He gave me a hard, piercing look, his eyes not leaving mine even as he took a long pull from his Stella Artois. I stared right back at him, daring him to say the wrong thing.
"Well for starters, you're 26."
Wrong, you're so wrong.
"And...you seem really put-together, prim, proper, a real sweetheart."
Still incorrect.
"But you seem to have this....evil side to you..."
"Evil? What do you mean by that?"
"You seem like you have been really repressed...not evil in the conventional sense...but some part of you has been suppressed and its dying to come out."
Ain't it the truth.

Later his friend, an older, grayer version of himself, imparted a bit of wisdom gleaned from his life of fifty-five years:
1. Hard Work- if you want it, don't think that you can take shortcuts.
2. Have a mentor- figure out what you want to do, then find someone older who can support you and guide you.
3. Marry someone who is your best friend and intellectual match-beauty can only go so far.

So there you go folks.

I believe in the therapeutic effect of popping bubble wrap.
I believe in a glass of white wine at the end of a hard day.
I believe that I'm my own worst enemy.
I believe in moderate hedonism.
I believe in long, hazy days of doing nothing but drinking tea, surfing the internet, and reading a good book.
I try to believe in the good in people, despite multiple accounts of evidence to the contrary.
I believe in always being kind, courteous, and friendly.
I believe that I am not young enough to know everything.
I believe in long drives alone to places unknown.
I believe in massages and head scratches, my favorite.
I believe in the merits of cheese, bread, fresh produce, and Reese's peanut butter cups.
I believe in the balance of responsibility and spontaneity, the rational and the idealistic, reality and fantasy.
What do you believe in?

Who the fuck is Cary Grant?

What a topsy-turvy week. Being constantly on the move suits me. Barely sleeping, drinking too much, riding and singing in the car day and night and eating nothing but fried food made me feel more alive than I've felt in months being stuck in Los Angeles. I find nothing poetic about the crowded concrete jungle, congesting, suffocating crowds, and interminable traffic. Give me trees, mountains, sights I've never seen before and the endless road.

The wedding was a riot. I can't believe that I have finally gotten to that place where I WANT to be with my parents, to hang out with them and talk with them but despite familial drama, they have become my closest confidants. Kansas City was a town that I judged too harshly, a blind date who through careful persuasion, won me over. Fountains adorned with graceful, elegant statues marked every street corner which gave me a slight pang because it reminded me of Rome. The reception was a blur of martinis, tears, drunken adults, and little boys doing the worm on the dance floor. There was a "nice boy"...rather two "nice boys" who were competing for my attention which was flattering but nonetheless somewhat frustrating in that I just wanted to dance for the sake of dancing, not to attract hungry males.
I walked around Kansas City alone for awhile, absorbing and exploring the city. I underestimated the Midwest. This town is conspicuously charming.

This spontaneity and impulsiveness will have to end sooner or later. I have an interview tomorrow with Smith Barney for a position as a liaison for municipal bonds. As much as I know this position holds financial freedom, and the promise of exercising my strengths, I can't help feeling like I'm staring down the barrel of a gun.

This is the first day
of the rest of my life.

Things that would hit the spot right now:

-A turkey, brie, and avocado sandwich from Panini's
-To find that song that I listened to on the Zap2it channel at the gym an hour ago
-A one-way ticket to a foreign country in South America or Asia
-A response from Showtime Networks regarding my application for an internship
-A beautiful hike through Muir woods and/or a trip to Stinson Beach
-One of those amazing books that changes your life or your perceptions on society and the world
-A love (or lust) interest with whom I can make out for hours in his car overlooking a scenic background with some old Jimmy Eat World playing in the background

Just Because

The Archipelago Of Kisses

We live in a modern society. Husbands and wives don't
grow on trees, like in the old days. So where
does one find love? When you're sixteen it's easy,
like being unleashed with a credit card
in a department store of kisses. There's the first kiss.
The sloppy kiss. The peck.
The sympathy kiss. The backseat smooch. The we
shouldn't be doing this kiss. The but your lips
taste so good kiss. The bury me in an avalanche of tingles kiss.
The I wish you'd quit smoking kiss.
The I accept your apology, but you make me really mad
sometimes kiss. The I know
your tongue like the back of my hand kiss. As you get
older, kisses become scarce. You'll be driving
home and see a damaged kiss on the side of the road,
with its purple thumb out. If you
were younger, you'd pull over, slide open the mouth's
red door just to see how it fits. Oh where
does one find love? If you rub two glances, you get a smile.
Rub two smiles, you get a warm feeling.
Rub two warm feelings and presto-you have a kiss.
Now what? Don't invite the kiss over
and answer the door in your underwear. It'll get suspicious
and stare at your toes. Don't water the kiss with whiskey.
It'll turn bright pink and explode into a thousand luscious splinters,
but in the morning it'll be ashamed and sneak out of
your body without saying good-bye,
and you'll remember that kiss forever by all the little cuts it left
on the inside of your mouth. You must
nurture the kiss. Turn out the lights. Notice how it
illuminates the room. Hold it to your chest
and wonder if the sand inside hourglasses comes from a
special beach. Place it on the tongue's pillow,
then look up the first recorded kiss in an encyclopedia: beneath
a Babylonian olive tree in 1200 B.C.
But one kiss levitates above all the others. The
intersection of function and desire. The I do kiss.
The I'll love you through a brick wall kiss.
Even when I'm dead, I'll swim through the Earth,
like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.

Jeffrey McDaniel

This is the same tired question that has perplexed thinkers for centuries yet it has been bouncing around in my head all day. I hear it all the time, especially from women
"If it's meant to be, it will be"
This statement I've heard applied to anything from relationships to a pair of shoes. The logic goes: If the universe is going to conspire to allow me to have the resources to buy that exact pair of shoes in that exact size then it is going to happen and no obstacle can obstruct it.

I constantly struggle with this preordained destiny versus self-determination argument constantly. On one hand, it is kind of comforting to know that things are meant to happen as they should, similar to being a passenger on a cruise to a particular destination. Fate ensures the believer faith in the process; the forces that be are assuring that you end up in the time and place that you are supposed to be. Now, I don't mean to evoke a worn out metaphor here but I would rather be the captain, consciously in charge of what direction I am going, steering the boat, if you will. Fate seems too passive.

Real Life Example:

One boring day at work, I am in the back eating an apple when I overhear the conversation between my co-worker and her customer. I hear rumblings about a television show with Nathan Fillion, who I know from Firefly because I have the entire IMDB website memorized. Sad but true. I poke out there and try to insert myself into the conversation. Minutes later, I discover that the woman, Liz, is a writer for a number of television shows most recently Castle, who starts the aforementioned Fillion, who by the way is dashingly handsome ala Harrison Ford. I tell her about my aspirations to join the industry and low and behold, I am having coffee with her this Sunday and she has already forwarded my resume to her agent for interest in an assistant position.

Now was destiny or my own strong will and lack of fear of butting into conversation at play here? Most would say a mix of both. Now not to be too acquiescent here but I'm just going to let the "universe", "forces", "God", or "fate" point me in the right direction for the next couple of weeks now. Since South Korea is looking pretty dim and I don't want to have to burden my parents with continuing to constantly support me, I think I need to become more self-sufficient now. But I am still holding onto wanting to travel and serve in other countries.

Seth used to do this a lot and I really like it. Here are some things I want to say to people but I will not post their names:

1. It's not that I don't think you are smart, driven, and have many qualities I would usually go for, but I'm not feeling it, not feeling that ZING you get when you know it's right.
2. Becoming closer with you this year has totally saved me in more ways than one. You are one of the kindest, most caring, and intelligent people I have met and you have been there for me through the darkest of times. I appreciate you.
3. I am proud of you for taking action instead of talking about it. You know you have been chipping away at me for years because of your own insecurities and now that you are FINALLY talking about it openly is giving me hope.
4. I like that I have this balance with you. Sometimes we can be really serious and get into some deep issues but we also have this goofy, ridiculous, silly chemistry with each other that lightens the load of some of the things we reveal to each other. You are a great friend.


That's it. Peace out!

I own myself

Being alone has its small pleasures.

Finishing books, stories, songs I've began but never had time to complete.
Reconnecting with old friends, establishing and gaining new ones.
Going to the grocery store and cooking myself a delicious dinner of steak, potatoes, and white wine, just for me.
Having afternoons free to go on hikes, bike rides, visit art museums, just EXPLORE, or just be a couch potato and play around on the internet.


I missed this part of myself. All these years since high school there's always been a ME and a HIM. I don't think I've ever been that girl who sacrifices her passions, friends, or semblance of a social life for the boy in her life, but I cannot negate that there have been sacrifices I have made. Now that there are no obstacles or personal commitments obligating me anywhere, I am free to finally go about accomplishing the grand ideas and dreams that have been floating around in my mind since I was little. All it takes is figuring out which dreams I want to pursue.

I know that I want to sing again. Needless to say, my last performance which was at Jon's funeral sapped me of both energy and passion. I don't know how to go about this anymore. I don't even know if I'm that talented compared to the multitudes of aspiring singers who are fumbling all over Los Angeles to achieve that same dream. I don't even know how badly I want it. All I know is that performing in some smoky jazz club once in awhile is my idea of nirvana.

I know my inner fat kid is taking over judging by my obsession with food and cooking. I always said that my dream job would be to travel the world and sample other culture's delicacies although after watching Bizarre Eats with that chubby bald guy, I'm not so sure I have the stomach for it. All I can say is that my preoccupation with this earthly pleasure of eating takes some of the focus off my constant thinking/analyzing of the world and interactions around me. Sometimes the bliss of biting into a great sandwich, the living in the moment of taste and texture, can surpass all.

I know I want to help others, while supporting myself comfortably. My desire for this is not motivated by some lofty need for altruism, but rather as a true enjoyment of making other people's day better. How do I reconcile these two aspirations? Sometimes I wish I could just fast forward through this awkward transitional phases and just get to where I am supposed to be. But struggle builds character I guess.

In any case, its a relief that I don't "belong" to someone else, or I am "theirs". I don't want to be a possession, a property or prize to be won. I want to be my own, myself.

Stumbled upon this story that my friend Ryan wrote in high school. Sometimes simplicity is the most effective in conveying a message....

The Little Boy on the Little Island

Once upon a time, there was a little boy who lived on a little island in the middle of a giant ocean. The island was very small. It was covered in sand, and had one single palm tree in the middle. There were no other people or animals, just a little boy on a little island, in the middle of a giant ocean.

The little boy sat alone under the palm tree. He stared aimlessly into the ocean. He never saw any boats or fish or birds. All he ever saw was the ocean, the sun, and the sky. As he started into the ocean, no thoughts went through his head. He had neither dreams nor ambitions. He did not know who he was, or why he was on an island. However, this did not bother him. His existence was completely innocent. He knew nothing of friends or family. He knew nothing of good, he knew nothing of bad. He was never hungry. He was never thirsty. He was never happy. He was never sad. He was never angry. He was never tired. He never aged. He was just a little boy on a little island, in the middle of a giant ocean.

One night, as the little boy sat by the tree, a huge storm hit the island. There were humongous waves, tons of rain, and strong winds. The little boy did not understand what was happening. He did not know how to feel scared or worried. So he sat there, surrounded by a huge storm. He did not sweat, he did not cry. He did not yell or pray for help. He was just a little boy on a little island, in the middle of a giant ocean.

The next morning, a raft arrived on the island. It was a little girl who was crying. For the first time, the little boy stood up from his spot under the tree. He walked to the raft. The little boy and little girl stared into each others eyes. They did not speak, just dazed into each others eyes for hours. The little girl stopped crying. The little boy sat down in his spot by the tree. The little girl sat down next to him. They sat together, holding hands, looking into the ocean. They never spoke, just sat and stared. They were just a little boy and a little girl on a little island, in the middle of a giant ocean.

This simple relationship lasted for many years, until once again, a storm struck the island. Once again, the little boy sat there calmly. However, the girl began to cry and scream. She ran to her forgotten raft, and pushed it out to sea. The raft broke, and wood and some rope lay on the island. The little girl cried and cried, and the little boy did nothing. Eventually, he went to hold her hand, but out of nowhere a giant wave hit the island. It swept the little girl out to the ocean. The little boy sat back down, just a little boy on a little island, in the middle of a giant ocean.

The little boy felt different that he had ever felt before. He couldn’t sit there aimlessly. His mind wandered. He missed the little girl. He couldn’t stay still. He paced around the island. He cried, he shouted out. He cursed the giant ocean. He cursed the little girl for being swept away. This went on for many years, until one night the little boy could no longer handle it. His heart had been filled with emotion and he no longer understood his existence. He grabbed the rope from the broken raft, and tied it around his neck. He hung himself from that palm tree. With his last gasp of breath, he realized he could never be a little boy on a little island, in the middle of a giant ocean again.

My lips like sugar/ this candy got you sprung

Flo Rida represents the apocalypse of music. There are no new melodies that can be created. No new innovation or creation of an entirely new genre. Through his two singles that are currently tearing up the charts, he has essentially become the eternal symbol for all that is wrong with the music industry.

It's safe to say Tramar Dillard, later to be known as the aforementioned Flo Rida, had little idea of the legacy he was going to leave. Born December 16, 1979 in Miami Gardens, Florida (Get it?), he began his fledgling career working with the local rap group, 2 Live Crew, who are largely famous for their evocative song,"Me So Horny", a sexually explicit song with soundbites from Apocalypse Now which would provide foreshadowing to Tramar's later career. He later formed an amateur rap group with some friends and somehow was able to conceive of a moniker that was neither intimidating nor provocative-"the Groundhoggz". After dropping out of college to focus on his "music", he made his mainstream debut with his geographically accurate single, "Bitch, I'm From Dade County". Worldwide acclaim and chart-topping success followed with the release of "Low" which featured T-Pain and boosted sales sky-high for both Apple-bottom jeans and the "Reeboks with the straaaappp".

Now when I'm tipsy up in the club and dancing, if you can call it that, I give little care to what the exact lyrics are of the song. I am a big subscriber to the maxim that Chris Rock once surmised, "If the beat's all right, I'll dance all night". "Low", despite the inanity of the lyrics and the archetypal themes of a guy at the club with an eye for brand-name fashion preying on a pretty young thing, if it plays at a club, I won't hesitate to stand up and groove. Yet his most recently released singles, "Right Round" and "Sugar"...I have a bone to pick with you Flo Rida.

Not only does Flo Rida reprocess the perpetual themes of sex, money, and name brands in his music, even his beats are recycled. "Right Round" samples from Dead or Alive's "You Spin Me Round", although Flo Rida's use of the term refers to the sensation he feels (Boner? Sexual ecstasy?) when watching a stripper slide her way down a pole. Inexplicably, he also samples the grating chorus of Eiffel 65's "Blue", a nonsensical melody I have been trying to forget since 1999, in his song "Sugar". "Sugar" is in reference to the taste of his sexual object's lip gloss, which if I recall correctly from middle school is most likely from the Bonnie Bell brand. Although logistically it's ingenious for Flo Rida to repackage these familiar tunes with a rap twist, it also marks the dearth of those great hits that tease and lure in the ear. Yet what is most insulting is that he tries to maintain the pretense of being an artist. His latest album, R.O.O.T.S., stands for "Route of Overcoming the Struggle". By contributing to the asininity of pop music today, you are continuing the struggle Flo Rida.

Moreover, lets just analyze Flo Rida himself. Talk about lack of imagination or creativity in fashioning his name. He was so lazy he just decided to call himself the state in which he was born-then make it "gangsta" by splicing it up and connoting it with a supposed different meaning. His flows come so easily that he just rides through them? Please. He has no decisive style, voice tenor, he is utterly indistinguishable from the other rappers who churn out sexualized pop crap like "Right Round". Unlike definitive rappers like Jay-Z, Tupac Shakur, and Notorious B.I.G. who developed their own linguistic style and covered material from "ho's" and money to the deeper ingrained issues of the Black Masculine Experience of America. Flo Rida? Well, money, hos, and alcohol remains the constant themes

Let's look at an example:

Shawty must know I’m not playin
My money love her like a numba one fan
Don’t look at my mouth, let her talk to my fans
My Benjamin Frank-a-lins
A couple of grands, I got rubber bands
My paper planes makin a dance
Get dirty all night, that’s part of my thing
Keep building castles that’s made out of sand
She’s amazing, the fire blazing
Hotter than Cajun
Girl won’t you move a lil closer?
Time to get paid, it’s maximum wage
That body belong on a poster
I’m in a daze, that bottom is wavin’ at me
Like da** it, I know you
You wanna show like a gun out of holster
Tell me whatever and I’ll be your roper

I can only imagine how that songwriting session went about. Flo Rida represents everything that is wrong with this country: the lack of reason, rationalization, innovation, or clarity. I dare you to challenge me.

Dear Future Self,

The date is May 1, 2009 at 1:25 PM. As usual you are multitasking, watching The Golden Compass , reading The Rules of Attraction and Mrs. Dalloway, and drinking your third bottle of water of the day. You are graduating in a week and a couple of days. I'm writing this to you so when you are grown up and reflect on this silly little blog, you will remember where you were at this pivotal point in your life.
Current plan after graduation at this point: Travel to South Korea to teach English for 6 months-1 year, explore every inch of that corner of the world, and come back and work my way up to the VP of development or marketing communications of HBO or Showtime. Sounds like a good plan right? I wonder if you stuck to it.
Over the past few weeks you have been suffering an interminable internal debate. Essentially it boils down to make money or make good? Of course you want to help people, serve others, because you happen to be raised in the ideal position where you have never struggled to survive. Yet because of my upbringing I want to maintain that lifestyle and sacrifice my altruistic needs for number one. I wonder what decision you made. I hope you are happy with it.
Ahhh love. That aspect of your life has never been easy, clear cut, which is part of the beauty of it, don't you think? Your college sweetheart and you are over, which unearthed a great deal of clarity and a newfound sense of freedom and elation. I hope you remained friends with him, you have shared too much to write this person completely out. Although you may not be sure exactly what you need, just remember what you don't want. Please don't doubt yourself and remember all you have to offer.
Be honest. Be kind.
Lastly remember you only get one shot at this. Don't blow it.

Sincerely,
You