They think all they have to do is grow their hair and wear tight jeans and hump a guitar and they'll actually be someone. YOU SUCK, IDIOT. Get a job already! Can't live off mummy and daddy forever. Well, you can, but that would work against your plan to become a rock god and have women throw their underwear at you. I know the ones. They smirk rather than smile because they're so damned cocksure.
Boy, I just can't wait till I'm over this disgusted phase and able to look on such people with a fond and indulgent eye full of memories.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
4.03.2010
11.10.2009
I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself
For the last week I've been chewed at and gnawed on by an unknown quantity of fleas. Not so many that I've been able to spot them, but not so few that a day and night hasn't gone by when I haven't scratched deperately at fresh welts.
Last time I had a flea, I found it within a few hours after it had bitten me about five or six times. This time, however, the fleas have held out. They've held fast through showers, changes of clothes, and shampoo. They've even managed to evade the comb I use whenever I shower. Last night I thought I had them. I nabbed one on my face, but I dropped it before I could get a good look (I knew by the feel, though). The second one I discovered on the bed where I'd been lying. It had wings which made me dubious until I gave it cause to jump. I tried to tear it apart with my nail, but it got away, and the cat's been scratching enough to make me suspicious.
I truly thought I might actually be free, after being plagued for a week.
But.
Tonight at work I felt the familiar aching itch begging to be scratched on my leg. A fresh bite! It was agonizing. I despair of being freed from this menace, at least until I wash with Dawn dish soap, which I am told is a good remedy. At least for dogs.
Last time I had a flea, I found it within a few hours after it had bitten me about five or six times. This time, however, the fleas have held out. They've held fast through showers, changes of clothes, and shampoo. They've even managed to evade the comb I use whenever I shower. Last night I thought I had them. I nabbed one on my face, but I dropped it before I could get a good look (I knew by the feel, though). The second one I discovered on the bed where I'd been lying. It had wings which made me dubious until I gave it cause to jump. I tried to tear it apart with my nail, but it got away, and the cat's been scratching enough to make me suspicious.
I truly thought I might actually be free, after being plagued for a week.
But.
Tonight at work I felt the familiar aching itch begging to be scratched on my leg. A fresh bite! It was agonizing. I despair of being freed from this menace, at least until I wash with Dawn dish soap, which I am told is a good remedy. At least for dogs.
10.06.2009
Am I An Example Of A Calculated Birth?
I just stocked up on a bunch of food from the store. Canned, frozen, healthy. Whatever. It sucks to fork over all that money at once, but when I consider how take-out adds up, it makes me feel somewhat better, even though the take-out around here tastes really good because most of it's made fresh.
It's nice to shop alone for some reason, though I can't say why.
Got a neeeew lens! It's a cheapie 50mm, but I've already taken a bunch of shots (of Nats dyeing her hair) and some of them look pretty alright. Definitely better than the zoom lens that came with the camera. Smaller, too. I'm waiting for a tripod so I can take ever more photos of myself and let the world know how awesome I think I am.
I was using the belt sander in class last week without my dust mask (forgot to bring it) and ever since I've been blowing bits of blood into the tissue and feeling gritty all up in my nasal passages. Also, wood is hot when you've been sanding it like that for a minute. It all hurts. Somehow I scraped my arm without noticing.
It's fall, and things are starting to happen again. Everything slows down during the summer while everyone wonders what to do and waits for school and winter again.
It's nice to shop alone for some reason, though I can't say why.
Got a neeeew lens! It's a cheapie 50mm, but I've already taken a bunch of shots (of Nats dyeing her hair) and some of them look pretty alright. Definitely better than the zoom lens that came with the camera. Smaller, too. I'm waiting for a tripod so I can take ever more photos of myself and let the world know how awesome I think I am.
I was using the belt sander in class last week without my dust mask (forgot to bring it) and ever since I've been blowing bits of blood into the tissue and feeling gritty all up in my nasal passages. Also, wood is hot when you've been sanding it like that for a minute. It all hurts. Somehow I scraped my arm without noticing.
It's fall, and things are starting to happen again. Everything slows down during the summer while everyone wonders what to do and waits for school and winter again.
9.27.2009
So If I Were Ugly, It Would Be Alright To Be Unpleasant?
The other morning, these two guys came in to get breakfast, like many before them. One of them ordered and waited for the other to order. The other man, however, was apparently too busy talking on his phone, standing first inside and then wandering out. When he finally hung up and deigned to acknowledge to me, it was only to make me wait even longer while he first found the menu (which seems to be very difficult for most people, even though it's right there on the fucking wall) and then tried to figure out what he wanted. Now, all of these things are not necessarily gauranteed to make me dislike someone; I've been realizing more and more how almost everything depends on the individual. Something that makes me hate one person is more forgivable in the next. My opinions about my friends' ex-boyfriends vary, even though the break ups are all very similar. You get the idea.
So saying, maybe with another person I would have been less irritated, but something about this guy just pissed me off to the nth degree. Especially when, after I had rung him up and was waiting for him to pay, he said, "Oh! So beautiful, and yet so serious!" in very lilting accents. Not sure I understood, I said "Uh, what?" and he said it again, only formed as a question. Out loud, I said it was rather early in the morning and inside my head I yelled about what an annoying douchebag he was. I was pretty much fuming by the time he finally left.
In high school, in the English class from hell (Advanced Placement with a bipolar crab of a teacher), we read an essay about why women smile. The point the writer was trying to make was that women are always expected to wear this pleasant mask, that doing so allows everyone else to be at ease. I managed to find it on google here: http://www.smartercarter.com/Essays/Cunningham%20-%20Why%20Women%20Smile.htm
It's very well written, and I only wish I could get my thoughts and opinions out half so well. At any rate, what that man said perfectly exemplified the point here. Even more so, since his implication was that being beautiful requires me to be cheerful and pleasant. The aforementioned essay claims that the image of the perpetually smiling woman is particularly American, and that women in other countries are less likely to smile without genuine reason. I thought it was funny when she mentions American fast food franchises trying to open up shop in Europe and finding it nearly impossible to get workers over there to smile the way they do here.
I've noticed this before, especially when looking over the reviews on yelp. Many people go into cafes and restaurants expecting the cheery, bubbly barista or waitress, and their tips often depend on how much she kisses their ass. I say this all the time, and now I send it off into the internet: Excuse me, sir, for not kissing your ass, I couldn't quite get past the enormous pole stuck up it.
Please, quote me on that. And please, creepy middle-aged men, you're not going to regain your youth by the insincere smile of your cute server-girl. And if she fails to deliver said smile, more than likely it's because you're not worth wasting it on.
So saying, maybe with another person I would have been less irritated, but something about this guy just pissed me off to the nth degree. Especially when, after I had rung him up and was waiting for him to pay, he said, "Oh! So beautiful, and yet so serious!" in very lilting accents. Not sure I understood, I said "Uh, what?" and he said it again, only formed as a question. Out loud, I said it was rather early in the morning and inside my head I yelled about what an annoying douchebag he was. I was pretty much fuming by the time he finally left.
In high school, in the English class from hell (Advanced Placement with a bipolar crab of a teacher), we read an essay about why women smile. The point the writer was trying to make was that women are always expected to wear this pleasant mask, that doing so allows everyone else to be at ease. I managed to find it on google here: http://www.smartercarter.com/Essays/Cunningham%20-%20Why%20Women%20Smile.htm
It's very well written, and I only wish I could get my thoughts and opinions out half so well. At any rate, what that man said perfectly exemplified the point here. Even more so, since his implication was that being beautiful requires me to be cheerful and pleasant. The aforementioned essay claims that the image of the perpetually smiling woman is particularly American, and that women in other countries are less likely to smile without genuine reason. I thought it was funny when she mentions American fast food franchises trying to open up shop in Europe and finding it nearly impossible to get workers over there to smile the way they do here.
I've noticed this before, especially when looking over the reviews on yelp. Many people go into cafes and restaurants expecting the cheery, bubbly barista or waitress, and their tips often depend on how much she kisses their ass. I say this all the time, and now I send it off into the internet: Excuse me, sir, for not kissing your ass, I couldn't quite get past the enormous pole stuck up it.
Please, quote me on that. And please, creepy middle-aged men, you're not going to regain your youth by the insincere smile of your cute server-girl. And if she fails to deliver said smile, more than likely it's because you're not worth wasting it on.
9.22.2009
And What Are Words?
Today in my art class, while we were all simultaneously finishing up our projects and talking smack about celebrities, one guy explained that the reason Edward Cullen does such-and-such is because he's a faggot. The teacher, one of your run-of-the-mill stereotypical-looking San Francisco lesbians, happened to come out of the back room at that unfortunate moment and lit into him. It was one of those moments you always dread as a little kid: not the quick, hot anger with yelling and cursing, but the cold, quiet kind that comes up from behind and sinks in worse than anything. She made him apologize to the class, which he did with a faint air of one who does not feel he's entirely in the wrong. Another woman said "thank you," though whether to him or the teacher, I'm not sure. For his part, he was nearly silent the rest of the class, while the conversation resumed around him. The teacher reiterated toward the end of the period that she would not tolerate such offensive language as faggot, queer, homo, etc.
I admit, I was glad to see this guy put in his place. Right before class, he came up with the brilliant revelation in front of some of our other classmates that he had only just noticed the HUGE gap in my teeth. He seemed to think everyone would find this hilarious. In fact, he often seems to think that when shit comes out of his mouth.
However, I was also surprised at the teacher's and the other student's reactions. They are of the previous generation, and I wonder if that is something to do with the strength of their anger. Certainly I've heard plenty of young and pretty gay men refer to themselves as fags in the most lighthearted and careless of ways. I know I've heard the word often enough in various contexts (though not directed at me) that it doesn't seem that bad anymore. And maybe my generation just thinks itself far above all that inequality bullshit, despite ample evidence to the contrary.
Think of this: Black people started referring to each other as nigga to distance themselves from the painful history of the word. They couldn't fully take away its original meanings, though, because white people are most definitely not allowed to use it, according to the unwritten books of slang law. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jEBh1VtdT0 And this: It's not too uncommon for people to throw the word Nazi around. You disagree with someone, particularly an authority figure, you call them a Nazi. Nevermind the war crimes the Nazis committed back in the day (granted, under Hitler's orders, of course), people now find the term easy enough to use semi-casually. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4lJ9vsZjMU And even after all those feminist movements, women like to call each other bitches, as though the word were some genuine token of affection. Yet, to listen to a man call you that, as a woman, you can't help but feel offended, even outraged. The word retard? They don't even call actual retarded kids that anymore, do they? It's become such a blase term for anything slow or stupid that retarded kids, to keep off the stigma, are now properly called "mentally challenged."
It seems to me that most things become less painful once the meaning is taken away. They say time heals all wounds because with time, the things that wounded you in the past lose importance and come to mean little in the face of the present. It takes a while for a word to lose the vicious intent of its original meaning, and even then, it depends who's saying what. People will take words and try to bleed them dry of meaning by overusing them to each other, but they can't escape the pain when someone else does the same.
There's a history behind words of course. You can hardly get away from that. But everyone tries. I'm part of a generation that is trying very hard not to care anymore. We want to strip these terrible words of their terrible meanings and make them our own, exclusively. In doing so, however we segregate ourselves. We estrange each other by trying to lay down laws about who is allowed to say what, and to whom. We make each other too uncomfortable by drawing these lines in the dirt, distance ourselves from others by the exclusivity of our clubs, our races, our genders.
All of a sudden I am incredibly fascinated by modern language and I wish I had a language historian to talk to, instead of just rattling the same thoughts around in my head. Actually thinking about all this makes me wonder. On the one hand, I'm all for making certain words devoid of their original offensive meanings, but on the other hand, won't there always be those who are too close to the truth of it? Who will always take offense? It's easy for me not to be particularly offended by most words, because I'm not often the target of them. But what about other people?
I admit, I was glad to see this guy put in his place. Right before class, he came up with the brilliant revelation in front of some of our other classmates that he had only just noticed the HUGE gap in my teeth. He seemed to think everyone would find this hilarious. In fact, he often seems to think that when shit comes out of his mouth.
However, I was also surprised at the teacher's and the other student's reactions. They are of the previous generation, and I wonder if that is something to do with the strength of their anger. Certainly I've heard plenty of young and pretty gay men refer to themselves as fags in the most lighthearted and careless of ways. I know I've heard the word often enough in various contexts (though not directed at me) that it doesn't seem that bad anymore. And maybe my generation just thinks itself far above all that inequality bullshit, despite ample evidence to the contrary.
Think of this: Black people started referring to each other as nigga to distance themselves from the painful history of the word. They couldn't fully take away its original meanings, though, because white people are most definitely not allowed to use it, according to the unwritten books of slang law. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jEBh1VtdT0 And this: It's not too uncommon for people to throw the word Nazi around. You disagree with someone, particularly an authority figure, you call them a Nazi. Nevermind the war crimes the Nazis committed back in the day (granted, under Hitler's orders, of course), people now find the term easy enough to use semi-casually. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4lJ9vsZjMU And even after all those feminist movements, women like to call each other bitches, as though the word were some genuine token of affection. Yet, to listen to a man call you that, as a woman, you can't help but feel offended, even outraged. The word retard? They don't even call actual retarded kids that anymore, do they? It's become such a blase term for anything slow or stupid that retarded kids, to keep off the stigma, are now properly called "mentally challenged."
It seems to me that most things become less painful once the meaning is taken away. They say time heals all wounds because with time, the things that wounded you in the past lose importance and come to mean little in the face of the present. It takes a while for a word to lose the vicious intent of its original meaning, and even then, it depends who's saying what. People will take words and try to bleed them dry of meaning by overusing them to each other, but they can't escape the pain when someone else does the same.
There's a history behind words of course. You can hardly get away from that. But everyone tries. I'm part of a generation that is trying very hard not to care anymore. We want to strip these terrible words of their terrible meanings and make them our own, exclusively. In doing so, however we segregate ourselves. We estrange each other by trying to lay down laws about who is allowed to say what, and to whom. We make each other too uncomfortable by drawing these lines in the dirt, distance ourselves from others by the exclusivity of our clubs, our races, our genders.
All of a sudden I am incredibly fascinated by modern language and I wish I had a language historian to talk to, instead of just rattling the same thoughts around in my head. Actually thinking about all this makes me wonder. On the one hand, I'm all for making certain words devoid of their original offensive meanings, but on the other hand, won't there always be those who are too close to the truth of it? Who will always take offense? It's easy for me not to be particularly offended by most words, because I'm not often the target of them. But what about other people?
4.07.2009
Summary of Thoughts in the Last Three Minutes
This crazy woman came in today. I can never understand what she says, and I don't think she can either. She was looking over the counter trying to ask me and my coworker what we were making and completely misunderstanding.
Spring break is this week. What the fuck am I supposed to do with two days of neither work nor school? I guess I could do homework. Or dick around on the Internet. Or sleep. Or eat. Totally procrastinate, like everyone else. Who wants to do research for a paper on a day off? Luckily one of my roommates has a bunch of books relating to the subject I'm doing, so I probably won't have to go to the library. Hopefully.
We were coming home on the bus tonight and these guys all got on together. Holy god, they must have bathed repeatedly in some ritual convoluted cleansing to reek that much of cologne. Perfume is one thing, in moderate doses, but cologne is very easily taken advantage of. I don't know why, either. I always prefer my men to smell like men, not poncey assholes. I admit, there are men who can pull off a bit of manufactured scent, but the rest who attempt it fail.
So why can't Chuck Palahniuk write anything as good as Fight Club? I've read all his other fiction (except Survivor, for some reason) and it always falls short, like he's using the exact same formula, but really reaching when it comes to subject matter. Haunted came close, but none really made my little wheels turn. Many would disagree with me on this issue, but c'moooon. Fight Club just has that something that hits you and makes you see things and feel things and taste the blood from the hole in your cheek.
Spring break is this week. What the fuck am I supposed to do with two days of neither work nor school? I guess I could do homework. Or dick around on the Internet. Or sleep. Or eat. Totally procrastinate, like everyone else. Who wants to do research for a paper on a day off? Luckily one of my roommates has a bunch of books relating to the subject I'm doing, so I probably won't have to go to the library. Hopefully.
We were coming home on the bus tonight and these guys all got on together. Holy god, they must have bathed repeatedly in some ritual convoluted cleansing to reek that much of cologne. Perfume is one thing, in moderate doses, but cologne is very easily taken advantage of. I don't know why, either. I always prefer my men to smell like men, not poncey assholes. I admit, there are men who can pull off a bit of manufactured scent, but the rest who attempt it fail.
So why can't Chuck Palahniuk write anything as good as Fight Club? I've read all his other fiction (except Survivor, for some reason) and it always falls short, like he's using the exact same formula, but really reaching when it comes to subject matter. Haunted came close, but none really made my little wheels turn. Many would disagree with me on this issue, but c'moooon. Fight Club just has that something that hits you and makes you see things and feel things and taste the blood from the hole in your cheek.
4.04.2009
Flower Children
There are times when I genuinely love this city and it almost seems to love me back. You know, like it was sentient or something.
This morning I was walking through the park and this girl came up to me and presented me with a bouquet of flowers the color of a sunset. My eyes were burning from exhaustion and pollen, my body was weighted down by ten kinds of fatigue, but I hope somehow I conveyed to her my appreciation. I felt somewhat renewed. By the time I got to work I felt like I just come out of a dream and wanted to crawl back into bed.
For people with more cynicism this all sounds like a bunch of hippie-ass shit, but sometimes I feel too optimistic to be cynical. So nyah.
The real point of this post is this: Thank you, mysterious pretty girl; I hope life doesn't beat you down.
This morning I was walking through the park and this girl came up to me and presented me with a bouquet of flowers the color of a sunset. My eyes were burning from exhaustion and pollen, my body was weighted down by ten kinds of fatigue, but I hope somehow I conveyed to her my appreciation. I felt somewhat renewed. By the time I got to work I felt like I just come out of a dream and wanted to crawl back into bed.
For people with more cynicism this all sounds like a bunch of hippie-ass shit, but sometimes I feel too optimistic to be cynical. So nyah.
The real point of this post is this: Thank you, mysterious pretty girl; I hope life doesn't beat you down.
4.03.2009
Better Than Livejournal
When I was younger, I though LJ was the shit. I had friends online who were my actual friends in real life who would read my whiny bullshit and comment occasionally. People I didn't see everyday kept in touch like that. It was pretty cool for a while, but eventually I just deleted it, because I realized I wasn't going anywhere with it and only using it as an excuse to revel in my self-pity.
Now I've got a blog. That's got to be better.
Well, I work at this cafe. It's pretty awesome, except when you get dumb people who ask which is small, medium, and large when the cup sizes are right in front of them. Still, I can live with those type of folk as long as the cool type come in too. I never thought I'd enjoy making food for people, even if sometimes I fuck up and they write a nasty review on yelp.com. Yeah, free speech and all that, but these people just don't know the whole story! They come in once, get crappy service and swear never to come back, and tell other people never to come in at all. There aren't a lot of those, but damn, they're harsh. Seriously. Someone once wrote a really long-ass review bitching about how slow and stupid I was, how much the food sucked, etc, etc. My bad, people. People like that make me especially grateful for the nice ones who come in. There's this one guy (actually there's several) who's always really cheerful and tips us a lot. He's like an uncle, a really benevolent one.
School sucks a lot for me right now. I'd rather be making money. But I know people who would kick ten kinds of shit out of me if I up and quit. Plus there's that vague hope that it will benefit me somehow in like twenty years. Because I can actually wait that long. But, jesus christ, teachers are some of the greatest windbags ever born! One of my teachers in particular never stops talking from the time he comes in (late) until the time he is forced to let us go. Even when we're actually supposed to have a class discussion, you know, in which the class dicusses the subject matter, he'll still take the whole thing and run away with it! Holy moly, I thought I was supposed to be expanding my brain and developing my thought processes and shit. What else am I paying for? Oh yeah, a fuckton of books that seem to cost more than tuition itself.
Naturally this sort of thing gives me ample cause to ponder my future. Where am I going? How will my past be instrumental to me later? Am I going to have a houseful of kids? Am I going to become a cultural icon? Which will it be, photography, writing, painting, drawing, or design? Or will it be something else entirely? Will I work in a cafe-type setting for the rest of my life and do freelance work on the side? Is this all there is, and, if so, do I really appreciate it? Probably not, but I guess complete appreciation of one's circumstances comes later, if it ever comes at all.
Things to buy:
-Soap
-Apples
-Rug
-Detergent
-Shoes
-Toothpaste
Not necessarily in that order.
Now I've got a blog. That's got to be better.
Well, I work at this cafe. It's pretty awesome, except when you get dumb people who ask which is small, medium, and large when the cup sizes are right in front of them. Still, I can live with those type of folk as long as the cool type come in too. I never thought I'd enjoy making food for people, even if sometimes I fuck up and they write a nasty review on yelp.com. Yeah, free speech and all that, but these people just don't know the whole story! They come in once, get crappy service and swear never to come back, and tell other people never to come in at all. There aren't a lot of those, but damn, they're harsh. Seriously. Someone once wrote a really long-ass review bitching about how slow and stupid I was, how much the food sucked, etc, etc. My bad, people. People like that make me especially grateful for the nice ones who come in. There's this one guy (actually there's several) who's always really cheerful and tips us a lot. He's like an uncle, a really benevolent one.
School sucks a lot for me right now. I'd rather be making money. But I know people who would kick ten kinds of shit out of me if I up and quit. Plus there's that vague hope that it will benefit me somehow in like twenty years. Because I can actually wait that long. But, jesus christ, teachers are some of the greatest windbags ever born! One of my teachers in particular never stops talking from the time he comes in (late) until the time he is forced to let us go. Even when we're actually supposed to have a class discussion, you know, in which the class dicusses the subject matter, he'll still take the whole thing and run away with it! Holy moly, I thought I was supposed to be expanding my brain and developing my thought processes and shit. What else am I paying for? Oh yeah, a fuckton of books that seem to cost more than tuition itself.
Naturally this sort of thing gives me ample cause to ponder my future. Where am I going? How will my past be instrumental to me later? Am I going to have a houseful of kids? Am I going to become a cultural icon? Which will it be, photography, writing, painting, drawing, or design? Or will it be something else entirely? Will I work in a cafe-type setting for the rest of my life and do freelance work on the side? Is this all there is, and, if so, do I really appreciate it? Probably not, but I guess complete appreciation of one's circumstances comes later, if it ever comes at all.
Things to buy:
-Soap
-Apples
-Rug
-Detergent
-Shoes
-Toothpaste
Not necessarily in that order.
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