Am I Black Or Not?
Self-explanatory. Enjoy.
Saturday, January 03, 2004
I'm boring
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Fools! I never eat mashed potatoes with ketchup!
Friday, January 02, 2004
Did I tell you about the dream I had about Jeremy a few nights ago? No?
So I had this dream. I was with this a very good-looking Chinese boy. He started rubbing my inner thigh, and I said, "No, you can't do that" and he started kissing me, and I said, "No, you can't do that, I'm Jeremy's girl." And my eyes were closed, and he was kissing me, and I didn't know what to do because to be honest, it was a very nice kiss, but it wasn't right (morally, not technically). I was calling out Jeremy's name and thinking, as this boy kissed me, that nobody kisses like that except for Jeremy and nobody except for Jeremy makes me feel that way. Dream logic dictated that if only Jeremy can have that effect on me, and such an effect was being effected, then Jeremy must be the one doing it. When I opened my eyes in the dream, it was Jeremy, and there was no one else, so that I could love him and only him ardently with all my heart.
My earliest dream about Jeremy was way back when, maybe September or October. I had a dream that I was in a white dress with a big hoop skirt and ruffles from the Victorian era, and my hair was done up in ringlets and coifed. I was in an upper-class restaurant, where there were many other stately Victorian couples, ladies in evening dresses and men in black suits, and the tables had cream-colored tableclothes and small ornamental lamps as centerpieces. I was seated at one of them, by myself, trying to look proper, but I was, for some reason, very very horny and thinking about Jeremy.
What this tells me about my Freudian subconscious, I can't imagine. I think it wants me to suppress my urges to make out in crowded elevators.
My second dream was Jeremy saying, "I don't want to have sex with you because you're fat and ugly. As a matter of fact, you're just plain revolting. I don't know why I even went out with you in the first place."
My third dream, the only one which doesn't have some strange element in it, was me and Jeremy in some sunny place, and even though it was nighttime it was still sunny. Then I was snuggling in bed with him nice and warm in the middle of the night, and I said, "Jeremy?" and he said, "I love you," and I went to back to sleep, but apparently that part was real (confirmed in the morning), and my dream had run smoothly into that brief waking so that I had not known the difference.
So I had this dream. I was with this a very good-looking Chinese boy. He started rubbing my inner thigh, and I said, "No, you can't do that" and he started kissing me, and I said, "No, you can't do that, I'm Jeremy's girl." And my eyes were closed, and he was kissing me, and I didn't know what to do because to be honest, it was a very nice kiss, but it wasn't right (morally, not technically). I was calling out Jeremy's name and thinking, as this boy kissed me, that nobody kisses like that except for Jeremy and nobody except for Jeremy makes me feel that way. Dream logic dictated that if only Jeremy can have that effect on me, and such an effect was being effected, then Jeremy must be the one doing it. When I opened my eyes in the dream, it was Jeremy, and there was no one else, so that I could love him and only him ardently with all my heart.
My earliest dream about Jeremy was way back when, maybe September or October. I had a dream that I was in a white dress with a big hoop skirt and ruffles from the Victorian era, and my hair was done up in ringlets and coifed. I was in an upper-class restaurant, where there were many other stately Victorian couples, ladies in evening dresses and men in black suits, and the tables had cream-colored tableclothes and small ornamental lamps as centerpieces. I was seated at one of them, by myself, trying to look proper, but I was, for some reason, very very horny and thinking about Jeremy.
What this tells me about my Freudian subconscious, I can't imagine. I think it wants me to suppress my urges to make out in crowded elevators.
My second dream was Jeremy saying, "I don't want to have sex with you because you're fat and ugly. As a matter of fact, you're just plain revolting. I don't know why I even went out with you in the first place."
My third dream, the only one which doesn't have some strange element in it, was me and Jeremy in some sunny place, and even though it was nighttime it was still sunny. Then I was snuggling in bed with him nice and warm in the middle of the night, and I said, "Jeremy?" and he said, "I love you," and I went to back to sleep, but apparently that part was real (confirmed in the morning), and my dream had run smoothly into that brief waking so that I had not known the difference.
Thursday, January 01, 2004
Auld Lang Something
So last year, by which I mean last night, I went to Stella's townhouse for dinner, which was some very nice Chinese takeout; Cantonese cuisine as it ought to be. We, by which I mean the usual crew of me, my parents, my sisters, and my brothers in-law, spent the time playing music for Nathan from "Baby's First CD Player" and a manually cranked jack-in-the-box ("This is real labor!" Maggie said about cranking it). But it paid off; Nathan seemed to be entranced and so was relatively well behaved. I taped up some ripped up pop-up books* and felt curiously fulfilled by such an activity of mending, and we watched the Iron Chefs marathon. We also got belated Christmas gifts; my parents got many alcoholic beverages, and I got a pretty silver necklace with a pendant shaped like the letter A, and a phone card, which I don't really need (as I have free nighttime and weekend minutes). It was a nice gesture anyhow.
Nathan went to bed around 11. I guess once a couple has babies nobody stays up till midnight on New Year's Eve anymore. We left, and my parents dropped me off at Josh's party (with a box of pie left over from dinner) in time for me to squish into the pile around Josh's fireplace at 11:30 or so. Malex had for some reason gotten a haircut within the last day, and Nick had gotten a fancy digital camera, but I had them both beat for shock value because I had pictures of Jeremy. Meg said about the Jeremy and dachsund pictures that "the dog is cuter than the boy." No pie for her. It's the dachsund that makes all the girls go, "Awwwww!!" I showed Nick one pic and he fell off the couch because Jeremy evidently looks eerily like him, an opinion also voiced once by Andrew D and Theresa H when they actually met Jeremy in person. Also, Nick led, in the tradition of high school English class, a sullen discussion group, about the great memories of 2003. (It did get more animated later, to be fair). Josh saved us around 11:50, and herded us into the basement to see the ball drop in Times Square on tv. We, by which I mean the usual crew of people who go to Josh's parties*, had a 2003 birthday cake (with the candles being shaped like numbers) and passed around the bubbly, by which I mean cider because we're too young for champagne. We counted down from ten as the ball dropped and the 2004 sign lit up, and sang Auld Lang Syne as random people kissed each other on national television, and by sing I mean hummed, because nobody knew the words except for me, and me rather incorrectly. I called random people (read: Janis, who I got through to, and Kay, whose phone was busy, and not Jeremy because I still don't have his number, HINT HINT) on my cell and wished them happy new year, and then Malex drove me home around three in the morning before he got too tired to drive. We almost died anyway, because after midnight all the traffic lights cease to function. I think this is madness to the point of homicidal neglect because whoever does this ought to know there are tons of drivers on the road after midnight coming home from New Year's parties, and these said drivers are usually all drunk.
New Year's Day was spent reading Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, the writing style of which would be disgustingly Romantic if it weren't for that whole undead monster thing, and watching Gone With the Wind, which is romantic in a good way, and is a good date movie (HINT HINT). As a side note though, if I were to be a slave (and I don't intend to be, but this is a hypothetical situation) I would definitely not want to be Scarlet O'Hara's slave, because she is a psycho bitch. But to be fair to her, she's an equal opportunity psycho bitch to people both black and white. If you really want to have a good time, and by good time I mean not at all, you can play the Scarlet O'Hara drinking game where you swallow a mouthful of booze everytime Scarlet slaps someone. Also I find both Ashley Wilkes and Rhett Butler singularly unappealing.
We (me, my parents) also went to John and Sharon's house for dinner, which was lamb instead of the usual steak, and on the way home, at the Hebrew Academy parking lot, my dad let me drive, in the dark, and in the rain. But it's always good to try new things on New Year's Day, by which I mean, I hope you had a Happy New Year too.
*I promise never to use "up" so many times in one sentence again, ever.
*I'm listing everyone from the party here because I know people like seeing their names mentioned in other people's blogs. Here goes: Josh the Host, Ruchita the Co-Host, Malex, Nick, Jen, Meg, Dena, Puffy, Ben E, Lizzie, Alison, Ranwa (who I think lost some weight but am too embarrassed to ask about), some random people I didn't know and didn't care to introduce myself to, and, inexpicably (since she neither hung out with us in high school nor at the party), Christine C. Hank, according to Malex, had come earlier, but left.
So last year, by which I mean last night, I went to Stella's townhouse for dinner, which was some very nice Chinese takeout; Cantonese cuisine as it ought to be. We, by which I mean the usual crew of me, my parents, my sisters, and my brothers in-law, spent the time playing music for Nathan from "Baby's First CD Player" and a manually cranked jack-in-the-box ("This is real labor!" Maggie said about cranking it). But it paid off; Nathan seemed to be entranced and so was relatively well behaved. I taped up some ripped up pop-up books* and felt curiously fulfilled by such an activity of mending, and we watched the Iron Chefs marathon. We also got belated Christmas gifts; my parents got many alcoholic beverages, and I got a pretty silver necklace with a pendant shaped like the letter A, and a phone card, which I don't really need (as I have free nighttime and weekend minutes). It was a nice gesture anyhow.
Nathan went to bed around 11. I guess once a couple has babies nobody stays up till midnight on New Year's Eve anymore. We left, and my parents dropped me off at Josh's party (with a box of pie left over from dinner) in time for me to squish into the pile around Josh's fireplace at 11:30 or so. Malex had for some reason gotten a haircut within the last day, and Nick had gotten a fancy digital camera, but I had them both beat for shock value because I had pictures of Jeremy. Meg said about the Jeremy and dachsund pictures that "the dog is cuter than the boy." No pie for her. It's the dachsund that makes all the girls go, "Awwwww!!" I showed Nick one pic and he fell off the couch because Jeremy evidently looks eerily like him, an opinion also voiced once by Andrew D and Theresa H when they actually met Jeremy in person. Also, Nick led, in the tradition of high school English class, a sullen discussion group, about the great memories of 2003. (It did get more animated later, to be fair). Josh saved us around 11:50, and herded us into the basement to see the ball drop in Times Square on tv. We, by which I mean the usual crew of people who go to Josh's parties*, had a 2003 birthday cake (with the candles being shaped like numbers) and passed around the bubbly, by which I mean cider because we're too young for champagne. We counted down from ten as the ball dropped and the 2004 sign lit up, and sang Auld Lang Syne as random people kissed each other on national television, and by sing I mean hummed, because nobody knew the words except for me, and me rather incorrectly. I called random people (read: Janis, who I got through to, and Kay, whose phone was busy, and not Jeremy because I still don't have his number, HINT HINT) on my cell and wished them happy new year, and then Malex drove me home around three in the morning before he got too tired to drive. We almost died anyway, because after midnight all the traffic lights cease to function. I think this is madness to the point of homicidal neglect because whoever does this ought to know there are tons of drivers on the road after midnight coming home from New Year's parties, and these said drivers are usually all drunk.
New Year's Day was spent reading Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, the writing style of which would be disgustingly Romantic if it weren't for that whole undead monster thing, and watching Gone With the Wind, which is romantic in a good way, and is a good date movie (HINT HINT). As a side note though, if I were to be a slave (and I don't intend to be, but this is a hypothetical situation) I would definitely not want to be Scarlet O'Hara's slave, because she is a psycho bitch. But to be fair to her, she's an equal opportunity psycho bitch to people both black and white. If you really want to have a good time, and by good time I mean not at all, you can play the Scarlet O'Hara drinking game where you swallow a mouthful of booze everytime Scarlet slaps someone. Also I find both Ashley Wilkes and Rhett Butler singularly unappealing.
We (me, my parents) also went to John and Sharon's house for dinner, which was lamb instead of the usual steak, and on the way home, at the Hebrew Academy parking lot, my dad let me drive, in the dark, and in the rain. But it's always good to try new things on New Year's Day, by which I mean, I hope you had a Happy New Year too.
*I promise never to use "up" so many times in one sentence again, ever.
*I'm listing everyone from the party here because I know people like seeing their names mentioned in other people's blogs. Here goes: Josh the Host, Ruchita the Co-Host, Malex, Nick, Jen, Meg, Dena, Puffy, Ben E, Lizzie, Alison, Ranwa (who I think lost some weight but am too embarrassed to ask about), some random people I didn't know and didn't care to introduce myself to, and, inexpicably (since she neither hung out with us in high school nor at the party), Christine C. Hank, according to Malex, had come earlier, but left.
Wednesday, December 31, 2003
Yesterday I went to the Rio with Malex, Janis, Jessica and Lindsay (who is new, to me, anyway). We had dinner at some expensive and tasty, yet kind of questionable, Mexican place, where me and Lindsay traded dinners. We are both kindred spirits who always, always order bad things when we choose randomly from menus at restaurants we've not been to, and then regret not getting what Someone Else got. Yet I feel bad each and every time about being a Copycat and saying, "I'll just get what Janis (or insert name here) is getting," so I guess I will just keep on ordering bad food for all of eternity.
We went to watch Peter Pan, which was a waste of $9.00, despite Zifei's recommendation. It wasn't bad, I just don't think I should've had to pay for it; $9.00 can pay for lots of yummy food (even if it's the same food everyone else is getting). I thought the theme of the movie was good, which, so that I won't sound corny, I will just steal directly from Zifei's animation website:
"Just saw the film today. Thought it was great. For once it showed the true tragic young Peter Pan instead of the always happy old guy. I really liked how they followed the original novel in that Wendy tempts Peter with her love to grow up yet Peter still turns away from it at the end. I mean, in the end, the audience has to be feeling sorry for Pan 'cause he can never ever enjoying the feeling of growing up, and he knows it. Overall A. "
Yeah, that's what Zifei says. I agree with that bit. Probably the one of the few good things about growing up (having done a fair bit of it, and more than I should like in many ways, in the last few years) is being able to fall in love. The movie was also very pretty. But execution-wise, I think a lot of the dramatic effects used were over the top which detracted from the film, and the motivations of the adult characters made no sense. It's a funny thing about suspension of disbelief; I can follow flying ships and fairies well enough, but irrational and undeveloped characters is another thing.
Also, it was disturbing. Me and Malex laughed like crazy at all the unintentional sexual innuendos (Paraphrasing Wendy: "I'm leaving you, Peter, because you aren't grown up. You aren't a complete man.") and we weren't the only ones in the audience to do so. That aside, the guy who played Peter who is probably all of... thirteen?... was disturbingly hot. Everyone agreed on that, even Malex. And I don't think I'm being a pervert because it was a crucial casting decision to star an older boy, a boy who is on the verge of adolescence and is old enough (according to Malex) to have wet dreams, because he's old enough to start have darker desires but too young to actually pursue them. It's a rather disturbing artistic decision which I think was intentional, to emphasize the choice he has to make (whether to grow up or not, because he's already halfway there). Also, he had the mannerisms of an older, teenage or adult actor, which emphasize boldness, assertiveness and self-confidence, which are generally sexy traits, instead of the active rambunctious of a little kid. Like when he draws a pair of twin rapiers from a sheath at each side dramatically (kwa-shing!). That's an action hero thing. That's badass and rather sexy. You shouldn't make Peter Pan sexy, dude, that's weird.
And there's the strange Oedipal feelings between him and Wendy: "Can you be my mother?" because love and womanhood and motherhood are all rolled into one, so it's almost like he's incapable of making a distinction between romantic love and maternal love. The Lost Boys' quest for having a nurturer figure is somewhat creepy in an almost shamanistic, high priestess kind of way. And there's a quasi-pedophilic Captain Hook (maybe too much Michael Jackson on the brain, but it cannot be denied).
And the undertones of horrific violence were there too. Kids have always been disturbing in how innocently and selfishly cruel they are, and that kind of cruelty does make it in this film (not entirely discouraged by the book of course). Tinkerbell, our wonderful and happy fairy friend: "Let's connive to have Wendy shot with arrows because I'm jealous she's getting so much attention." And that scene where Peter is about to stab this Lost Boy in the throat for "killing" Wendy. It was portrayed as an intended execution, which means they must have developed a primative criminal system and social heirarchy, ala Lord of the Flies, like elementary school recess ("You're not allowed in my club!") with knives and arrows. Also I found the concept of Peter cutting off people's hands and egging the Lost Boys on to fight pirates disturbing too. Of course this is a family movie, so we don't see any kids disemboweled or impaling pirates on cutlasses but it's just a creepy concept. They must be some incredibly trauamatized kids (Malex likened them to orphans from Somalia). After reading Lord of the Flies, a place run by kids seems like a horribly dystopian place; at least a place run by adults, while being equally and arbitrarily cruel, has the pretense of civilization.
Also, the fencing sucked.
We went to watch Peter Pan, which was a waste of $9.00, despite Zifei's recommendation. It wasn't bad, I just don't think I should've had to pay for it; $9.00 can pay for lots of yummy food (even if it's the same food everyone else is getting). I thought the theme of the movie was good, which, so that I won't sound corny, I will just steal directly from Zifei's animation website:
"Just saw the film today. Thought it was great. For once it showed the true tragic young Peter Pan instead of the always happy old guy. I really liked how they followed the original novel in that Wendy tempts Peter with her love to grow up yet Peter still turns away from it at the end. I mean, in the end, the audience has to be feeling sorry for Pan 'cause he can never ever enjoying the feeling of growing up, and he knows it. Overall A. "
Yeah, that's what Zifei says. I agree with that bit. Probably the one of the few good things about growing up (having done a fair bit of it, and more than I should like in many ways, in the last few years) is being able to fall in love. The movie was also very pretty. But execution-wise, I think a lot of the dramatic effects used were over the top which detracted from the film, and the motivations of the adult characters made no sense. It's a funny thing about suspension of disbelief; I can follow flying ships and fairies well enough, but irrational and undeveloped characters is another thing.
Also, it was disturbing. Me and Malex laughed like crazy at all the unintentional sexual innuendos (Paraphrasing Wendy: "I'm leaving you, Peter, because you aren't grown up. You aren't a complete man.") and we weren't the only ones in the audience to do so. That aside, the guy who played Peter who is probably all of... thirteen?... was disturbingly hot. Everyone agreed on that, even Malex. And I don't think I'm being a pervert because it was a crucial casting decision to star an older boy, a boy who is on the verge of adolescence and is old enough (according to Malex) to have wet dreams, because he's old enough to start have darker desires but too young to actually pursue them. It's a rather disturbing artistic decision which I think was intentional, to emphasize the choice he has to make (whether to grow up or not, because he's already halfway there). Also, he had the mannerisms of an older, teenage or adult actor, which emphasize boldness, assertiveness and self-confidence, which are generally sexy traits, instead of the active rambunctious of a little kid. Like when he draws a pair of twin rapiers from a sheath at each side dramatically (kwa-shing!). That's an action hero thing. That's badass and rather sexy. You shouldn't make Peter Pan sexy, dude, that's weird.
And there's the strange Oedipal feelings between him and Wendy: "Can you be my mother?" because love and womanhood and motherhood are all rolled into one, so it's almost like he's incapable of making a distinction between romantic love and maternal love. The Lost Boys' quest for having a nurturer figure is somewhat creepy in an almost shamanistic, high priestess kind of way. And there's a quasi-pedophilic Captain Hook (maybe too much Michael Jackson on the brain, but it cannot be denied).
And the undertones of horrific violence were there too. Kids have always been disturbing in how innocently and selfishly cruel they are, and that kind of cruelty does make it in this film (not entirely discouraged by the book of course). Tinkerbell, our wonderful and happy fairy friend: "Let's connive to have Wendy shot with arrows because I'm jealous she's getting so much attention." And that scene where Peter is about to stab this Lost Boy in the throat for "killing" Wendy. It was portrayed as an intended execution, which means they must have developed a primative criminal system and social heirarchy, ala Lord of the Flies, like elementary school recess ("You're not allowed in my club!") with knives and arrows. Also I found the concept of Peter cutting off people's hands and egging the Lost Boys on to fight pirates disturbing too. Of course this is a family movie, so we don't see any kids disemboweled or impaling pirates on cutlasses but it's just a creepy concept. They must be some incredibly trauamatized kids (Malex likened them to orphans from Somalia). After reading Lord of the Flies, a place run by kids seems like a horribly dystopian place; at least a place run by adults, while being equally and arbitrarily cruel, has the pretense of civilization.
Also, the fencing sucked.
Monday, December 29, 2003
So yesterday I went with my parents to visit Kevin (I thought he was named Calvin but apparently he isn't) at the Charbroil Grill (which he runs). We got there at like 7 and stayed until around 12. It made me cranky because it converts into a nightclub at 10:00 or so, which means that it is very loud, very smokey, has lots of annoyingly flashy lights, and is full of young, professional thirty-somethings. Being that I couldn't hold a conversation over the noise, was feeling rather wet and squishy and fat and bloated from my period, don't smoke (though I did take two drags from my dad's cigar, which confirmed my view that tobacco is a horrible, ghastly weed), am too young to drink, and keep thinking about Jeremy every time some woman at the bar leans affectionately against her man or wraps an arm around his shoulder, how am I supposed to not be pissed off after five hours?
My dad was like, "You can dance with me!" I declined. I like dancing with my dad at weddings, but I don't dance with anyone who has a combover and wears a knit vest, big glasses, and highwaters, at a nightclub. Which left me almost feeling bored enough to ask a stranger to dance. It's not that thirty-year olds are too old and square for me. Thirty somethings are still young, energetic and edgy. There are slews of famous movie stars, musicians and athletes in their thirties and forties. But thirty somethings are completely different creatures from people in their late teens and early twenties (admittedly, mostly for the better). The women are classier and have grown out of body glitter, trashy clothes, bleached hair, and raccoon-like eye shadow phases. Nobody ass-grinds or makes out in dark corners. They aren't as wild, you know? Which is good, but... though it's legal, there's something weird about a girl who is out with her parents, wears blue jeans and plays Dungeons and Dragons meeting in a bar a guy who lives in a suburban townhouse, pays his own mortage, makes $70,000 a year, has a car and cell phone, and is twice her age. He may even be married and have teenage children of his own. At the very best, I'm still the age of his kid sister. I've had teachers (the younger ones) in their thirties. My older siblings are in their thirties. My friends, dates, and dance partners are not typically in their thirties, you follow?
I can imagine a conversation with a thirty year old man going like this: "So... Angie... what do you do?" "Um, I go to school." "That's nice.... *silence*... Would you like a drink?" "I would, but I'd get arrested." ... (blah blah blah, conversation about topics which the other person finds completely uninteresting) ... "It was nice meeting you, can I get your number?" "Yeah, here. Hang up if it's my mom." "O..kay. See you on Saturday?" "Yeah, but can you drive me? I don't have my driver's license yet.. and you have to bring me back before twelve or else my parents will be pissed."
>___<
My dad was like, "You can dance with me!" I declined. I like dancing with my dad at weddings, but I don't dance with anyone who has a combover and wears a knit vest, big glasses, and highwaters, at a nightclub. Which left me almost feeling bored enough to ask a stranger to dance. It's not that thirty-year olds are too old and square for me. Thirty somethings are still young, energetic and edgy. There are slews of famous movie stars, musicians and athletes in their thirties and forties. But thirty somethings are completely different creatures from people in their late teens and early twenties (admittedly, mostly for the better). The women are classier and have grown out of body glitter, trashy clothes, bleached hair, and raccoon-like eye shadow phases. Nobody ass-grinds or makes out in dark corners. They aren't as wild, you know? Which is good, but... though it's legal, there's something weird about a girl who is out with her parents, wears blue jeans and plays Dungeons and Dragons meeting in a bar a guy who lives in a suburban townhouse, pays his own mortage, makes $70,000 a year, has a car and cell phone, and is twice her age. He may even be married and have teenage children of his own. At the very best, I'm still the age of his kid sister. I've had teachers (the younger ones) in their thirties. My older siblings are in their thirties. My friends, dates, and dance partners are not typically in their thirties, you follow?
I can imagine a conversation with a thirty year old man going like this: "So... Angie... what do you do?" "Um, I go to school." "That's nice.... *silence*... Would you like a drink?" "I would, but I'd get arrested." ... (blah blah blah, conversation about topics which the other person finds completely uninteresting) ... "It was nice meeting you, can I get your number?" "Yeah, here. Hang up if it's my mom." "O..kay. See you on Saturday?" "Yeah, but can you drive me? I don't have my driver's license yet.. and you have to bring me back before twelve or else my parents will be pissed."
>___<
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