negative, ghost rider, the pattern is full. the weather has turned and we finally have pool days. we haven't quite come to beach days yet but next week all will be well and sand will find my toes and inevitably, my car. weather permitting of course. i miss the summers of just going to the beach, to the pool, to the jacuzzi, then going out to placate hunger while gunky and still chlorinated. so basically i miss high school. but this weekend high school came back for a short visit.



we had two pool days. we played marco polo. fish out of water! we played ultimate frisbee/football. we met two little girls who played three flies up with us. one of them was crushed by adam. imagine a huge guy diving over a ten year old girl to catch the ball. he is, how we say, a little competitive. he is, how we say, hard to bring out in public. the mom was probably ready to come beat that ass and i was fearing for the little girl's continued existence on this earth. but she was tough and survived the impact. if i ever have kids, i am so not letting adam "play" with them. "uncle adam" won't be allowed near them until they are thirty. maybe fifty if they happen to be girls. safety first kids.



i'm tempted to write a review of gene's performance but i am afraid that my words would only do a great injustice to gene's work. so i will not review, only comment. and congratulate. plus, my reviews tend to be rather sarcastic and caustic or mocking. and gene is none of these things. so my review of gene's performance on saturday was that it was "good." taken however you like. i would like to use bigger words such as "excellent, breathtaking, eye opening, panty dropping, stupendous" but then i would be coming close to reviewing it. we have a video of the entire thing, hopefully that will be put up later, for your enjoyment. if we could bottle gene up and sell him i feel like we could solve all the world's problems. he may suffocate and die a terrible gasping death but it would be a small price to pay for eternal joy.



here's what i will review though: bustagroove 2003. we are dance show whores. it's probably not a good sign when you know the names, histories, occupations, dance styles, social security numbers of people you've never met. hong's a bigger whore than i am, but that's only because he's friendlier and gets out more. plus he's a model. but anyway, this was our third or fourth bustagroove. the first half was wack, devoid completely of energy or innovation. the second half was dope. they back-ended all the awesome groups for the end and it was hit after hit. the right groups won. kaba irvine is off the hook, nobody can compare to their pure dancing skills. they are so tight. everyone moves together, twenty as one. it really has to be seen to be believed. i feel like people don't appreciate how freaking hard it is to coordinate the most minute movements of a group of people so that they look identical. then again, i always fucked up left and right so i'm easily impressed. but seriously, some of these dance groups are tiiight. with three "i's."



the dancing out here however, is in my very humble opinion, stagnating. it's hit a point where most everything is starting to look alike and the moves and styles are being recycled. it's hard to get better each and every year once you've hit a technical plateau. it becomes much more about showmanship and entertainment after you get past the technical aspects of these type of shows. these people are the best, these groups are doing the "hottest" coordinated hip hop dancing. but that growth is also slowing down because it's hard to shock and awe people anymore. the moments of "holy shit!" come fewer and farther in-between. then again, this may just be because i'm a dance whore and have seen too many performances. but i feel like there needs to be another giant leap, another huge evolution in where all this goes. so that it's not just "the same ole shit" year after year. then again, there's nothing wrong with that because the same ole is enough for me. it's also exciting to think about how dope funktion and dance2xs are gonna be in one year, two years, five years. i mean, the west coast is the place where it all started but now it's spread to the midwest and there's so much potential there, as far as for growth of the dancing, the audience, the everything.



my question, for real though, is how the fuck do these irvine kids have the time to study and to dance all at the same time? i can barely sleep and eat without running out of twenty four hours a day. do these people not study? are they just so good they don't have to practice much? what's the deal?

i have millenniums of material and rivers of rhythm

an entire ocean of emotion that's enlightening to swim in

also a forest of feeling, beaten paths of peace

trapped inside my silhouette i have to speak to release

demanding more from the pen than i horde from the pen

the line between playing to win and sin is thin

but i walk it with grace and i talk it with taste

i am that raw, simply put, and i rest my case

-cee lo, one for the road-

coming to break you off. i have to admit. i have no clue what coming to break you off means. i want to be down, i want to be with it but the meaning of "breaking" someone off totally escapes me. yes, my unhipness hath no boundaries. i would surmise from the lyrics that coming to break you off is like coming to show you a good time, coming to steal your girl, coming to wreck yo'shit. something related to that. who knows. i really like the song though and i really like the sound of the phrase "breaking you off" so i'm determined to use it in all slightly applicable situations. i don't need to know what words mean to use them, it's all about flair and presentation anyway right?



however, i do know that gene is definitely coming to break you off. this saturday, at twiggs cafe in san diego. it is his major league debut. well, maybe not quite major league but at least double a, as in twice in de-butt. he's the closing set at ten so be there by eight. we're packing that place like girls pack hong. he has cds people. come get them. if you are anywhere near the san diego area this weekend (i'm counting all the continental united states and certain parts of indo-china here), come on by and meet him. and then sit with us while we gesture wildly and clap profusely. it won't be embarassing, i promise. well maybe embarassing for him, but it'll be great fun for us. if you are not there you are beyond a loser. we would ostracize you from all further san diego "about to get someone superstar famous" activities. and what would you do then? so remember this: gene, guitar, girls, twiggs, gargantuan skills. bring it.



bad misses throwing raspberry kisses on me, you looking for direction girl i feel your vision on me. ladies, prepare to throw your panties, so wear your team a underwear please. leave that team b (team c?!? say that no team c undergarments exist) business at home, save it for your man. gene deserves the best panties you got.



in other panty news, it was revealed to me yesterday that apparently, victoria's secret is that her products are really the "old navy of the undergarment world." victoria's items are not really team a, they are cheaply constructed team b underwear. they are shoddy non-durable unreliable flimsy things which have gained an unfair market share and reputation by employing the hottest of models and showcasing the most prominent of mall displays. do not be fooled, or distracted. eyes level eyes level! there exist better panties for you out there girls. free your mind and the rest will follow. thank you to my informer, you know who you are. may your elastic remain forever stretchy.

mine! mine! mine! animals, gotta love'em. what's not to like? inferior beings put on this planet to protect, transport, feed, clothe, accompany us. i was just kidding about the inferior bit. animals aren't inferior, they are just quieter. some of them. anyway. i admire those people who care so much about animals and the environment that they are willing to make a statement with their lifestyles. i was vegetarian once. it stemmed from admiration and care for animals, but it wasn't really about all that. i was supposed to go veggie for a month just to try it but i found myself staying vegetarian for two years. as greg liked to make me say, my reason for being vegetarian was: "...my girlfriend's a vegetarian. which more or less makes me a vegetarian, but i sure love the taste of a good burger." love that movie.



for awhile i avoided any leather clothing. belts, shoes, jackets, wife beaters. and i wouldn't eat anything that had touched a meat item. i was very strict about it for really no good reason other than trying to stay true to my cause. people used to try to sneak meat pieces into my food. people who do such things, who did such things (i know who you are), are on the fast track to hell so i feel pretty good about reaping what you sow. i am a just human being after all. see you in hell buddy, hope it's filled with large vegetables disguised cunningly as meat. anyway. i wasn't quite vegetarian for the health reaons or the animals, but just because i wanted to be one. and i've tinkered with the idea of going veggie again but i don't think i could give up sushi. plus, with my physique it's probably not a good idea to cut protein out of my diet. and i don't eat correctly enough to make up for the lack of meat. but being vegetarian is great, makes you smell better. very key.



twenty, twenty, twenty four hours to go, i wanna be sedated! nothing to do, nowhere to go, i wanna be sedated!



and this whole finding nemo thing, great movie, ironic consequences. little, and big, kids everywhere are clamoring for clown fish pets, their own little "nemo" for the home. this means there will be a higher demand for clown fish (already the most popular tropical fish) and more little nemos will be snatched up from the wild. unless of course all the demand will be fulfilled by tank raised clown fish, which seems doubtful since only two percent of all fish sold in pet stores are bred in captivity. either way, the whole point of the movie, of a wild water rescue to escape the aquariums of man, will translate into more fish stuck in little bowls and rectangular prisons.



we went to the fish store a few days after the initial release of the movie and it was crowded. and i could just imagine all the people wanting to set up a tank and buy some tropical fish and get their very own dorys and nemos. in fact, one of my fellow fish store go-ers expressed the very same sentiment. and the other one already has a dory, a nemo, a french cleaning shrimp and pretty much all the other fish from the movie. but i'm not worried about my friends wanting these fish, because they are responsible ahem adults and will take the time out of their lives to ensure the safety of their pets.



but vat about the children? clown fish are not hardy betas or bulbous goldfish, they need a carefully orchestrated salt water tank in order to survive. the days of dropping a random fish into a simple bowl are over. tropical fish tanks need protein skimmers, synthetic salt, calcium supplements, the list goes on and on. it takes dedication and knowledge to raise tropical fish. i can forsee the death of many a fine clown fish in the upcoming months. and i'll bet some kids even want a little deformed clown fish because in actuality, that's what nemo was, a little deformed fish who by the laws of natural selection should have died died died because he was weak and a poor swimmer. but that probably would not have made for a very good movie. not to mention it's not a very disney-esque message. "there are 3.7 trillion fish in the ocean, there used to be more. come watch nemo swim in circles and die."



did you know that coral reefs represent only one percent of the ocean, yet twenty five percent of all marine species rely on them for some element of their life span? we're killing fish yo. and isn't it weird that nemo's dad is named marlin? a fish named after another fish. is that not weird?



so the question comes down to, in all matters of conservation, where is the line drawn between appreciating something and just leaving it alone? i mean, i love zoos and aquariums because i like to see the animals. and that naturally leads to owning your own animal, specifically fish. but by buying fish for your home, you're killing the fish in the ocean (ignore the fact that i love eating raw fish for a second, i'm still struggling with some personal hypocrisies. actually, my entire life is about personal hypocrisies but we don't have the space to deal with it here). eventually we will end up with lots of endangered fish in the sea --where indeed the seaweed is always greener-- and some really colorful home ornaments. i believe that by exposing people to exotic animals, we are raising awareness of their plight and also allowing for first hand appreciation of their beauty. and that is the main function of zoos, so even though it might be "sad" to see an animal all caged up, it's a small sacrifice for the bigger picture. so to all you zoo haters, i hate you! just kidding, it's not that deep. the hating you part.



the problem itself is deep however. and i've run out of things to say about it. or rather i have too much to say about it but not enough coherence to put it all down. so till next time. keep your mind on your money and your hands off my sushi.



we're going to sea world soon, anyone want in?

don't worry bout a thing ma'am. yesterday, gaga got a flat tire. the first person she called was...me! so in honor of such a momentous occassion i give to you "jon's ingenius way to fix a flat" or "what is there that i can't do?" don't try this at home kids, i'm a professional. first step, receive distress call from damsel in distress. assure her that help will be arriving immediately. go into the boba shop to lay down the info and to recruit help. this step is otherwise known as, get someone who knows what the hell they're doing to come with me. hi jimmy.



take off from boba shop before jimmy does, get to the rescue scene five minutes after he gets there. the car is already partially jacked and the spare ready to go. do i just drive slow or something? jimmy hands me his beads and his watch upon my arrival, probably assuming that i would be well out of harms way, thus able to protect his valuables. little does he know that i'm about to get down and dirty. looking over messy working area, wonder where the hell all my hand sanitizer went. make mental note to always have spare sanitizer in car, not just in man purse.



crouch down next to jimmy and gaga, survey the damage and go "ummm yup, definitely flat." give the deflated tire a good kick just to repeat the obvious again in an action orientated manner. go to my trunk to look for tools to help out. open trunk. peer in. am confused. where are my tools? the aforementioned helpless damsel comes over, yanks on some side opening and shows me my jack and tools. she says, not condescendingly, "oh, your tools are here, for future reference." i say "oh, i knew that." continue to front like i knew where they were the whole time, while thinking internally about the ingenuity and foresight involved in placing useful tools in a little trunk cubby. almost like someone had designed it that way for just such an emergency. marvel at humans and specifically, engineers. grab my tools. impressed by soft plastic packaging and overall stickiness factor of velco fastening. feel like batman as a young boy scout. always prepared with all these cool toys.



get ready for some nut loosening. or perhaps it was a bolt, or a screw, whatever the hell you call it, those round thingies holding the tire to the car. i flex. nothing happens. am not much surprised. vow to never flex again. proceed to push on metal bar wth all my strength. epic struggle ensues. lighting roars, mountains quibble, nuclear bombs detonate. no movement on the loosening front. look up, say to jimmy, "bitch, stop laughing, you do this." am pleased when he can't do it either. must be a tough nut. make stupid roaring noises ala the hulk. regained motivation. still pasty white though. pants still fit too. me and jimmy combine forces like voltron and push/pull together. lend emotional/moral/vocal support to jimmy. nut loosens. celebrate with bad macho man randy savage impersonation. receive "how's it going call" from mere mortal. assure him that all is well, no backup needed. i am after all, a superhero.



while tonto examines the busted tire i raise the car some more using the simple yet highly effective jack. remark on how winding the jack is similar to churning butter. i'm good at winding the jack. i must have been a fabulous butter churner in a previous life. albeit a very small petite, yet blindingly efficient, one. car is raised, spare is affixed. nuts go back in. am careful not to brush myself with filthy hands. i am wearing white. proceed to bathroom to scrub hands. three times. curse myself again for lack of hand sanitizer. yearn for scrumptious and enticing ice cream bar. resist with the help of odin, thor and any lesser gods not preoccupied at the time. step outside, watch gaga fill her spare tire with air. think again about how cool a tire gauge is. maybe i should invest in one. some people carry one in their planners. might be handy. like me.



drive away feeling very manly after saving yet another grateful princess. light up cigarette as reward for massive exertion. dub myself "first (last?) person everyone should call in case of emergency." am pleased with self. continue on merry way to get a butt whooping at basketball. the end.

you made it a hot line, i made it a hot song. sometimes when you hear a song, you just think of somebody. a mental image of them dancing to a particular song, in a particular style, maybe a particular move or facial expression. when i'm sitting around listening to music i get brief flashes of people i'm thinking of as the lyrics or beats spool out. the song will come on and i'll go "hey!" and think of somebody. it's kinda great.



some examples: i always think of je-yi when hearing snoop's part from the next episode. bitches lookin at me strange but you know i don't care, step up in this motherfucker just a-swangin my hair. apparently je-yi and snoop are cool like that and both love their hair. brian is pharcyde's otha fish in the sea because he used to say those lines all day long. it took a second to register up in my branium, my dome, my head, my skull, my cranium. james is jodeci's lately. james and victor together are hotel california. george is end of the road and i swear. she used to play those songs over and over again because of boyfriends. good goddies. over and over, i swear by the moon and the stars in the sky. jimmy does a mean yelling rendition of tupac's hit'em up. first off, fuck your bitch and the click you claim, west side when we ride come equipped with game. don't fuck wit victor on dre day because he's funny as all hell. des cranks out some ace of base (the sign) on karaoke and it's hard to dissociate that from her. josh introduced me to jars of clay and now he's love song for a savior. i heard eric sing wonderful tonight once and it was truly quite wonderful. oh and i thought of alvin even before i knew who alvin was because i saw him do dmb's satellite at gen apa my freshman year and i always remembered it as terribly thrilling and terribly good.



and of course hong is next's dancing real close, plus real real slow. you had to watch huaren fashion show era long time ago to understand. adam is the ditty boy, he comes hopping up out of his seat everytime the song comes on. i think of entire funktion when i hear busta and break ya neck. the beats to put your hands where my eyes could see always always makes me think of this girl i liked. i can still see her now in my mind's eye. she never put her hands where my eyes could see though. yeah, i'm stupid. shoot me.



groove mode and penguin walking go hand in hand when here we come plays. taste of my neck like corn on the cob i'm second to none, i'm freaky as ever. and amit rocks fashion show like no other but i can't remember the prince song right now. something with lots of ba na na na na's and ecstacy and some lyrics i can't remember (update, was informed that it's called kiss). helpful eh? actually there's a whole mess of songs associated with dance people because well, dance involves music so pretty much anything we've danced to or i've seen people dance to i associate with a particular group or person. or perhaps moments. like usher's nice and slow when the ghetto northwestern boombox broke down and babbs led the off stage acapella version of it while the people on stage continued to pound it out. i got a real pretty, pretty little thang that's waiting for me. that moment was pretty much a top ten life moment for sure.



louis is more than words to me because i believe that's the only song he can play on the guitar. and karina's rendition of the rose is to die for. and greg has a couple songs but i won't say them publicly because it would only embarass him. i could go on. everyone has a song or two attached to them in my memory banks. i should drop a big list. people might be surprised at what kinds of weird songs i associate with them. man, i miss people. what the heck.



and of course, i think of gene when i hear gene. his cd is out, his gig is upcoming. but that deserves it's own separate entry.

don't move till after the second flash! little kids have alot of energy. i love little kids, i get along with little kids, i am a little kid. we had lunch today with some people and among them were two little girls, aged ten and eleven. they've been over to our house alot before to watch television (we get the cartoon network, they don't) but i was always going in or out and never really hung out with them much. at lunch today they were very subdued quiet little gals. then we started to strike up a conversation, about harry potter, summer school and what types of things are all the rage in middle school nowadays. i need to know to be cool with my ten year old demographic of course.



apparently ten year olds need cell phones because they have a "phone zone" area at the school where you can use your cellphones. you have to turn off your phone in class though of course, because that might get in the way of arithmetic and history and you know, school. tell me something, what do little kids need cell phones for? they don't drive, they see who they need to see everyday, what the heck are they needing phones for? to call the parents? that's a semi-valid reason, but kids don't need to be using the phone at school. "hi, i'm in mr shepard's class, this is real boring, wanna meet up at milk break?" i didn't even get a pager till near the very end of high school and now kids want phones? the world is a changing. it's kind of scary actually. they said that boys "sag and wear chains and sunglasses" and that girls "ride their shorts up as high as they can." i think we forget, as young adults, how much certain things can influence us as we are growing up. i scoff at "violence in video games" adversely affecting our youth but then i see how jaded ten year olds can be about blood and guts in halo, and it's kind of scary. they have some good hand eye coordination though. i think they picked up the whole first person shooter thing faster than i ever did. score one for ten year olds. score zero for twenties.



little kids are ridiculously loud too. from shy and quiet to super comfortable and rambunctious in a millisecond. yelling at you, screaming at you, sitting on your lap, tugging you along everywhere, trolling through all your stuff, calling you names like "dummy, ugly, stupid." they even told me i was a "bad example" at one point. they must have gotten the public service announcement before they came over. i think little kids relate to me though (or vice verse), i'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing. i'm willing to bet bad since i'm twenty four and they're younger than me combined.



it takes a whole team of us to handle two little girls. no man or woman could possibly have the energy to keep up with kids. you have to be able to pass them off to one other to get some breathing room. the days of "here kiddo, take some candy, shut up" are over. they need to be entertained at every waking second otherwise they might slam wooden hammers into your knees. i'm never having kids. i'll come play with yours but no way in hell am i having any of my own. i always forget too, how much little kids remember, you can't just throw them bs explanations or stories because that stuff will come back to haunt you. "but you said you graduated from college and my mommy said you didn't!" hit me where it hurts kid.



and finally, it's so sad looking at kids when it's time for them to go home. they look all despondent and tiny. their parents are half kicking them out the door, all the "five more minutes mom!" stuff is over and done with, and now they have to leave for real. breaks my heart when the wee ones must scamper off into the night. although it is somewhat of a relief. actually it's a big relief. kids man, gotta love'em.

how old is too old for a sleep over? i've never really known the joy that comes with an earned long weekend. i mean, if i wanted a long weekend i just rolled over, hit the alarm and bam, long weekend. but damn, when you take a friday off the whole atmosphere of the weekend changes. i can't really say i'm holding down a normal normal job but i am at work monday through friday if nothing else. so having friday free makes friday seem like a saturday. and saturday seem like a sunday. and surprise, sunday feel like a free day. by the way, totally unrelated to weekends but i got the cleanest damn car wash the other day from happy car wash, courtesy of mr kim. my white car is white again and all those dirt marks and sticky bug eulogies are gone. if you need a car wash, go to gene.



(i'm writing this sunday even though it's dated friday so if it seems like i'm prescient, i am.)



i can't even recall what happened this weekend. let's get rid of the usual words...fun, chill, relaxed, food. there was some poker, complete with official green felt table and a handy hookah. i went all in on hand three and lost my initial ten dollars to four jacks attached to one wank. four jacks son! even god isn't that lucky and he's GOD. we set up james's tent at hotel pan just to test it out for his upcoming camping trip. it's nice. camping gear has come a long way since last i saw it. neat little latches and hooks, color coded assembly, it's not even camping anymore. but maybe it woulda been more difficult setting it up outdoors, as opposed to in the controlled environs of a living room. still, we were roughing it. i'm hardcore.



this weekend was definitely about everyone being home in sun deprived sd (someone explain to me what sixties, cloudy, june and san diego are doing together in a related sentence). george is down, grace is down, victor and tien came down. jeff came down. maristella was down for a second. no ameer but i think that's probably good for his sanity. there was a lot of san diego-y things going on. we were at our house for alot of the weekend and it occurs to me that this might be the last big gathering of such a kind at my house. some people slept over on saturday and it felt like old times. going downtown, it felt like we were rolling deep in san diego. twelve people. that's pretty much everyone i know in san diego. funny how "rolling deep" varies so much. twelve might be considered small elsewhere but twelve san diego people is is huge. additionally i feel bad for any girls who hang out with us (all one of them), because all we do is sit around, eat, play poker, play videogames, make fun of each other, do nothing. but i think they're used to it by now. we do this every week. [pictures]

leggo my eggo. this fool is re-creating escher paintings out of legos. whut?!? and he's done mathematical legos: mobius strips, trefoil knots, minimal surfaces and klein bottles. i don't even know what half this stuff is but damn it's cool. someone explain this stuff to me, if you know what it is. the guy is so serious about everything too, breaking down the computer drawings, the mathematical equations. oh it's just great to see time used productively.

i wanna hear a poem

where ideas kiss similes so

deeply that metaphors get jealous

where the subject matters so

much that adjectives start holding

pro-noun rallies at city hall .cont.

-stephen colman-



i wanna propose we follow those

who chose a different

way to knock.

those who banged with persistence

like the audre lordes of my existence.

who chose a different way to walk --

took a chance, didn't prance, tiptoe,

twirl thru this world.

i refuse to slide past

even if it means coming in last.

i'm gonna stomp and rage and kick,

talk hard, think thick, see it don't

take a dick to have balls.

-alix olson-

frank, sammy and dino. packing up is hard to do. harder than breaking up? it's a close call. so far i've found a few articles from my past that i'm not sure if i should toss or box up. my kindergarten scrap book with cut out magazine pictures of things, my juvenile handwriting alongside explaining items like "cute cat, big ice cream, green grass." all very fundamental stuff for a neophyte english speaker i'm sure. and then i found my report on lobsters from the second grade. and then my report on basketball from sixth grade. the drawings were really good in that one and i was all proud for a second, before i admitted to myself that i had traced everything. then i found a whole album of cartoons i used to draw. either comic book heroes (looking decidedly disproportional and unheroic) or heathcliff. i used to draw alot of heathcliff for some reason, never garfield, just heathcliff. and of course, ninja turtles, if you didn't draw those as a young boy you probably did too well in your classes.



then i found all these letters to and from chinese school and middle school crushes. filled with witty things like "what's up? the sky! ha ha ha." guess how long i was single for? there was also a photo album of my star turn as woodstock for christian youth theatre. so far everyone who's seen it had to look twice to make sure it's not george. i'm wearing yellow tights and lots of makeup. woodstock the bird doesn't talk, which is fortunate because jon the seven year old didn't speak english. *chirp* i'm still looking for the video. the year after "you're a good man charlie brown" me and george were streetsweepers in pinocchio. we rocked white and red polka dotted costumes. i was also a boy slash donkey. i was versatile i know. it's stunning how alike me and george looked in full street sweeper costume. identical even. i remember always coming out for the closing curtain dressed in my boy/donky outfit because who the hell wants to come out as the townie street sweeper?



and i'm willing to lay all i own on the line that between me and george, we can out-fob, out-dork, out-geek, out-terriblehair just about anybody else with our collection of childhood pictures. one thing we can't do is out-big head james. but then again, who can? actually i've seen a picture of amit as a child and he might out-big head james.



after moving james last week, i've decided to forgo all physical possessions for the rest of my life. i just want my computer, my music and my books. i don't even want a bed, a desk or anything heavier than thirty pounds. i'm trying to toss all sentimental items aside. i am not as much of a packrat as james but i have alot of shit. james had alot of stuff (furniture, keyboard, electronics, clothes, shoes) while i have alot of shit. pads of paper from way back, toys of all kinds, magazines from a decade ago, itty bitty pieces of gifts from people, boxes of letters, cards and valentines (from third grade). what the heck do you do with all this stuff? burn it? toss it? i've kept it this long why not a little longer? my mom almost tossed my entire comic collection. tragedy was narrowly averted. score one for childhood.



anyway. the packing has begun. word to your mother. or actually, my mother.

tangental. do your friends reveal who you are? can you tell what kind of person somebody is by looking at their friends? are our friends a giant reflection of ourselves? the answer is no. nice how i can just take a matter of personal opinion and transform it into objective fact right? i'll do it again. no. and if you believe that, i've got a disappearing twenty dollar trick to show you.



i think that even by looking at every single friend a person has you cannot tell who they truly are. we're all fake with everyone anyway, sheesh. actually, if i saw you and all your friends, i might make a quick judgement for or against you, thus contradicting myself. but hey, i'm happy to do that. sometimes you might wonder "how can so-and-so be friends with so-and-so, they're so different!" the answer relates back to the hows of friendship and that is decidedly undecipherable, ie. impossible to decipher, used traditionally as an adjective but cooler as a noun. although i'm not sure how an adjective might blossom into a noun. my grammar sucks for real, i'm working on it though. don't hate me for my fob childhood. just give me my citizenship so i can avoid mandatory military service in constant fear of guns and uncompromising authority. oh wait, i already am a citizen. thanks america. now where's that dream you promised?

tzu sang-hu, meng tzu-fan, and tzu ch'in-chang were friends. they said to each other: "who can live together without any special effort to live together and help each other without any special effort to help each other?" .....the three looked at each other and smiled, completely understood each other, and thus became friends.

-chuang tzu-

ok so the hows of friends have been written off as undecipherable. the whys of friends has been talked about. now i can do the whats of friends. i've talked on and on about the exchange rate that is in effect for all relationships (excepting a very select few, aka children or family). so i'll skip that in order not to bore you. actually, forget that. if you're reading this, you are no doubt bored. i mean, if you had better things to do, would you (or i for that matter) be here?



the exchange rate inherent in all relationships. when you give to a friend, you receive something back. think about when you first start becoming friends with someone. you don't just take take take or give give give. at least in a healthy relationship. it's more take give take give take give. in a nice systematic pattern. and it has to be somewhat equitable. if you give them a ride, you can expect them to give you a ride sometime. slowly, as your friendship progresses your exchanges can get more hefty. think of it like exchanging emails. you start with a few lines welcoming, you wait for a reply, you send out a longer email, wait for a reply. you don't send off tons of emails to random strangers without responses to encourage you on. if you do do this, i recommend some professional help. and stay the hell away from me. anyway, an email sent out is an email waiting to be responded to. in this way, you can also gauge friendship.



there's also the matter of the type of exchanges you are engaging in. they must be somewhat balanced. you must make sure that what you give and what you receive are enough to make both parties satisfied. even if one party is giving or receiving more, that's okay as long as both people are satisfied. the exchange rate is relative for these types of things. also, we cannot measure satisfaction in terms of simple exchanges of favors and such. there is also the mental, psychological, emotional and physical rewards to consider. friends should not be engaged in a rate of exchange that is unfavorable to either party. if so, cash out and get a new friend because you're getting played playa.

"just as he does not work except in exchange for something of economic value, he also does not give his love, friendship, or esteem except in trade for the pleasure he receives from the virtues of individuals he respects."

and that is enough about exchanging. the other important and interesting thing about the whats of a friendship is that it should take no effort. well not no effort. no "special effort" as quoted above. there should be a certain comfortabilty and naturalness to a friendship. if it is forced or artificial it's not a true friendship. if you have to "make" yourself be friends with someone they are probably more of a responsibilty, a contact, an acquaintance, or a bitch. if you have to make yourself "be there" then that probably kinda sucks, for you and for them. some people aren't good at being there, some people are. friends are people who are "there" when it counts, and i see the truth in that, but i can also disagree.



sometimes i suck at being there. does that make me a poor friend? okay actually, yes. if it's within reason to be there, you should be there. because although i hate to admit it, actions do more often than not, speak louder than words (just not for me cuz i'm special). one doesn't have to expect our friends to run from marathon to athens but if they can be there, they should be. no questions asked. because part of being a friend is also being reliable and counted on. you probably shouldn't have to manipulate your friend into being there. then again, there are some people who are unreliable no matter how much they love you. you just learn to deal with it, or jettison the friendship. your choice.



stuff like returning emails, phone calls, remembering birthdays, all these are minor trivialities. sure it's nice for people to remember them but you have to see how the individual is. too many people give up on friends because they feel they are being ignored. i can see why they feel this way, if they are reaching out and getting nothing in return. but sometimes, people are just flaky. but that's the exception not the rule so we'll skip that. the "what is a friend" point i'm trying to make here is that a friend is whatever you need them to be. combined with what they need you to be. nothing more nothing less. it's easy to get that all twisted though. so i recommend getting friends to sign contracts in blood. that's what i would do if i had any powers of persuasion.



oh, also, friends accept you as what you are. not what you were, or what you should be. but that's pretty basic. if you have to fight who you are versus what you're supposed to be then you've already lost the battle. and you need to tell your friends who you are or stop hanging out with them because you're probably lying to yourself. friends don't have to understand you, they just have to accept you.

people are always so boring when they band together. you have to be alone to develop all the idiosyncrasies that make a person interesting.

-andy warhol-

home is where the heart is i live. we are moving. out of our house of ten plus years. we are moving out of it for a number of reasons, most of which i don't fully comprehend or agree with. but then again i'm stupid and narrow minded. but suffice to say, we are moving out of our big pink house. yes, it's pink. when we first moved to san diego we moved around alot. not an extreme alot but every four years, pretty much on schedule and on the fourth year. but once we got to this house in del mar, we stuck around. this is the one house that actually has any sort of memories and emotions tied into it. countless numbers of sleepovers, huge family parties, the place where i sprouted from the wee lad i was to the strapping man i am. i see you laughing in the back. stop it.



i'll actually miss the community alot because i feel like the community is an extension of our house. the wide streets used for baseball, football and skateboarding. the trees i learned to finally climb at the tender age of thirteen. the sand dunes and hills located behind the community where we could go for an adventure. the hot air balloons that sailed over our house everyday, sometimes flying so low that we could very clearly see the passenger's faces. i always wanted one to crash. never happened. but we have a few weeks left to keep hope alive, if maybe not the ballooners. i'll think back about the little gang of neighborhood kids we used to form clubs, bike gangs and entreprenuers with. i lived most of my pre-automobile life on these streets, these mean gated streets of upper middle class suburbia.



and oh how i'll miss the pool. i grew up in that pool. we never once used the tiny jacuzzi in our backyard, always opting to run across the street to use the community pool and its accompanying big jacuzzi. now they've put motion sensors in the pool area to prevent kids from sneaking in after ten pm. bastards. adults are the biggest buzzkill ever created by god, surpassing even satan and sin. "don't yell, don't throw things, don't splash, don't run, don't get wet, get outta my sun." we used to make slip n slides with the pool covers, causing us to skin our bodies from all the sliding back and forth between the scalding jacuzzi and the freezing pool. now they don't even heat the pool in the winter because they assume nobody wants to swim then. or they are too cheap and want to prevent winter swimming. it's fucking san diego, we have no winters, warm the damn pool.



i even used to babysit kids around here once in awhile. does that scare you or what?



you can see stars from my house at night. maybe not a ton of stars, but we're located on a big hill so we get more stars than your average san diego suburban spot. and we have tons of palm trees around the community, which is nice. nothing is more californian than palm trees. we also had an assortment of wildlife running around the place. bunnies, snails, snakes, frogs (sometimes left flattened by tires and dried out by the pounding sun), ants, an occassional coyote, random domesticated dogs given free reign of the streets. there was this one dog, jazz, a graying golden retreiver that would just wander the streets all day long. i think jazz died many years ago. but then again, all dogs die (and go to heaven). so no surprises there. in the cosmic scheme of things, it's probably better to die a free roaming dog than a flat squished frog. i wonder what the frog did in its previous life to deserve such a violent death. admonish children i'm sure.



perhaps i'm being melodramatic, because we're only planning on renting the house out for a few years. but still, anything could happen in a few years. anything will happen in a few years. i hope it gets rented out to bubble boy and his family, so that our house stays squeaky and contaminant clean. actually i'm hoping that a celebrity rents it out, so they can say "i live at jon yang's house." then they would assuredly get more famous and can then afford to buy their own freaking house and get outta mine. anyway, moving sucks. but i'm sure i'll tell you how much in the days to come. i can hear your excitment and anticipation already.

building castles in the sky, just the two of us, you and i. there is a guy, who wrote an article about the virtual economy that is ultima online. now he is trying to make a living off of this economy. and he's started a blog about it. i've learned more about economics from his column than i ever did in college. oh wait, did i even go to college? anyway, this is the type of crusade i could get behind. i'm so jealous man. so jealous. i hope he makes it so i can go mentor under him. i'm not pathetic, i'm just independently motivated. btw, i need a job. what else is new?

don't mess with my man. so here's what's wack. lucy pearl's track "you" featured snoop dogg and q tip and naturally, when they went to make the video, they both were asked to be in attendance at the shoot. snoop dogg in all his skinny glory was there, looking cool and doing his pre-shizzle nizzle yo hizzle thing. joi (who replaced dawn robinson), raphael saadiq and ali shaheed muhammad my dj who is real dominant, he and i form the funky tribe, if you want to get with it, just feel the vibe were set up to promote their song in a typical, yet relatively classy, party video. q tip was nowhere to be found. tip, long time friend (i'm assuming) and associate of ali, worked together for years to produce some of the greatest music hip hop has ever seen. with the break up of the quest tribe, lucy pearl was the first project from an ex member and their work was highly anticipated and eventually highly acclaimed. where was q tip when his old bandmate needed some support though?



nowhere that's where.



he didn't show up at the shoot, even after he had committed to it. obviously ali and the rest of lucy pearl were not very happy. how do you make a video without one of the lyricists on the track? especially when it's q tip, a big name and "star" in the industry. of course q tip scenes did get in for the actual video. he shoots his lines walking and rapping along the streets of new york. but there is a big disconnect between the club scenes featuring everyone else and q tip doing his own solo bit. and you kind of wonder, "what happened?" what happened was that ali got jacked and tip screwed over his friend (supposedly he partied too hard or something). i may not know the whole story but if it went down like i just said it did, that's waaaaack! don't do that to your friends man. it sucks. and blows. if...when...i make a damn video, you guys better all be there or we are no longer friends.

planets pledge allegiance to the funk in all its forms. i think about friends alot. the making of friends, the missing of friends, the hows whys and whats of friends. the sociological, psychological, philosophical phenomenon that is friends. what makes two people friends? much of it is a shared experience, value, perspective, interest or ideal. most people i know make friends by being around people and then "clicking" with certain individuals. but what is that clicking? actually, that clicking could be anything. there are too many reasons for clickage to bother talking about here. why people get along is why they get along, it's rather ambitious of me to try to break clickage down. and seeing as i'm a particularly non-ambitious person headed for certain gory death and screaming distress, i'm giving up now to save me from the certain loss of hope and crushing of dreams later. yah! giving up is the other half of the battle gi joe never told you about.



so okay. next. friends are said to be a reflection of yourself. you are who you love and you are who loves you or whatever. by looking at people's friends you can tell things about that person, at least hypothetically. but you have to look at the entire body of friends (not friends' entire bodies mind you, sickos) to get a clear picture of a person because each individual friend fulfills a different aspect of a person. many of these aspects can overlap but in my opinion, each friend should/does add something unique and necessary to your life. if they didn't why bother being friends? the depth and breadth of these connections might be one factor in how close two people are; something that distinguishes friends from close friends and all the unnecessary gray areas in-between.



i read this essay about the similarities between art and friendship. each person, each piece of art (or type of music), strikes a cord within us, and even though nobody else may appreciate it or sense it, we do and that's to our individual taste. by looking at all the the pieces of art that somebody loves, we can gain insight into parts of them that we might otherwise never be exposed to. each art piece or type of music taps into part of our vision or style of life but no single piece or type can capture the whole. friendships are very personal and always subjective. just because you are friends with two people doesn't mean that they would get along well, because maybe their connection to you is on totally different levels and they have no connections in common aside from you. and it's so subjective that one friend can many times be like "wow, how can you be friends with that person and also with me?" that's what i mean by subjectivity as applied to friendship, beauty is truly is in the eyes of the beholder.



there are many aspects of myself that cause me to connect with one friend or another, but not necessarily the same aspects that cause me to connect with another friend. you may have a friend who you shoot the shit with, a friend who you create with, a friend you cry with, a friend you appreciate something with, a friend who you drink with, a friend to sit around and do nothing with. oh whoops, that's also shooting the shit. it's okay, i have alot of those, shooting the shit type friends so i can be redundant.



now, because no single person can align perfectly with me in all my aspects (please don't laugh here) it logically concludes that to expect one person to be your only friend is ridiculous. i can't get everything i need from one person and no one would be able to get everything they needed from just me. so it is foolish to assume that there is a one, a one person who could be your everything. most of us realize this i think, we are not naive, if a bit overly idealistic in certain dimensions. two people can never be the same and striving to make two become one is a monumental and most likely impossible task. then again, the spice girls managed it so nothing is impossible.



the thing about friendships is that your friends are different from you. they are stimulating to the mind body and soul, not just a mere reflection of yourself. nobody wants "yes" men to be their friends. although it would be nice to have some more "yes's" from my particular proximity of men. ahem. you know who you are. anyways. this to me is part of the why of friends. i decided a few paragraphs back to not bother with the how of friends, too daunting of a task you understand. tomorrow i hope to tackle the whats of friends. so pretty much i'll have discovered all i need to know about friends by wednesday and then i can go hang out with them on thursday. i'm so damn efficient it's scary.

the cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast, some rand (a nice breakdown essay) in the morning:



a trader, a man of justice, earns what he receives and neither gives nor takes the undeserved. just as he does not work except in exchange for something of economic value, he also does not give his love, friendship, or esteem except in trade for the pleasure he receives from the virtues of individuals he respects. love, friendship, and esteem, as moral tributes, are caused and must be earned. productiveness, the virtue of creating material values, is the art of translating one's thoughts and goals into reality. pride, the total of the preceding virtues, can be thought of as moral ambitiousness.

there are three kinds of people in this world, those who can count and those who can't. there are two kinds of friends, reliable and unreliable. reliable people are there, on time, prepared and ready to go. unreliable people, in a word, aren't. reliable people stand waiting by and are available at the drop of a button. unreliable people take some cajoling and convincing, and even then they may never show. reliable people call you back at their earliest opportunity. unreliable people say "oops sorry, i forgot to call you back, how you doing?" reliable people make the world go round. unreliable people get around.



it's not better or worse to be reliable or unreliable. you just have to realize what you can tolerate in a certain individual. some people can be counted on and some people can't. some people measure the success of a friendship based on "will he/she/it be there for me when the chips are down?" and while this is a great question, it's also a little too easy. most people will be there for you when the chips are down. when your back is against the wall, your friends better be there for you or they aren't even real friends anyway. but it's in the normal everyday things, where reliable and unreliable make subtle impacts and reverberations, that determine the scope of a person. like who listens when you need them to, like who remembers what you tell them, like who is on time when they're supposed to be on time.



ok, i have to check myself. being on time and being prepared aren't really about being reliable or unreliable. that's something separate. so scratch that.



some friends you know will always call you back, will stick to their committed word, will show up when you expect them to, will be there when you need support, will shut up and listen when you want it. some friends are borne by the wind and come flying in and out of your life at their whim. this is fine if you can deal with it. actually, many of my best friends do this, come crashing into my life for a few hours or days at a time, and then jet off for months without any communication. i think i deal with it well because that's pretty much what i do. takes one to know one no? but some people can't, they equate contact and proximity with closeness and friendship. i don't think this is necessarily the case. some people are just not very good at staying rooted and responsible.



in the exchange of friendship, it's supposed to be all even. if i'm flighty and you're flightly, cool, we understand each other. if i'm flighty and you're not but you understand me, cool. but there are times when problems arise. times when the rooted responsible friend feels obligated to...how to put this delicately..."eat shit"...because they are friends. they have to suck it up because they care. this is when emotional attachments and friendships start to mess with my neat little simplistic "exchange of friends" ideal. because sometimes one friend is more willing to be a giver and they may not like it, but they do it because "hey, we're friends." this is great in theory and i'd agree with it on a humanistic level. but i don't think it's right.



if you feel too overextended or inconvenienced for a friend, even a good friend, you are totally within your rights to say "sorry bub, can't do that for you." especially if you feel like in a reverse situation, they wouldn't do it for you. in fact, it's practically your prerogative to say no. actually i'll go so far as to say that it is your prerogative to say no. i'm swashbuckling bold, i know. i think putting the foot down makes all the difference. because sometimes the exchange part of a friendship gets lost. and it becomes about "true friendship equals not tallying the exchanges." but keep it real. we are all nerdy mathematics via in-breeding. and we can count and we shouldn't be afraid to do it.

i think once you construct a vision or a version of what you want, you start to hold out for it, and in the process, losing out on something in front of you. sometimes it's good to take stock of real life situations, situations where you feel comfortable and connected, as opposed to trying to convince yourself that there is someone out there specifically made to order for you.



an idealist is someone who has ideals? a romantic is a type of idealist? as in someone whose ideal is this great perfect guy/girl who fits into that ideal mold? i think everyone is an idealist, who isn't? nobody walks around thinking, "i'll take the first thing that comes my way." being an idealist nowadays is like saying that you're introspective. everybody's introspective, everybody's idealistic. it's a matter of defining those ideals to a certain degree. what exactly are your ideals? down to the detail. find those and make sure those are relevant and not just things you think you want. otherwise you will not only be looking in the rearview mirror but also checking out all the wrong cars too.

-forgot where i stole this from-

newsflash:

it ain’t the love you choose, it’s the life you live.



now that i think about it, it’s not the concept of loving yourself before you can love others that i sense people struggling with, it’s the inability or unwillingness or lack of awareness to do the things that will make you love yourself. simply put, many people don’t have the tools necessary to fulfill passions. man, if you don’t know how to or just don’t want to follow your dreams or fulfill your passions, i just don’t see how you could truly love yourself or expect others to love you. i’ve witnessed others who have not yet defined their passions. cool. fine. confused? unsure about the purpose of life? not sure about what you’re really good at? not sure you have a passion? no problemo. these are stepping stone questions important to life.



don’t want to define your passion? not trying to find what your passion is? problemo. i kind of have an issue with that. it’s the ultimate in mentally standing still. i believe the cliché to be true in this case, ‘if you’re not moving forward, you’re falling behind.’ i hear you saying, “i don’t know what my passions are and i don’t want to know.” for some reason i have a problem with people who’s actions or lack of actions reflect this statement. there may be something wrong with me since i’m the one having the problem. but let’s for a second pretend there’s not something wrong with me. let’s pretend there really is something wrong with you. that you could in fact experience daily joy and happiness and peace should you achieve in choosing to change yourself and express that choice through action. let’s pretend that. if this possibility is true, what could you first change about yourself that fits: define passion>fulfill/chase passion>feel good about yourself/love yourself>achieve daily joy and happiness and peace>be prepared mentally for a healthy/happy relationship.



it’s not what you got, it’s what you give. it ain’t the love you choose, it’s the life you live.



you have to be right with you before you can truly love anybody else or expect them to love you. “i am, i am, i’m cool with myself, i like who i am.” do you? do you really? or are you saying it because you think that’s the right answer? because i believe that if you really did love yourself, you could stand on the strength of your love and your passions and command to be seen and not beg to be noticed.



it ain’t the love you choose, it’s the life you live. start with passion.

-excerpted from human amoeba, june03-

be calm, drink lots of water, stay by the phone. to my fellow blog brethren, some of whom have been concerned enough to email me with subject headings like "blogger crisis" and messages that basically say "okay...so new blogger template for posting, right? all my entries before today's are GONE. all GONE. can you help me please????" emphasis on syllables are nanaba's, not mine. this is bordering on worldwide catastrophe. so far three people have reported blogger problems. this means three people did not post today! do you know what that means? yes, three people did not post today. i seem to be repeating myself. is there an echo in here?



however. i am here to announce to the world that all will be fine. i have seen the missing entries problem with my own two eyes and while it is indeed frightening, i trust in the omnipotent blogger people to fix things up asap. so sit tight, hang onto your panties, don't get anything in a bunch, and all will be swell. you can also hold my hand if you want, during this troubling time, if that makes you feel better. just hand sanitize periodically okay? thanks.



ps. if i start to lose my posts and archives, an "everyone panic" post will soon follow. but until then, i'm as calm as a polar bear in winter.

i'm a hustler baby, i just want you to know. it aint where i been, but where i'm bout to go. alot of my dad's friends are businessmen. they travel all over the place and look around for opportunities to make money. they're entrepreneurs. originally for me, the thought was to go to business school and concentrate in entrepreneurship (don't laugh please, my dreams are delicate). but can you even do that? what do you learn in entreprenuer class? common sense?



how do you learn to look at opportunities and make money out of them? i had lunch with one of my family friends yesterday and he gave me a quick run down of what he's done for the last thirty years. he started out working for the government in shipping and exports. then he worked for some factory managing the production side. then he moved onto owning his own trading company. and now he's closed that company to concentrate on real estate in china. alternately, he's going to go into training chinese professionals.



some of my dad's other friends have owned small retail businesses, they've sold window blinds, been realtors, sold furniture, scooped ice cream, a great many of them import/export things. in short, they're all hustlers. they don't go the straight and narrow path of engineer, doctor, programmer. i know many friends' dads who do the more traditional jobs, the ones that are easily explained in a few sentences or phrases. but for some of my dad's friends, i ask them what they do and it's just a big jumble of things. but they make it work. the majority of them are very successful and make a living by finding opportunities and exploiting them.



even my dad, despite being more of a factory owner and whatnot, is an entrepreneur in my eyes because he had to do everything involved with a flute from the beginning to the end. he was quality controller, manager, salesman, customer service representative, importer/exporter, everything. it was easier to define him as "factory owner" but that was hardly indicative of what he really had to do.



college really only trains you for a streamlined type of job. when you initially graduate, you're expected to enter the normal work force. and this is good in a sense, because you need experience and knowledge to open your eyes to other possibilities. maybe i'm being deluded in thinking that hustlers are instantly born, not made. i only see the end products that my dad's friends are and discount all the schooling and normal jobs that they had to go through to get to where they are now. i rather like the mental image of little asian fathers working the proverbial block, trying to make ends meet, trying to build up a little fortune. i want to be that but i also kind of gloss over the twenty or so years of hard work beforehand. dilemma dilemma.

achilles heel, j.lo's butt. where the hell did the the possessive apostrophe for achilles heel go? it's gone. missing. i bet j.lo is hoping that one day her possessive apostrophe will be gone too and "j.lo butt" will became non-possessed. it would become a medical condition and term. "doctor liu, some lady is here complaining about a j.lo butt, is it life threatening or can she continue shaking it?" and how come it's so easy for everyone to just switch names? when puff daddy became p diddy and jennifer lopez became j lo, weren't you thinking "this is the stupidest thing i've ever heard about, no way am i calling them that!" and here we are, all p diddied and j lo-ed out. sad. if only i could change my own name as easily.



heels, butts, asses, holes, diddys, it all means something. here's what i think it means. everyone conceptually has a fatal flaw. be it a physical weakness or an emotional/psychological issue. i know, we are not as easily pigeon holed as literary characters or comic book caricatures, but i think you could apply the fatal flaw theory to just about everyone.



what is a fatal flaw? for a hero it is something that they must fight against to seem more heroic. in a tragedy and as applied to villains, it is the fatal flaw that will ultimately lead to his or her downfall. in real life, it could be the reason why people don't like you or cannot respect you. nobody is perfect, that much we know. and if no one is perfect, there must be flaws. and beyond that, there is usually one flaw that is just outstanding. i like figuring out people's potential fatal flaws. not because i'm some sadistic bastard but rather because i think that, in this fictional universe of life, having a fatal flaw makes people more fallible, believable and likable. no actually, it's just fun to figure out fatal flaws. it's a sickness, i know.



some easy examples of potential fatal flaws: short tempers, insecurities, irrational fears, traumatic family histories, jealousy, irresponsibility, indecision, propensity for flatulence, pride, delusion, kryptonite, the little tunnel leading to the death star's vulnerable core.



why wonder about fatal flaws? because sometimes it's good to know where the weaknesses are, in yourself and others. it takes alot for something to become a fatal flaw. it has to be somewhat debilitating and repetitive. it's something that causes you to take actions that negatively affect your life or your outcome. or it's something that might stand in the way of you becoming an actual real life super hero. my fatal flaw is.....yeah right. i'm easy but not that easy. you have to buy me dinner and flowers first. jamba juice might do in a pinch. actually, my fatal flaws usually precede me so you don't have to buy me anything. you can if you like though.

compilation of new york pictures. mine. sujeet. jon g. megan. james. victor. and this is the greatest picture of all time, how intense is the song game? so intense suj is like calling to the heavens for lyrics. i love it. and just one more time because it's a huge shot.



and as a special bonus, james' nyc pictures from a few years back.

you know, parents are the same, no matter time nor place. growing up, parents set out curfews, ground rules, allowances, guidelines, groundings and expectations. i never considered my parents all that strict because by the time i wanted to go out and do stuff, they had already been broken in by george and her shenanigans. i spent most of my high school life puttering around, playing in my community, watching movies, doing lots of swimming, tree climbing and other wholesome as apple pie experiences. did i say high school? i meant middle school. um, i meant elementary school. shite. i have no idea what i did in high school, but i know it was wholesome.



our parents had this unwritten policy to make sure we had all the same rules. if george's curfew was extended, mine was extended, even if i never needed it. if george fought tooth and nail for some privilege (like dating or going out late) i got it too, even if i never even whiffed dating or going out late. they were trying to maintain a blind eye towards age and gender, and give us the same ground rules regardless of which one of us brought about the rule changes. so pretty much, by the time i was ready to go venturing out into the world, they were cool relaxed chill parents.



most other kids i knew had parents that were pretty strict. typical of course. kids who couldn't do this, couldn't do that. couldn't breath hard after five pm, had to call home every six minutes, do their homework before going out to play, ask permissoin to pee, all that character building stuff. but then as you get older, all these restrictions relax and you can pee freely anywhere and anytime you want. and then you go off to college, you move away from home and you are as free as a bird. and just as light hopefully.



but what happens when you move back home (as the majority of the people i know from san diego have done)? do the old rules and regulations apply? are you an independent adult or still under the authoritarian rule of your parents? living at home post-college is so strange. i feel like everyone woulda scoffed in high school if somebody said "oh yeah, after graduating, i'm moving back home to kick it with my parents." but now it's so common. i feel like it's not even a negative anymore, it's just a fact of crappy economy life. they used to say that living at home was dating anathema but since i am, in general, dating anathema, i can't really break it down to specifics like that.



but the big question, as posed over this past weekend, is how much do you have to put up with when you move back home? sure you can respect your parents by letting them know where you are, how you are, who you're hanging out with, but is it really necessary? after all, we are not in high school anymore. when we hang out, there is always one person, if not two, who gets a phone call and they start to get a pained look on their face, an urgent tone to their voice. they bust out in some native tongue and then quickly get off the phone with a few quick "okay, okay, okay. bye."



it sucks to live at home. it's great for the food and the saved rent money and in my case, overall survival, but that line between being grown up and being a kid is hard to define. one way of thinking goes that we should be more mature and respect and understand where our parents are coming from. we are no longer kids after all, who need to rebel and pout and slam doors. however, many times parents start to treat you as if you were sixteen again. constantly checking up on you, admonishing you, annoying you. but this is the last chance that we'll have to interact with our parents on a daily basis. and i suppose, if i were sane and a better person, i would see it as such. but it's hard to get the kid versus parent mentality out of my head. it would probably help to cease thinking like a child i suppose. ah, always back to square one. always.

when launching a space shuttle, or whatnot, there is often a brief period of time in which the meteorological and spaceflight conditions are right for takeoff. the window of desirable conditions required to successfully complete such a takeoff is often ridiculously specific, and the external world is famous for its mercurial tendencies.



forming a close relationship with another human being is like launching a space shuttle, but it is far more complicated. what sort of instruments and devices can accurately gauge a person's emotional turbulence, or predict what sort of internal changes will come? you may have to wait for older emotional ties to clear out of the way before you can attempt a takeoff, or wait until you feel independent enough to be dependent, and you cannot trust anything the other person says about their own psychological condition, because people are so easily fooled, especially by themselves. there are windows for talking, and hugging, and confessing, and each is ridiculously strict.



if i missed my window, i am just one of many who has failed to judge her own internal weather correctly. nevertheless, damn the conditions.

-technicolor-