Nope, I'm right here.
Slaving away forty hours a week.
Studying rigorously (?) for a test I might not even take.
Singing sweet, sweaty blues in this little hotbox of an apartment.
God help me.
6.30.2008
6.26.2008
newest girl crush
Rinko Kikuchi
Not only is she beautiful, but there's just something about her that's so raw. She was the highlight of "Babel." I probably would've turned it off half-way through if it wasn't for her. If I was a white guy with an asian fetish, I would be drooling over her.
6.24.2008
Revisiting
If I had to pick one thing I dislike about the Los Angeles area, it would be its bustling driving culture. I personally enjoy walking and taking public transportation as I did all throughout Korea and when I visited the east coast. Even in the west LA area, I always find some petty excuse to walk everyday- oh I need to drop off that library book or I should buy some cereal from the market. I imagine when I grow old, I’ll be one of those visor-wearing grandmas who always takes evening strolls with her old grandpa husband.
Being the restless and jittery person that I am, I decided to take a walk around my good ol’ neighborhood in Hacienda this past weekend. I have to say it’s been a while. I was in the mood to be swept away by a wave of nostalgia, ready to scrounge up fading images of childhood days and to feel a general air of wistfulness.
But something about it all was a bit haunting.
All the houses seemed to peer out at me with their solid expressions- their boxy window eyes and their scaled garage teeth. Some, I noticed, got makeovers with paint jobs or freshly manicured lawns. These renovations were slightly jarring. I wanted things exactly how I left it, and those houses were just “trying too hard.” I passed by my old schoolfriend’s house except she doesn’t live there anymore. Some new family with three little kids roaming around in the grass. They didn’t know that I, this strange passerbyer, was in their domain once, knew the contours of their home, used their toilet. The all-too-knowledgeable ex-girlfriend.
Then, I passed by that one house… “my paradise dream home.” You know how there’s one in every block- the house that sticks out like a sore thumb. The one that’s been remodeled and looks too pretty and polished to be with the rest of its rundown neighbors. Just its overwhelming presence seems to taunt the others. In all it’s out-of-place glory, I remember wanting to live there. I wanted more than anything to knock on that front door with the “welcome friends” wreath and yell “I’m home!” But looking at it now, the pink paint was blaringly tacky and even the wreath seemed tongue-in-cheek. Oh, how fickle one’s heart can be.
Then, there was that one house with that scary german shepherd that could always be found growling behind its barred gate. “Beware of Dog” the words shot out as if the dog itself wasn’t a warning sign. My steps would increasingly quicken as I would pass by, secretly praying to God that the dog wouldn’t jump over the gate and demolish me. Just as a pre-caution, I would always scan the street for some straggling neighbors or opened doors- places I could run to for protection. But this time, as I passed, there was no angry dog- no sign even. And it made me wonder if the family moved away or if the monster died. For some reason, the thought of its death made me unexpectedly sad. The house seemed desolate without the echoes if its consistent bark.
All the houses, the empty street (the places that captured the golden years of my childhood) seemed suddenly larger-than-life… presenting new wisdoms that were unsettling rather than reassuring. My assuming arrogance shaken by the harsh reality that I couldn’t hold this place “this Old Forest Road” in a permanent snow globe immune from change or tarnish.
Next stop- Wilson High.
Being the restless and jittery person that I am, I decided to take a walk around my good ol’ neighborhood in Hacienda this past weekend. I have to say it’s been a while. I was in the mood to be swept away by a wave of nostalgia, ready to scrounge up fading images of childhood days and to feel a general air of wistfulness.
But something about it all was a bit haunting.
All the houses seemed to peer out at me with their solid expressions- their boxy window eyes and their scaled garage teeth. Some, I noticed, got makeovers with paint jobs or freshly manicured lawns. These renovations were slightly jarring. I wanted things exactly how I left it, and those houses were just “trying too hard.” I passed by my old schoolfriend’s house except she doesn’t live there anymore. Some new family with three little kids roaming around in the grass. They didn’t know that I, this strange passerbyer, was in their domain once, knew the contours of their home, used their toilet. The all-too-knowledgeable ex-girlfriend.
Then, I passed by that one house… “my paradise dream home.” You know how there’s one in every block- the house that sticks out like a sore thumb. The one that’s been remodeled and looks too pretty and polished to be with the rest of its rundown neighbors. Just its overwhelming presence seems to taunt the others. In all it’s out-of-place glory, I remember wanting to live there. I wanted more than anything to knock on that front door with the “welcome friends” wreath and yell “I’m home!” But looking at it now, the pink paint was blaringly tacky and even the wreath seemed tongue-in-cheek. Oh, how fickle one’s heart can be.
Then, there was that one house with that scary german shepherd that could always be found growling behind its barred gate. “Beware of Dog” the words shot out as if the dog itself wasn’t a warning sign. My steps would increasingly quicken as I would pass by, secretly praying to God that the dog wouldn’t jump over the gate and demolish me. Just as a pre-caution, I would always scan the street for some straggling neighbors or opened doors- places I could run to for protection. But this time, as I passed, there was no angry dog- no sign even. And it made me wonder if the family moved away or if the monster died. For some reason, the thought of its death made me unexpectedly sad. The house seemed desolate without the echoes if its consistent bark.
All the houses, the empty street (the places that captured the golden years of my childhood) seemed suddenly larger-than-life… presenting new wisdoms that were unsettling rather than reassuring. My assuming arrogance shaken by the harsh reality that I couldn’t hold this place “this Old Forest Road” in a permanent snow globe immune from change or tarnish.
Next stop- Wilson High.
6.19.2008
6.18.2008
To watch:
So as I was doing some important surf- errr researching on the net, I fatefully stumbled across this film:
"Céline et Julie Vont en Bateau" (a.k.a. Celine and Julie Go Boating)
This is like the perfect film for me (well at least according to its synopsis).
First of all, it's an Alice & Wonderland-esque fantasy adventure directed by french "nouvelle vague" director Jacques Rivette. Also (according to wikipedia), the film's themes circle around magic, memory, and an abundant usage of puns. And get this, one of the main characters is a shy librarian named Julie. Also, the film's running time is 3:13. No, I'm not emphasizing how extremely long it is, but 3/13 is my birthday. It's meant to be!
This is like the perfect film for me (well at least according to its synopsis).
First of all, it's an Alice & Wonderland-esque fantasy adventure directed by french "nouvelle vague" director Jacques Rivette. Also (according to wikipedia), the film's themes circle around magic, memory, and an abundant usage of puns. And get this, one of the main characters is a shy librarian named Julie. Also, the film's running time is 3:13. No, I'm not emphasizing how extremely long it is, but 3/13 is my birthday. It's meant to be!
6.17.2008
elizabeth bishop at 16 yrs of age
I introduce Penelope Gwin,
A friend of mine through thick and thin,
Who's travelled much in foreign parts
Pursuing culture and the arts.
"And also," says Penelope
"This family life is not for me.
I find it leads to deep depression
AndI was born for self-expression."
And so you see, it must be owned
Miss Gwin belongs to le beau monde.
A friend of mine through thick and thin,
Who's travelled much in foreign parts
Pursuing culture and the arts.
"And also," says Penelope
"This family life is not for me.
I find it leads to deep depression
AndI was born for self-expression."
And so you see, it must be owned
Miss Gwin belongs to le beau monde.
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