2008: YNBS

Happy New Years, my friends! In nine hours, we'll all welcome 2008 with singing, probably drinking, and friends. And to prepare, I have fallen into my usual year-end introspect.* Remember 2007: Year Without Fear? Well, a couple weeks ago, I was determined to find another year-long experiment, since 2007:YWF was so fruitful, and also, I feel like I've been falling asleep at the wheel - you know what I mean? I want to be conscious of the choices I make, and not pull into my driveway wondering where the last hour of my life went.

So, this year, I declare 2008: Year of Not Being Shy. It's not very catchy, I realize, but everything else I thought of would sacrifice meaning or sounded so lame I wanted to throw up. 2008:YNBS is about not hiding from people. I'm really shy, friends! I'm so worried about what people, especially new people think of me, that I forget to love them or I forget to pursue who I want to be. It takes me a long time to become friends with people because I'm always terrified of becoming overbearing or annoying. And this is just a trivial example, but on Facebook, I won't add people as friends - I'll only accept Friend Requests.

Also, I want to be a performer, but I am so ashamed to admit it. It's one of those tensions I was talking about. How can I want everyone to look at me and want everyone to not look at me at the same time? How can I want to be heard, but mumble when people are listening? Why would I publish a blog, and cringe whenever someone found out? Why would I post songs on MySpace, but never mention it to anyone? Well, obviously I'm afraid. But enough of that.

This year, I'm going to overcompensate. This afternoon, I changed my Facebook profile to say more about myself, honestly, I did it with chattering teeth.† There are so many things on that profile that I didn't put in because I was uber conscious of the image I was portraying. Of course, I'd like to pretend that I was creating a mystique, but what good is mystique if no one can get through?

Here's to the New Year! I hope this works out. I'll just be happy if I come out of this year with better diction.


*Not to be confused with my beginning-of-the-year introspect or summer introspect or any-other-time introspect.

† Most of the people I really expect never say anything about themselves on the internet, which I think is cool and wise. However, I don't think they have my crippling fear of social vulnerability. As a general disclaimer, I'd like to say that the examples I'm giving don't necessarily indicate my brand of reclusion. In fact, my brand of reclusion has been specially crafted to imitate confidence!

tension

I used to take this class called CIV102. It was an introduction to bridges taught by this New Zealand professor who loved bridges. For some reason, something that was hard for me to wrap my head around was the idea of tension. I don't really know why. If something is being pulled in two different directions (or in one direction, but held by something stationary, so if you think about reaction force, I guess, it's the same). But in the questions, we never actually talked about how that force was being taken care of - we talked about stretching, and tension limits, but what is actually going on in that material to transfer force.

So, of course, this is a metaphor, right? My dad told me a couple weeks ago that, like guitar strings, people need to be under tension in order to make music, but recently, I find myself stretched in too many directions.* It's already hard to be a good friend, but it's even harder to be a friend to more than one person. And then, of course, there's the question of the limits of your resources, and then "doing the right thing" becomes a more complicated issue. Selflessness is good, but if you can't actually do it, maybe you shouldn't even try, because if you do try and do a selfless act, and aren't actually selfless, you'll end up bitter and angry or sad and unappreciated. Maybe there should be a rating on good deeds before you do them - like a ski hill, that way you'll know what you're getting into and can decide whether you're up for it. There can be the bunny hills where the task is easy to do and you gain from it too. Next level would be something hard, but it makes you feel really good to do it, and you're very appreciated. The black diamonds would be hard things that are not remotely fun and no one notices.

How do you practice?




*If I was stretched in every direction, I would be under pressure, right?

certainly not

So I'm really running out of money. I figure maybe I'll get a job. So I print off a bunch of resumes and go to the mall. Right now, I should mention that I HATE job hunting. I'm really not good at it. Today I likened handing out resumes at the mall to speed dating to a bunch of people who don't really like you.* It's like half-hearted rejection after half-hearted rejection. Not to mention the fact that you secretly think that you're above this whole thing because you have an engineering degree that you worked hard for. Shouldn't getting a job just follow through?

But, of course, that's a secret. I'm certainly not snobbish enough to think that I should have it easy, because, surely, better people than me have had worse jobs. When my dad came to Canada, he mopped floors, when he had a veterinary degree. I'm certainly not proud enough to think that when situations like that occur everyday, I shouldn't have to work under some kid in high school.

Certainly not.

Unfortunately, being as young as I am, these things still get to me. Even as I forsake my engineering degree, I expect it to still work for me.** And I really believe that I could do these jobs, but I don't like putting myself out there to be evaluated, especially when so often it's so unfruitful. And sometimes, when it is fruitful, I don't even like the job. It's like dating (from my limited understanding).

As proven by the preceding, I'm a very level-headed, positive individual. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me. I look forward to meeting you in person.†

*I have never gone speed dating, but if it's anything like handing out resumes at a mall...
**Metaphor alert!
† Imagine if this blog entry was my cover letter!

hell semester 2: this time it's personal

I'm closing off the first semester of my second year at Sheridan's music theatre program, that which is commonly referred to as "hell semester": a dance critique, an acting critique, plus a full class load equals lots of blood, sweat, and tears. This isn't the first time I've heard the phrase "hell semester" however. Similarly, in my second semester of my second year we had a hell semester: classes, labs, tutorials, plus a design project. This time, however, I feel more bare, more exposed. A bad mark in school now may mean less in academic terms, but when it's an evaluation of your performance, it seems way too hard to separate the work from the worker.

This weird deja vu has got me into that "where am I going?" thinking again. Sometimes I catch myself thinking that I could have a Master's degree by now. But then again, that's a lie: I never had any intention of going to grad school, and if I did, I probably wouldn't be done it by now. The idea of alternate lives is really interesting, but I doubt things would be much different than they are. I mean, 1. Now that I'm here, there doesn't really seem to be any other place I could be, right now, except for Sheridan; and 2. Coming here wasn't a split decision. Even if it ever seemed like it, that split decision is the result of all the experiences preceding it. Maybe I could be in teacher's college, but I'd probably be doing the same existential angst thing I'm so good at.

If I went to teacher's college, I'd be a teacher right now. Weird. Maybe things could be way different.

dream of the day: community

I had this week off. It was awesome. I've been talking to a lot of different friends and family, and the theme of conversation this week seems to be (sorry, I wish I was more original) boys. I'm sure that many of you have already examined and discussed the ins and outs of romantic relationships, so I won't go there. What I will say is this: The more I interact with my friends and bemoan my current singleness, the less it bothers me. For me, I think that what I crave about having a boyfriend is having an intimate community - one where it is acceptable and expected to share your life.

I mean, of course, it's more than that. Of course, there's something special and wonderful about romance. But many of us don't speak to our neighbours, so our friends are physically so far from us. Many of us only have a few people, if any, that they can share their lives with. And even then we tend to hole up with those people, mistaking exclusivity for closeness.

Another interesting and unrelated thought I had about community: Do you notice that much of fair trade and organic stuff is marketed to an urban market? People talk about feeling so alone in a big city, but in Toronto, I felt there was some sort of community: a big group of people sharing the same restaurants and parks. And with that kind of superficial understanding of community, maybe urbanites are more capable of understanding global community.

Or maybe I'm wrong. I'm a small person with a small world.

good with stories

Yesterday I had a converstaion that went something like this:

"I'm not really good with names."
"Yeah, me neither. I'm really good with faces. Are you like
that?"
"Well... no."
"So you're not good with names or faces? So how do you remember people?"
"I good at remembering stories."

So generally, I think this makes me a seem like an inconsiderate person, and obviously if someone sits down to tell a story, anyone would probably remember it. But as I slowly learn to act and furthermore, as I slowly learn to be human, it seems like stories are the most important things. That is when a face becomes interesting and a name becomes powerful.

In plays, characters can be played by any actor, but the background, the reasons, the needs (i.e. the story) are what's important and interesting. Today, I'm going to be fleshing out 6 different characters. Not real people, but somehow, it still seems like their stories, however outlandish, deserve to be told. Everything must be linked to truth. That is my philosophy for the moment.

worried and upset about many things

So, I'm a worrier. I worry about school: whether I can do school, whether I deserve to be there, whether I'm actually getting better, whether I'm working hard enough, etc.

I worry about life after school: What am I going to do once it's over? What if I run out of ideas and can't be an artist? What if I run out of money? What if I decide I want to be an engineer and no one wants to hire me?

I worry about myself: Am I where I'm supposed to be? Am I being true to myself? Am I overlooking a major character flaw that will eventually lead to my demise?

"...but only one thing is needed."*

"The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love."**

I'm not really sure of the true implications of this. What? Am I supposed to just drop everything?




maybe.



*Luke 10:42
**Galatians 5:6

you mean, i can do a combination, too? okay, this'll take a second

You know, when you're in line to choose an ice cream flavour, and then you suddenly find out that you can choose more than one? This both inspires me and confuses me. With all these possibilities, what am I supposed to do with my life?

in between panic and possibility

Does anyone read this? Maybe I'll say something really offensive and controversial to find out. Or just misspell. That seems to get enough of my friends riled up.

So the adventure of music theatre school continues. This semester we take a clown class.* Clown is a little different than most people know. It's not necessarily creepy, invasive people in lots of make-up at circuses. As far as I can tell, it's a mostly comedic form of theatre that, for me, is very different because, in class, we're supposed to keep eye contact with the audience all the time. That seems to be the source of inspiration. So, in class, we go up in front of everyone, and Mimi Mekler will either just let us stand there until we find something to do, or ask us to do impossible things (like jump down without jumping up) or ask us questions (that we usually have to answer non-verbally) or whatever. In my turn, for some reason, I went up and I started to cry.

So I present these questions to the jury:
(1) Is this okay?
(2) Is this entertaining?

Concerning (1), I'm getting used to crying. I guess with all art, it's important to be honest. And when you yourself is the art, one must be prepared to let real things happen - whether that's laughing, getting angry, crying, or maybe even nothing at all. And since, this is all new to me, I suppose I was unprepared for the emotional onslaught (maybe?). Maybe that reasoning is flawed. Either way, I have been, just recently, becoming more okay with crying. By avoiding being upset about being upset, I am removing a secondary level of being upset. Hurray!

So I guess the question is why did I cry in the first place? Now, without delving too far, psychologically, I was just scared of everyone. When Mimi first started the class, she said that in clown you want to always be between panic and possibility. I kind of like that. I think if I expand this to life, that is true too. I mean, where would I be if I wasn't desperately searching for something else to do when I graduated from U of T? Maybe panic isn't the greatest thing, but if it can inspire you, if it can stop you from thinking and trying, maybe it's okay.

Concerning (2), I suppose I cannot really answer that, but I will publish my suspicions. I doubt that the crying itself was entertaining, just as pure panic is not entertaining. The whatever follows and the whatever leading up seems to be the stuff.

But then again, what do I know?

:)





*So, yes, I am in college and taking clown.

i've lost 10i pounds, where i^2=(-1)

For those of you unfamiliar with complex math*, the title of this blog basically indicates that I have lost 10 imaginary pounds. I feel great! I should be featured in a weight-loss program's commercial! And the "before" shot will be some horrible candid snapshot of me holding a tub of ice cream and wearing fat clothes† and no make-up, and the "after" shot will be me in professional lighting and full make-up and hair, smiling because I have lost weight and am, therefore, happy.

There is, of course, a story behind this. I usually weigh myself when I go to the gym, which I haven't really done for about a month. Also, at home, we have a scale which we keep in the bathroom. Now, for whatever reason, the scale was moved downstairs, so consequently, I never weighed myself. Now, the other day, I was downstairs anyway, so I decided to step on and see how I was doing. The basement right now is in disarray due to my parents' new business endeavor, but I managed to step on and get a reading.

I should preface this with the fact that for the last six years or so, I have weighed x pounds‡, which is fine, but I always thought (while waiting in line at the nearest Taco Bell) that it would be nice to be lighter.

Well, when I stepped on the scale, I was, lo and behold, not x pounds, but (x-10) pounds! I had lost 10 pounds!

"How could you believe this?" you ask. "Didn't you just admit that you haven't been to the gym in a really long time."

"Well," I answer, defensively, "In these last months, I have been less stressed and eating less! Plus, in that day, I hadn't eaten very much because I was sick."

So I was checking myself out in the mirror (You all do it, admit it.) and I could have sworn I looked skinnier! I could have sworn my belly was sticking out less and my butt was smaller.

Anyway, you guys know how this long-winded story ends. I eventually stepped on a better scale (At the gym, incidentally. I had decided to top off the 10 pound loss with another few pounds.) and found that I was once again x pounds. The scale I stepped on in the basement was on a cushion and it didn't occur to me that a machine that uses the pressure applied to it to measure weight would be affected by a cushion underneath it.

Anyway, I guess the point of this all is just how much better I could feel thinking that I've lost weight, how proud I could be of myself, even when I didn't do anything. Funny, eh? I wonder what would happen if I actually lost weight. I'm not going to say anything, but there might be balloons... and cake.








*I remember learning about imaginary numbers in high school and thinking, "Pshaw! Like this will have any practical application!" This is a testament to both my lack of foresight and nerdiness.

†What are fat clothes?! If you don't know what these are, you are probably very skinny and/or a boy. Fat clothes are the clothes that do nothing for your figure and no one is ever supposed to see you in.

‡Where x is some positive real number that will be misleading out of context. Ask me if you want, but I'd rather you guess, which people are usually afraid to do.

existential angst

This weekend, I had the opportunity to hang out with two of my favourite cousins. We were watching Korean soap operas and doing laundry and here was an almost-40-year-old mother-of-two, an almost-30-year-old new mother, and me, the token 20-something. And it was cool, because I've known these wonderful women since I was born, and suddenly, it's like I can finally talk to them and understand their perspective more than I ever could have before. Not to say that I know what it's like to be a mother or almost-40, but as we asymptotically reach that same age*, I find myself thinking of what it would be to be their age, rather than dismissing it as a time far removed from me.

Anyway, almost-30-year-old new mother said something that struck me. "I'm glad my 20s are almost over. In the 20s, there's too much existential angst." Everyone I know who has turned 30 ended up getting a funky new haircut or a new bf/gf or a new apartment, etc. The point is that they seem to be coping with the end of their 20s rather than celebrating.

So now, in this light, how do I perceive my 20s? I'm still early on, but I am certainly existentially angsty. The 20s are supposed to be a time of new independence and identity! A time to be young and reckless! A time to try new things and be fearless! They're all the same thing, right? We just use different words when it's fun or when it's annoying.

Oy vey. I'm already tired. I wish I was old already.



*I think we should age on a logarithmic scale, where as you get older, you age less. This way we can numerically reflect the fact that a 5-year old is much older than a 4-year old, but a 75-year old is not much older than a 74-year old.

talking in circles

I had a lovely lunch with lovely Sue today. Cheap sushi and good conversation. We were talking about some big things, and the good thing about Sue is that she understands the complexities of the questions I relate to her. We are both lapsed engineers*, which seems to imply that we enjoy things that are not logical, but also get frustrated by those same things because they are not logical.

For example:

Question: What is good art?
Answer: Good art is redemptive and honest.

Question: How does one make good art?
Answer: Be honest.
But I can be as honest as I want - that still may not result in a good song, for instance.
And even I work hard and put my heart into it, it may not yield anything.

It seems to me that all the questions worth asking are hard to answer, which makes sense I guess - questions go away with answers. I just find myself talking in circles, missing the point a lot, especially here, in this blog. I mean, I know it's entertaining to watch that hamster in the wheel, but for how long?

But what if you relate to that hamster? Then, it's more than entertainment, it's searching. Maybe I'll write a song about it.

This entry didn't really have a point, but I will leave it that way, because it seems appropriate.



*Sue's term.

fitting in

When I was younger (I won't say how much younger because it might be embarrassing.) I wrote a punk song about how I didn't want to fit in. But as I get older, the more and more I realize that isn't true. I do want to fit in. I think the punk song was more about what I wanted to want, rather than what I actually wanted. Because when you want to fit in, you so often get disappointed, so it's much better just to not want it.

This question has been bouncing around in my brain since the end of the year. I have been to a few different places - U of T, Sheridan, La Pocatiere, high school, Skule Nite, various churches, various classes - and I'm wondering where I actually fit. In high school, I was the smart one, so I went to U of T. At U of T, I was the theatre one, so I went to Sheridan. And now, at Sheridan, I don't know what I am, so I don't know where to go next.

So here's the question: do you fit in where you blend in the most or where you stand out the most? Denise Norman told me that I was unique, which I have heard before, but honestly, hasn't everyone?* But if I am truly unique, maybe I won't blend in anywhere. Maybe the place where I belong is where who I am will be brought to light, and that might be shown by contrast rather than in a context of similar people.

I don't know. Maybe there is no such place.


*Isn't it ironic? Don't you think?

it's funny because it's true

Those who internet-stalk me will probably notice that I've been telling everyone about this picture. I don't care. I think it's really funny and I can't go to sleep.

every mountain and hill made low

Today, right after I finished making this speech about how I don't like bad grammar, I said "I speak really good."

Ouch. It seems my God is one of irony.

are you racist?

I kinda want to write a one of the quizzes you find in teen magazines that are suppossed to tell you whether you're "flirty" or "outrageous", by asking you ten questions. Except, the fact is that the questions are so out there that they just don't mean anything.

I want to do a quiz that figures out whether you're racist. The questions would be equally shallow.

How many friends from visual minorities do you have?
a. Soooo many
b. Like, five
c. One, maybe

Do you like food of different ethinicities?
a. Love it.
b. Like it.
c. Don't like the idea of meat that isn't from a farm, won't eat anything raw, won't eat the feet or brains of anything.

Okay, so I realize that this is a bit offensive, so let me make clear what my point is. These kinds of questions don't really say anything, right? They don't tell me whether you're racist or not. However, embarrassingly often, people will tell me facts like these (i.e. "I have lots of Asian friends." or "Pad thai is my favourite food.") in order to justify themselves.

Fine, if you say you're not racist, I'll believe you, but don't pretend you're not ignorant. Don't pretend that you're not making assumptions about people. Don't pretend that you're not a little uncomfortable with people different than you, if that's the case.

I think that's what irks me about not being white sometimes. I think it's funny that I fill some of the stereotypes, but when anything is assumed about me, even if it's true, it kinda feels like I'm being talked to rather than talked with. And when people talk about "these Asian people" doing this and this, I feel like that's all being added to that glob of assumptions they'll make.

And eventually, when people get to know me, I won't be Asian anymore. I'll be their friend, instead. But even though I don't speak Korean or have Korean friends, this is a part of who I am. But I also don't want to be their "Asian friend" who they use to justify their ignorance.

I'm getting really confused. I'm not mad, but sometimes I get a little upset about stuff like this. I usually laugh because it's funny that some people don't get when they're being a little offensive - but what is it indicative of? Maybe a small I-don't-know-any-better, or maybe it's an ignorance that they won't admit.

And, do you know what? Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm just as guilty. But that doesn't make it better.

es·ther ('es-t&r) -adj.

Has your name ever been used as an adjective? It seems to happen to me everyone once in a while and I usually love it, but right now, I'm just confused by it.

I mean, I've tried to pin down what people meant - I even tried using esther (-adj). This is me asking a friend an opinion on a shirt:
"What do you think of this?"
"I like it."
"I do too, but I'm not sure it's 'me'."
"... If you like it, then it's you."
"... Oh."

I can't define this word! What does it mean when something is so "esther" and why does everyone else seem to have an idea? I love that people find something about me that merits it's own word, but it's frustrating when I, myself, don't understand its meaning.

When I think about it, I've often made other people's names into adjectives for them. I wonder if they understand their adjective.

"shoulda said"

There's this really fun improv game that I watched once where you play a scene and every once in a while the director will interrupt and say "shoulda said" and you have to take back what you just said and say something even better.

Wouldn't it be nice if life was like that? If someone watched your conversations and intervened occasionally to make your conversation 10 million times more entertaining? Or maybe not even more entertaining, but a little bit more tactful, a little bit more helpful.

Right now, I keep on rerunning conversations in my head, and trying to make them better - trying to make a different world where people always understand me, always get my jokes. Or maybe being a little off-the-mark sometimes is part of my charm.

Have you ever done something that is so embarrassing that you can't stop thinking about it? I have those moments often.

do you really want to live forever?

When I said I'd be going to Sheridan College for musical theatre, people were like, "Oh man! It's just like Fame*!" And when we first came to school, people were hyped and ready to work hard to prove that they could "make it in the business."** But now, people are deciding to leave, and it's eye-opening. "You mean, we can leave this place if we want?"

I remember at the end of first year of Eng Sci, and the big question floating around was, "What are you switching into?" So many people left to go into other disciplines after that first year, and more and more as we went into second year. Funny, eh? Both programs are hard, but in Eng Sci, we assumed most people would leave, and here, we can't imagine leaving.

But, here, I guess school is like the realization of a dream. It's the first step before you go out into the real world. And learning that your dream isn't what you thought it was is really serious. And then musical theatre school becomes a safe place - sure, it's hard, but people tell you what to do, and no one's rejecting you yet.

Anyway, if any of you ex-Music Theatre people read this, I wish you well. I hope you find your dreams and chase them. Dear God, I hope the same for myself.




*A show/movie I have yet to see.
**I can't tell you how many times I've heard the phrase "If you're going to make it in the business." It's like the Big Phrase that the teacher know will get us.

what's a little stalking between friends?

Once, when I was talking about the new, cool Facebook, my grumpy friend replied, "I resent the use of the word 'community' in this context." At the time I said, "Whatever, dude," but as I spend hours and hours on the computer looking at pictures of people I wouldn't even say hello to, I'm beginning to get a bit wary.

I mean, this isn't a new topic. MySpace has been around forever, along with Blogger and Flickr and Friendster, etc, etc, and maybe Facebook isn't as new and wonderful as we think. And, sure, Facebook is a great way to share pictures, exchange little notes. I guess I'm just a little afraid of what this might do to us.

According to Facebook, I have 293 friends. What?! I have 293 friends, yet, I spend almost every evening on the internet? Evidently, we have changed the meaning of "friend." A friend isn't someone you care about and hang out with - a friend is now someone you're willing to show your pictures to.

Are we slowly redefining our social practices based on a website? My homepage will tell me how your relationship status changed when I'm hardly willing to email you.

I know why we do it. We're all constantly waiting for someone to notice us, and now, we get to advertise. We all want to feel connected to people, and we can do that by looking at all the pictures they're in. But when does it start becoming a replacement for true friendships and real community?

Maybe I'm just lonely.*

*Just joking. Don't feel sorry for me.

endorphins or self-righteousness

Whenever I feel crappy, people always suggest that I go to the gym.
"The endorphin rush, man! You'll feel so much better!"

Now, I don't need to tell you yet again how much I don't like exercise, but as my New Year's resolution is to go the the gym once a week (I know. Very ambitious.), I have been using any kind of mental trick to get myself there. So after berating and guilting myself, I'm willing to try and believe that going to the gym will make me happy.

And do you know what? I do feel good leaving the gym, but I don't think it has anything to do with endorphins. I think it's just that I feel like I'm better than everyone else. When people see me with my smelly gym bag*, I think "Yup. I'm coming from the GYM. Where are you coming from? Oh wait, sorry. I couldn't hear you. I guess my ears are just too attuned to the whirring of the elliptical machine that I was on for the last half-hour."

You know, it's probably easier to say it was the endorphins, eh?




*The smelly gym bag is probably the only proof that I went to the gym at all. I mean, I'm not about to pull a Hans-and-Frans-style "Where's the beach?" to show off my barely-defined arms.

bedtime brain-dead

This morning I thought of a really cool thing to write on my blog. "Yeah!" I said to myself, "That's hilarious, insightful, and interesting. You should really write that down."

Of course, I didn't and I am bedtime brain-dead. I'm trying to say something here, but I have run out of things to say - in school, we're always communicating something, anything: just emptying our hearts hoping we get something back. And now, when I want to just say a few words to the people who care to read my blog*, I'm lacking. I have nothing to say besides witty comebacks and inside jokes, which is awesome for ear training class, but less-than-awesome when you want to be a current culture relevant artist, or even just an interesting blogger.



*Someone found my blog, and I expressed my great shame at having one. I mean, how lame is it to make yourself vulnerable in a public forum? Maybe not so lame.
"This is my song for the asking." -Paul Simon

i want to be old and wise

I no longer want to be young and silly, but rather: old, sensible, and wise. Perhaps a total lack of sense would give me the desired result, but as it stands, it is impossible for me to be foolish without realizing it, regretting it, and being totally confused.

So I guess I am very young and very silly.

As it stands, my understanding of everything just must be kind of shallow. I think I want to be silly, but what I really want and need is the very wise, in-depth understanding of when it's okay to let go, so I can actually do it.

Quote of the day: "I'm just worried I won't get to relax this week." God help me.

"i want to be young and silly"

Ever see that episode of Dead Like Me, in the not-as-good-as-the-first-season second season, where George gets all mad at Inigo Montoya for her being dead at the beginning of the episode? Anyway, she says to Inigo "I want to be young and silly," and then sometime after, Inigo says "You are."

Okay, so I realize that obscure quotes aren't usually very effective unless someone, anyone at all, knows what you're talking about. But my life and thoughts, although original in their way, seem to be a collection of experiences and pop culture.* So excuse me for these ambiguous quotes from short-lived tv shows.

Coming back to the point, I want to be young and silly. I want to be able to let go of all this "sense" I have. Often, I find my reason and my emotions at battle with each other, and it's a little annoying when you're crying, and while you know why you're crying, it doesn't seem very reasonable to do so (knowing things like "You wanted a challenge" and "There are bigger problems in the world" and the ever powerful "It's no big deal").

I want to be able to be totally ridiculous and be in a scene where I'm sexy and forget about the fact that I'm so embarrased and actually just have pure, unadulterated fun.

Damn it. Why do I have to be so mature and reasonable?




*I tried writing a song the other day. The hardest thing is to try and make something new, but I quickly found myself sampling from songs I knew, which was totally interesting. It's like it was a ransom letter - using cut-outs from different contexts and make them say what you mean.

writer's blocked

It's Sunday. Breathe.

You know, I never really meant to make this blog a place where I obligingly update the internet about my life. I always meant it as an outlet for the thoughts bubbling over the top. I kind of feel like I am running out of things to say.

Scary.

My life is simple nowadays - school, then school, then more school. For the end of the year, we have to choreograph and perform a dance piece to any song that we want as long as it is 2-4 minutes long. To be honest, I don't think I've ever danced a piece longer than 2 minutes, let along choreograph. I'm totally intimidated, but more than anything, I'm afraid that maybe I don't have enough to say in order to do something meaningful. I want the piece to be a story that's real to me, but, hello, dancing isn't exactly my strength.

I want to make art. I want to write songs that speak truth. I want to write plays that inspire. I want to choreograph meaningful stories. But maybe the question is why.

How does God choose his prophets?

whoever said it was a small world?

People! I have spent the last three hours simply Googling my teachers at Sheridan. I never realized how ignorant I was of everything! There is SO much music out there! And just by searching out four of my teachers, I'm beginning to see that music is a ridiculously large and diverse place.

Okay, look. This is the guy that teaches me Ear Training (and I mean, do-re-mi-so-la Ear Training. That's right. We're still on the pentatonic scale.). And, I should warn you. It's experimental jazz. Really weird, really cool. I mean, the computer is his instrument.

This guy accompanied me on You Oughta Know.

And, last, but not least, the man I refer to as Cool Peter, who helped me rock This Love (Maroon 5).

These guys are ridiculously awesome. They seem to work a lot, yet they're all taking jobs like playing for ignorant college kids like me in their karoake class (i.e. pop performance class). And not only that, they are all just a few of so many artists out there. Follow the cybertrail, and you'll find MySpace after MySpace of talented, talented people, all around Toronto.

I don't know. Is this a problem? I don't go out very often to see live music because I don't have the time or necessarily the money, but we're living in a place where talented, brilliant people are spending a lot of time being less-than-brilliant in order to get by. Weird.

Side note: For every name I googled, I got some PhD's website of the same name. It seems like the internet has turned into a place for intellectuals and artists. Interesting parallel.

word of the day: vitriolic

I've recently been accused of being vitriolic. I don't know what that was, so I, first, got very offended then figured out what it meant. He said this in reference to my Strong Sad-type self-deprecating, isn't-it-sad-that-I-don't-have-a-boyfriend kinds of jokes, and he gave me a definition, saying it was a synonym for acidic, but I'm unsure I believe him.

Here's what m-w.com says.

Main Entry: vit·ri·ol
Pronunciation: 'vi-trE-&l
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Anglo-French vitriole, from Medieval Latin vitriolum, alteration of Late Latin vitreolum, neuter of vitreolus glassy, from Latin vitreus vitreous
1 a : a sulfate of any of various metals (as copper, iron, or zinc); especially : a glassy hydrate of such a sulfate b : OIL OF VITRIOL
2 : something felt to resemble vitriol especially in caustic quality; especially : virulence of feeling or of speech
- vit·ri·ol·ic /"vi-trE-'ä-lik/ adjective

Okay, so I still don't know what it meant. Assuming that I take the second definition, what does virulence mean?

Main Entry: vir·u·lence
Pronunciation: 'vir-&-l&n(t)s, 'vir-y&-
Function: noun
: the quality or state of being virulent : as a : extreme bitterness or malignity of temper : RANCOR b : MALIGNANCY, VENOMOUSNESS virulence of a disease> c : the relative capacity of a pathogen to overcome body defenses

So let's take 'a' as the relevant entry.

*gasp*! How dare he call me vitriolic! I'm not bitter. Am I? 50 angst-y blogs later, I'm afraid that maybe I'll have to concede. This sucks. I don't want to be bitter.

PLUS, the other day, someone else told me that I worry too much about what people think about me, and it bothered me for days that he thought that about me. Funny, eh? I'm laughing (finally).

So obviously, these are things that I have to change. Way to start the year. So here are the New Year's resolutions*:

1. Not care what people think. Hopefully, this will make people like me more.
2. Stop lying. Start by losing weight so that I'll be the weight I claim to be. After that, I can continue to lie, because skinny people can do whatever they want. (Just joking. Actually, this whole resolution is a joke. I thought it was funny.)
3. I need to find joy, and I think this will come with a better spiritual life. You know, I was joking with all the vitriolic stuff that I say, and I do believe that if I'm feeling it, I should talk about it, and why not in joke form? ... BUT it would be nice if I didn't have this poison (vitriol, if you will) in me at all.**

No name for this year, yet. Year of Joy? Year without Vitriol? Not as catchy, I know. We'll see how it goes.


*I've heard many people say that they "don't believe in New Year's resolutions". Well, fine. Maybe the idea of changing yourself because of the date is contrived, but at least it's part of one's constant effort to self-improvement. The gyms may be crowded now, but at least people are going, and maybe some of them will keep on going in February. Let's not mock their efforts, jerks.

** Even if it makes you sing You Oughta Know really well.