughing with friends and family. Laughing makes people happy, laugh more, it's good stuff.

Ok, that last one was "hokey" as Big Bro puts it. My excuse for today is being rushed. Got to scamper off and run errands, so unfortunately this entry was cut short.

Quickly, though, in response to Mr. Tim and Mr. Maietta's comments on yesterday's post, yes, heart disease is a big deal. Thank you, both, for expounding on the benefits of alcohol to my heart even if it may slightly raise my chances of getting breast cancer. You have ensured that I will enjoy a life of intoxication and inebriation. Justtt kidding. Ha. But seriously, check out their comments on yesterday's post as both included good information about heart disease and the benefits of alcohol.

A Little Info

2007-10-08T14:48:00.000-07:00

For women, and I guess anyone who is interested, a new study on Breast Cancer.

Alcohol, an issue of contention as always, has apparently been linked to increases in breast cancer. So, ladies, 1-2 drinks a day raises your chances of getting breast cancer by 10%. 3 drinks or more a day seems to raise your chances by 30%. My favorite tidbit of info was a bit of a kick in the ovaries for me:

"Any alcohol consumption will raise your breast cancer risk," Key said. "Women don't have to abstain from alcohol entirely, but they need to be aware of the risks they're taking when they have a few too many drinks."

We're talking any type of alcohol, as in drinking wine because you think it's better for your heart is total huey since it doesn't matter what you consume. As long as it has alcoholic content, it's messing with you.

Now, granted I don't drink alcohol everyday, but this article still does scare me. As if losing an appendix weren't indication enough that my body isn't happy, I'd say it's probably a good idea for me to reconsider my behavior when I'm out. Yuck. Everything gives you cancer these days.

And, for more more random information that serves no larger purpose in your life, I bring you Fortune Cookie Drama.

Funny enough, at the SF Asian American Film Festival during the spring I watched a short about a fortune cookie company (apparently not written or directed by anyone asian). The plot being that a guy was going through a crappy break up with his girlfriend and started writing some nasty fortunes for his father's fortune cookie company. Et voila! Art reflects reality reflects art? Although, supposedly none of the writers are unhappy, they're just writing more "cautious" fortunes as opposed to the saccharine ones that we're all used to. "You are a brilliant snowflake. No one is like you in the whollleee world."

You are not a snowflake, wait, I am not a snowflake? But, I doubt I'd be too happy if I got "Today is a disastrous day. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em." Then again, there are some people I would wish a jaded fortune cookie on so they'd stop being so ridiculously whimsical about everything. Hrm, perhaps I should send Wonton Food a little note thanking them for giving everyone a little dose of reality.

Some Vapid Reflections

2007-10-07T13:18:00.000-07:00

First, no reviews for blowfish this weekend, due to what we'll call "corporate issues" (read: D-ha stuck in office a slave to the job) thus there was no partaking of sushi and fun drinks. I will, however, say that if anyone is out in Palo Alto, or Los Gatos... I suppose Silicon Valley in general, there is something intriguing about that scene which I can't quite put my finger on. Most likely the fact that everyone there is quite young, way too wealthy, and just sucking up the good life like nobody's business as they ride the wave of their brilliance. The highlight of my escapades on University Ave was most definitely the fabulously quasi-Euro trash guy pushing thirty and rocking out on the dance floor ... with a sweatshirt tied around his hips. FYI to all guys who are nervous about their dancing skills: his enthusiasm totally outweighed anything about his appearance, because he was surrounded by a circle of at least six or seven girls. What a contrast to discuss this in a post immediately after the Congo, ugh, I believe this feeling is called "self-loathing."

Second, kicking myself into high gear so life can be brought into existence. You can wait around for life to happen, or you can make it happen. I think. I am 20-something See, hear me roar.

Third, when attempting to figure out your "life," good ways to drown your sorrows/keep you chugging along, are: Gossip Girl (that's my second plug and I can claim a couple converts so far), Mint Green Tea, pillows, and Ben and Jerry's Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream. Mm, unhealthy sustenance. Crossing my fingers for one of the interim jobs to come through while I figure out the actual job.

Yeah, these posts are decidedly lame and poorly written. I guess even I function better during the "work" week.

Hah, all I want to do is sign off: xoxo, Gossip Girl. Some quick thoughts on that, it really is just that fun to watch. For those of you who enjoyed the OC, Josh Schwartz is a producer for the show and, I'm fairly certain, also a writer. Though the story lines are picked up from the novel series by Cecily von Ziegesar, Schwartz has done a great job of distilling plot points and showing well-rounded characters -- all while keeping his snark-tastic teens believably evil and warm-hearted. I'll definitely be disappointed if the show is canceled before it has a chance to blossom. It's also less bop-y than the OC, probably due to the story's placement in New York City. But, that could just be my slightly anti-socal mentality coming through. Oh, and also, for any Veronica Mars fans out there, the snidely witty voice of Gossip Girl is none other than Kristen Bell. She is so on with the timing, and phrasing, of her biting remarks. Keep an ear out for "fuster-cluck" in the second episode. At this point, the CW should really pay me for helping them out with their advertising.

Yikes. Let's hope that tomorrow's post is slightly more intelligent and, uh, substantial. Ugh.

Don't Complain; Work Harder

2007-10-06T23:10:00.001-07:00

That's one of the ideas that Pausch talks about in his speech, and that's something I'm going to here. Not that I don't complain unnecessarily sometimes, if I didn't admit that it would be utter and complete hypocrisy, but I will say that there are some more difficult issues to be dealt with in the world than any of the stuff I come up with. This is called feeling like a chump for complaining when I really have a good deal, no matter how you slice it.

Yes, I went to a women's college, and yes I do have a tendency to focus on women's issues. This, however, is something that we should pay attention to for its own reasons. Much as I complain about guys disrespecting women, the Rape Epidemic in the Congo is in a class all its own.

"Honorata Barinjibanwa, an 18-year-old woman with high cheekbones and downcast eyes, said she was kidnapped from a village that the Rastas raided in April and kept as a sex slave until August. Most of that time she was tied to a tree, and she still has rope marks ringing her delicate neck. The men would untie her for a few hours each day to gang-rape her, she said.

“I’m weak, I’m angry, and I don’t know how to restart my life,” she said from Panzi Hospital in Bukavu, where she was taken after her captors freed her."

Please read the article. Even the next morning, I'm not even entirely clear on how to reflect on it. How about this: it terrifies me what human beings who have experienced trauma can inflict upon other people. Rape as a concept frightens me in a way that, strangely enough, makes me feel numb. Rape that involves foreign objects and completely destroys a woman's internal organs causes the emotional equivalent of a stomach flu. This is obviously not my most articulate post, which I attribute in part to the lack of sleep, but honestly part of it is that I just can't conjure any coherent thoughts. Reading that article made me want to cry.

I need to learn how to become involved in relief efforts for this.

It's funny, after keeping an eye out for an appropriate article which would spark desire in me to comment (nods to Mr. Spit), I am finding it so difficult to form full thoughts. Maybe I need an electric shock to the brain.

Guilty Pleasures

2007-10-05T16:08:00.000-07:00

In the form of well-written, if not slightly smutty, CW television shows. I made a snarky reference in passing to Gossip Girl in my first post because I hadn't watched it, but had definitely heard a bit of the hype. Long story short, free iTunes downloads are fun and I gave Gossip Girl a chance.

And I was not disappointed. I'm sure I'm getting some scoffs right now. I will say that this show while pretty well-written is definitely of the Dawson's Creek variety.The so-called "prep-school kids" look like they were my classmates (and in fact the majority of them could have been being born between '85-'87) and talk like some of my friends at their wittiest. I hesitate to say this since I might just be enamored of the show because it's smutty and awesome, but I venture to say that the scripts are pretty engaging. I lose interest in shows quickly if they're not well-scripted, and I watched all three episodes of the show in two days. I'd say I'm involved.

I'll admit, though, that my interest might actually be due to the cat-fighting that the female leads do. Funny enough, I admire all of it. It's underhanded and backstabbing at its best, but so far hasn't devolved into transparent manipulation. Pre-meditated? Definitely. Outright bitchy? Of course. But happily it hasn't gotten to smarmy interactions (yet) where everyone tries to logically explain how the completely despicable course their about to take actually makes them a good person in God's eyes because of blah blah blah. One order of insta-vomit coming right up.

The characters are smart-ish. Well, the female leads are. They fight dirty and they're damn good at it. But they fight dirty in social settings where all you can do is smile and do your damndest to come up with halfway decent explanation and quickly exit. I love it because it's less on the teen angst where you sit around and whine, more on the "f you I'm going to do something about it."

Let me point this out before someone else does: I'm probably reliving college. Four months out and I'm already missing it. Painful though it was during, I'd be lying if I denied that fighting (or was that socializing?) with some of the smartest, wiliest, craziest, most backstabbing women in the country weren't some of the best years of my life. So, if you want to see how bad the fighting could get (because I did see it get close to that bad a few times) take a look at Gossip Girl. I guarantee that I'm not the only halfway intelligent person who finds it an incredibly satisfying guilty pleasure.

Cha-ya

2007-10-04T14:44:00.000-07:00

So, I figure since I'm still in San Francisco and enjoying all its culinary delights, I might as well throw up my own little restaurant reviews. If not for the general public (because, really, who stumbles onto this site and reads it? Currently, no one, but one day perhaps the WORLD haha) then at least for all of you guys. For those of you here in the bay, and in case anyone from back east (or elsewhere in the world) decides to visit San Francisco, then at least you can have some ideas not just from chowhound. (If you haven't frequented that site, you really should, it has great food recommendations for a good number of cities in the US.)

Rating system:
Boo -- I will not be trying this ever again.
Ehh -- I'd give it another go, if there's really nothing else.
Yay! -- Totally going to try this again.

So, Tuesday night I tried out Cha-ya on Valencia in the Mission with D-Ha (names have been changed to protect people's privacy). We actually stumbled upon this place since we were trying to go to Osha Thai (the Mission one) and both recognized the name, so opted to try this instead.

Cha-ya is Vegetarian Japanese Cuisine, so it's an ideal place for any PETA fans. The decor is very laidback, with a counter and stools running along the front window and something like 15-20 other tables in the restaurant, it's a moderately sized restaurant with a cozy environment. It reminded me a bit of Noodle Cafes in Hong Kong, but obviously cleaner than a lot of those. Since it's in the Mission, everyone I saw there was young and um... hip (I reserve my thoughts on this for another post), but it's obviously a very open environment because immediately upon sitting down a table had a birthday celebration, and the entire restaurant chimed in singing. Service is great, even though there was a bit of a wait to order, the waitress was very polite and anytime that we ever needed anything the response was prompt and well thought out. (Bringing extra spoons and dishes, sometimes without us even asking etc.)

D-Ha and I ordered:
Agedashi Tofu
Sunomono
Veggie Tempura with Hot Udon
Pear Compote (for dessert)
One Large Asahi Super Dry (from the bottle! Yay!)

1. Agedashi Tofu: I was a little less than satisfied with this, but I actually only ate this after it had been on the table for about 15 minutes. I'm used to having the little flakes (ingredient unknown) on top though, and there weren't any. D-Ha seemed to really enjoy it, though, after handling the initial issues of sufficiently dousing each piece of Tofu in sauce. Also, this comes out hot, so try not to shove a whole piece in your mouth like D-Ha did. Though, it will provide much entertainment to other people in your party, haha! (Rating: Ehh)

2. Sunomono: This was interesting, but nothing mind blowing. Cucumbers, radish, rice noodles, seaweed etc. The interesting additions, though, were roasted soybeans and raisins (!). Otherwise, heavy on the vinegar but light on other seasonings, and generally not tasty unless used as a palette cleanser. (Rating: Ehh)

3. Veggie Tempura with Hot Udon: I really enjoyed this. The broth was different than most I've tried, light and tasty (though, perhaps a bit salty -- D-Ha vehemently agrees), and the noodles were pretty al dente so I was happy about that. The tempura was well done, not too much batter, and the presentation as a little tee-pee of veggies was quite cute. I'd never had asparagus tempura, and I'll say that I don't think asparagus should be tempura-ized, but otherwise the squash, mushroom, carrots etc. were fabulouso. (Rating: Yay!)

4. Pear Compote: Yummy pear slightly submerged in vanilla soymilk topped with green tea sauce and some soybean granule type things on top. Served cold, this was super tasty. A nice healthy end to a good meal. The green tea sauce and soybean balls on top are totally the kicker. I advise against drinking the soymilk, unless you like unsweetened soymilk. (Rating: Yay!)

5. Asahi Super-Dry: duh. Came from the bottle. Kicked ass. (Rating: Yay!)

Anyways, this whole meal was all priced somewhat modestly at around $38.00, including tip! Also, they only accept Cash so don't be whippin' out your Visa, but they do have an ATM inside the restaurant for convenience. (2 dollar fees and all that... I had to use it.) We didn't get to try any of the sushi this time, but there are plans in the future to return and try out their other dishes. On the whole, Cha-Ya ranks a Yay! and I will be re-visiting them hopefully sometime soon. As a sidenote, I really enjoyed their dishware. It was cute and very apt to their vibe.

Keep an eye out for the other Chaya of Japanese/French fusion influence and Blowfish Sushi (coming this weekend!) which is known more for their drinks than their sushi... but hey, we'll see how that goes, I guess.

Lake of Fire

2007-10-04T01:59:00.000-07:00

The new documentary by the director of American History X, Tony Kaye, apparently opened today in Manhattan. His topic of choice? Abortion. But this isn't your run of the mill documentary, it's done in black and white and the research period for it is nothing to sniff at.

After 16 years of research for this film, it's finally coming out in all its bombastic glory. Or maybe bombastic isn't the right word. From the review in the nytimes (my baby newspaper -- "you should just jack your head into the nytimes," thanks, big brother) it's apparently an incredibly graphic and gruesome (aka potentially realistic?) portrayal of abortion. The critic who reviewed the movie seemed to think that you were supposed to gauge Kaye's personal views on the issue based on how he juxtaposed images, sounds and concepts. I was about to rip into that and say that maybe he wasn't trying to convey a view, but I suppose I really shouldn't since I sit around analyzing texts all the time and purporting to understand the author's "intentions" for their audience through a scene of dialogue. Yay hypocrisy! Regardless, since the film seems to be interview based I am very curious to see how this will be spun, since splicing interviews and people's commentaries can be very touchy.

And as for my personal thoughts on the abortion issue, I'm pro-abortion rights, but I'm not necessarily pro-abortion? But, that doesn't mean I'll judge anyone for having or not having one. Maybe I'll change my mind after that movie though. Although, I seriously doubt that, cause if for some reason I were faced with that decision, I know it wouldn't be easy. Which would mean that whatever choice I came to would probably be one that I had turned over many times in my head. Either way, I still think it's better to give women the option, because (and apparently the movie addresses a situation like this) the underground alternatives that people could/would try would definitely lead to much worse outcomes than if they could get it taken care of in a safe, sterile, and cared for environment.

Anyways, review to come when I've actually seen it. Whee!

Big First Vomitty Post

2007-10-03T18:47:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I'm finally sitting down and doing this. I make no promises about consistency or duration, but I'd be willing to bet this will probably have a pretty good run. Disclaimers from the outset: these are all my own views. If they're based in some fact or evidence, I will provide sources to check out. I want that known so no one takes these ideas as "singular truth," it's just what I happen to think at any particular time.

Onwards!

First posting: Randy Pausch and the waterfall of ideas that follows.

I know this is sort of old news (getting off on the wrong foot?!) but the advice Pausch gave in his speech really resonates with me. I seriously recommend that everyone check out his lecture (especially since I don't want to bore you with a laundry list of every piece of advice he gave). Don't be intimidated by the length of the footage. Take some time off from Halo 3 or Gossip Girl or whatever and just watch it. While he makes many brilliant points, there is one he addresses a few times but which is glossed over in pretty much every report I've seen on him.

How you say something is just as important as, or perhaps even more important than, what you're saying.

Color me an English major and all that fun "analysis" stuff, but this is such an important communication concept. It seems to me that people often discount the power of the words that they choose. Not even just the words you choose, but how you phrase it. Let me try to exemplify this through childhood and teenage memory:

Rebellious child that I was, I frequently argued with my Mother. While there were many varied topics, I remember consistently running into one phrase no matter what we were discussing. The conversations would usually proceed as follows.

See: I want to go to (insert event here), you have to let me go!
Momma: You're being rude.
See: No I'm not! You're just not listening to me right!
Momma: It doesn't matter how you think you're saying it, it matters how I'm hearing it.

So, we'll say that at the tender age of 10 I wasn't exactly ready to "hear" the sage advice my Mother was giving, but that phrase which she repeated over and over again stuck with me through the years. As time went by, and I paid more attention to not only my interactions but the interactions of people around me, I started to notice that often times one side was either seriously not listening or *gasp* maybe what the other side was saying just wasn't being conveyed in the right way. This probably became most potent for me when I got into a volcanically large argument with my high school boyfriend, and realized for the first time that I was coming up against the same wall I came against with my Mother... but with someone my own age. I no longer had the fall back of "she's an authoritarian/dictatorial/archaic/crazy" figure who was holding me down. This was someone who cared about me and who should, technically, understand where I was coming from especially since he was a peer.

Totally wrong.

Here's the easy way out: blaming him. He just wasn't understanding. He's just stubborn. He's just a jackass? He just didn't care? Dudes just don't listen.

It's a pretty quick downward spiral, and involves a lot of "justs," which in my opinion is getting close to "never" or "forever" and all those other fun absolutes. None of which are particularly helpful or realistic in the end. After that particularly detrimental argument, I went home and considered what had caused the break down of communication, which is when my Mother's words popped into my head. Was it possible that what he was hearing, and what I was saying, were completely different?

This story has a happy ending (uh, for my own growth, not for the relationship -- and honestly I don't recall the outcome of that argument) but it did come at the cost of swallowing my pride a little. It's always the times that we're trying to defend a point most ardently, or our feelings have been hurt the most, or we just really need the other person to hear us that we forget what we're trying to say can come across really badly. For me, I always know when that feeling hits because I get an uncomfortable heat in my chest that will rise up into my cheeks. That usually spells, "See has something really important and big and loud to say!" Which, now, is when I take a deep breath, count to 10 and seriously reconsider the inappropriate words I'm about to let loose.

It's only when I started thinking about how the other person would want to be approached about a sensitive topic, that I understood how I had to convey my thoughts. That is to say, empathy and sensitivity are important.

Pausch talks about it specifically when he was asking to take his Sabbatical time to work at Disney Imagineering. The first guy he talked to wanted to know more about it and why he was going, but broached it by trying to pressure Pausch into giving more information. He assumed that if he could push Pausch into a corner, he'd get what he wanted to know. Pausch asked both men: "Do you think this is a good idea?"

First guy: "I have no idea if this is a good idea."

Pausch figured that talking to the first man was useless (because he wasn't really listening) and decided to find the Dean of Sponsored Research (or something like that) instead. That guy's response?

Dean of SR: "I don't have very much information. But one of my star faculty members is here and is all excited, so I want to learn more. "

The second response immediately put Pausch at ease, and if you watch the video he expounds on how much he loves the second man. He obviously left a good impression.

Anyways, this post has gotten pretty heavy. All I'm really trying to say, in light of some recent personal experiences, is seriously consider how you're saying what you're saying to someone.
Doing that changed many of my relationships for the better, and the few times that I went lax on it and decided to just say whatever the hell I wanted? Well, let's say that I distinctly remember the times I let myself slip and I still shake my head in shame every time I think about the look on the other person's face.

If you want some more evidentiary support then check out the recent article on Marital Spats in the NYtimes.

"Recent studies show that how often couples fight or what they fight about usually doesn’t matter. Instead, it’s the nuanced interactions between men and women, and how they react to and resolve conflict, that appear to make a meaningful difference in the health of the marriage and the health of the couple."

Too bad my alma mater didn't have a Communications major, I might've really kicked ass at that.