Oh No You Didn't, You Creepy Old Man

I hope this doesn't come off humble-braggy, but I feel like I'm surrounded by super needy people lately.

It might be a little low self-esteem, where I feel that anyone that wants my time must be desperate and is therefore unworthy.  And I don't like being like that.  But I can't help feeling this wave of disgust and contemptuousness for all these people that demand my time.

Family members, who are bored and waiting for a partner and crime to do something

a lonely friend, who is willing to spend more money than I'm willing to on dinners.  My company is costing me.

Four different employers, with tasks that you can't just leave at "the office."



And then this jeweler that does some work for me.  I put up with him because he gives me super low prices because he thinks I'm cute, but it's a devil's bargain.  I thought he was just a nice oldish man, until he totally began violating the formality of service provider and customer.  I thought it was just a lost-in-translation thing that he kept addressing me by name in every text.  And then I was super creeped out.  From texting I miss you to shyly but insistently asking that I come by his booth every week.  No.  I don't even know you.  You don't fucking get to demand my time.  Fuck you. You creepy fuck.  I hate your salt and pepper ponytail, how you look like a fucking grandpa, how you look lost and nervous but yet think it's totally ok to demand my time.  How you don't feel ashamed at all. It makes me want to hurt you, to make you feel as pathetic as you look.

***


I know it is partly my fault for not wanting to hurt feelings, when these people probably aren't that needy at all, it's because I don't turn them down that they feel like they can keep pulling.  I've slowly been more honest though, about my interests, about my budget.   I should be more honest, because it's an ugly tug-of-war feeling resentment for always being stuck being the "good guy" and fear of guilt if I'm not the "good guy." It always ends in disaster.

And I know the tide always turns and next thing I know, I'll be the one desperate for company, or money.

This is how a young flash fiction writers bio looks

Identity, identity. Absurdity 

Cradle me just a little bit longer

Treat me like a child 

Brush the stray hairs out my face when I'm lost in a book

Or sleeping 

Wrap a blanket around me 

And buckle my seatbelt 

To fold me back into the womb 

Where time is suspended un fluid

Is the fluid

 that embalms me

Kiss my forehead

Tell me not to Worry my pretty little head

Cause every little thing is gonna be alright 

There's nothing your briefcase and biceps cannot solve

So I can be clueless and careless 

But charmingly, childishly 

Culplessly 

You are what you eat

Zadie smith said something like this

So if you want to be a writer eat words be obsessive about the writers that inspire you, figure out everything that has been done before your diet should be mostly good, but some bad because ying yang 

Photography same

Jewelry same

Food same 

Dream Diary Post 16

I had a Harry Potter / Being John Malkovich inspired dream 

Eating bento boxes in a cafeteria riding a ferry to some academic building.  Somewhere along the line everyone wanted to go to this cute secret Korean restaurant the only way to get there is to go to my friend's house go to the bathroom and stand in the toilet tank and wish yourself there.  The hole might seem just big enough for one foot, but the momentum of your wish will propel you through without harm.  

But like Platform 9 3/4 or travel by Floo Powder or transport from a tiny door to the body of John Malkovich, mishaps occur.  After I realized that the window had closed on the present toilet I was standing in, I tried a couple other toilets, always with the image of the adorable wood-floored bistro with a fireplace on the right and a quietly steaming stove on the left.  I never got there before I woke up. 

It starts with a pet goldfish dying

We were in China and the tour guide was describing all the gruesome things that happen to you in chinese he'll.  like getting your butt cut off.  Some where along the line you drink a tea to forget about the Life you just finished living 

My mom asked me what I'd like to do in the next life, I said I wanted to be exactly the same 

She agreed this life is pretty nice, it'd be nice to live it again

I imagined us like horses a mama horse and a baby horse, with the same human thoughts but unable to speak them

We were sleeping in the floor of the excercise room because my room was being painted 

Somehow the question arose would you want to die before or after your pArents?

At the same time.  Yes, at the same time would be nice

Fear of being a contrived writer

What if you were anticipating the poop before you even tasted the food?

On unhappy enemies

Fuck why don't you save to draft if I'm not finished?

While I certainly despise when my enemies are happy, unfortunately their despair brings me no joy.  It's as if their unhappiness undermines their evilness.  Which makes sense, it's less fun beating a mopey asshole than an arrogant one.  

It is embarrassing watching an asshole fall, I don't know why.  Perhaps because they have farther to fall, from the peak of their bullshit mountain.  De-antlered, de-maned, stumbling around as they attempt to recompose some semblance of a poker face.  I want to look the other way and pretend to not notice their swagger has been replaced with a stumbling shuffle. 

On having a dog

A common philosophical robot question:  if a robot is comprised of all human parts and its output reads as kindness, morality, love, what separates it from being human? What is this ineffable mark of consciousness? 

And so I wonder about this golden retriever, Basil, about all golden retrievers.  She is so playful yet gentle, never barking lest she sees a animal she is not used to.  She sniffs a hen laying on her eggs without a single toothy swipe, sees a huddle if ducklings without chasing.  She always follows whoever is working outside, even if it is just to plop her body in the grass near you. If you go on a walk in the woods, she will follow. Although she doesn't play fetch, she doesn't even growl when I attempt to wrest the orange ball from her jaws ( though she does try to swipe my hand away with her paws.

She has all the trappings of a kind, compassionate, social soul.  But them I wonder, is it because man has engineered you to be this way? Are you being kindly because you are kind, or because you wouldn't know how to behave any other way? Do you crave social interaction, or simply programmed to lay near the closest warm body present ? Is your friendliness and loyalty to strangers the mark of a good host, or an instinctive action ? 

I look at her cuddly fluffy golden coat, the cute way she still looks like a puppy when she attempts to hold a bone between her two paws to gnaw on and think, dude, we created everything about you, your no aversion to humans, your adorable fluffy coat, and yet you are still your own creature, a living breathing animal.  Left to your own devices, you seem to have your own ideas about what to do.

Meat

One of those days where I'm overpowered by hunger with no consideration to mindfulness. Just want to consume everything meaty and fatty 

Shake shack burger with cheese fries 

Cuban Fried pork and plantain sandwich from Tina's 

Baohaus buns the pork belly and fried chicken 

Shit Kids Say

6 year old boy picks up a tiny marker: this is my golf marker! You know how there are golf pencils? Well this is my golf marker.

Mom taking pictures of the class: I'm not gonna take pictures of you if you look at me
Her son: Stop looking at my mom!

4 year old girl: I'm going to punch you in the penis

4 year old girl after I told her not to jump down from the couch: You know I can fight you

4 year old girl: do you poop or pee

Me:  both

2 year old: I do everything 

4 year old: one day were going to have a baby brother 

2 year old : and a horse and a cat

2 year old, to me: I'm being nice to you

2 year old: Why did your mom give you the necklace
Me: Because she likes me
2 year old: Oh
2 year old: Your mommy loves you and gives you cake

2 year old, to me: You're such a baby

2 year old: Look I know how to do this it's a ballerina it's beautiful!

2 year old: My name is chubby wubby one day I had a fast dad and slow down dad!

5 year old: Umm, I do not like soup. I eat chicken.  My mom doesn't like chicken she just eats salad

Mom: You don't want to share? You had so many!
4 year old: But I wanted more!
Mom: ok after dinner
4 year old: No! Now gimme it now! Gimme it now! Throw it up!

2 year old: Mama has short nails short nails

Me: This baby has a big butt
2 year old : That is so funny that is really funny (but she doesn't laugh)

Dream Diary Post 15

Walking to a swimming lesson late at night through the neighborhood passing by SUVs and owners climbing out of them and the occasional sprinkler.  I'm in the kids pool at the Y and it's filled with the echoes of screeching children and squeaky flip flops.  This girl is demonstrating how if you crouch down under the water and stay there you can die.  Nobody dies

Finding someone's smashed Iphone 5 on the floor in the sitting room next to a bundle of  just-washed marroon socks  in the corner next to a wooden chair with a rattan seat just like the one in the Van gogh's Chair painting.

Shuffling back and forth between the bedroom to the kitchen a pot of beans is on the stove in the 70's style house where the floors are terra-cotta colored stone tiles framed in a criss-cross of dirty grout, and there's that  musty curtain ruffle above the windows. I  was trying to make sure all the doors are closed before I take a shower, but I kept running into people.  The doors were painted teal, forest green, and brown.  The murky corner of the spectrum.

my body is not me

It doesn't represent me it was not my choice.

It's merely a vehicle for thought, one that often distorts true character.

I can manipulate it to exude the confidence I want perceived, but success is literally superficial.

Relief when I am called ugly, fat, it is not me.
An ache when I am called pretty, thin, it is not me.

Dream Diary Post 14 Day 83

I barely remember one snippet of my dream because I had like 3 dreams after it.  But I remember being in a confined space like an elevator and sipping air through a thing clear tube that was wrapped around a spool.  I felt suffocated.

Random Thoughts Day 82

1.  John Legend is a real enough person that I feel a mix of excitement and envy for him every time I hear "All of Me" play in every deli and passing UPS truck.  It's not like he isn't well known, but it's not like he has the reach of Beyonce, either.  And I think it's also because he's not a 17 year old pop new-comer which means he probably doesn't take success for granted nor feel that fame is directly tied to success

2.  I think the last time I was unironically excited for a pop group was in second grade for the Spice Girls and N'Sync and Destiny's Child in 3rd/4th  grade.  Therefore, I don't see how anyone over the age of 10 can be so in love with Taylor's Swift or One Direction.  There's just not enough depth to revel in before it sounds like elevator music.

3. I've run out of funny little lines (wait, I was funny?) It's like the well is dry.  Just nothing will be conjured up.  How did I come up with 3 or 4 of these a day? How do comedians do this constantly? I feel like everyone can come up with a story--bad or good, everyone can come up with something that has a beginning, middle, and end.  But a joke? No matter how much you can dissect one to build one up, there has to be some unexplainable click somewhere in there, I think.

4.  There's this baby named a really unisex name like Sawyer or Marlowe and I couldn't tell from his/her clothes so when his/her parents introduced him/her I just smiled really widely and was like "hiiii"

5.  Question: When individuals publicly comment on the death of a famous person on social media, what is their purpose?  Is it:

1. To respectfully salute the person as she/he passes on?
2. To seek solace and communally mourn (mourn communally) with fellow members of society?
3. To subtly brag that yes, they know this person and are interesting enough to have enjoyed their work and contributions?  Because honestly, I've never seen you wax poetic about Philip Seymour Hoffman our post the quotes of Maya Angelou or marvel at the extraordinary life of Nelson Mandela when these people were alive.  I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, though.  Maybe you guys all talk about the genius of Peter Seeger at those tupperware parties you never invite me to.

We raise children only for them to become traitors

Everyone loves babies (except for the people who don't like babies).  They're chubby and soft and adorable and easily entertained (except when they're crying their heads off).  Old people dote on them, showering them with treats and toys and funny faces and babies easily express their gratitude, unadulterated enthusiasm whenever the candy-giver and game-player shows his/her face.  Old people mistake this for singular affection and appreciation, a magical connection.  When really all the babies like you for is because you give them what they want.  A juicy strawberry, a riveting game of peek-a-boo.  You've merely domesticated a feral animal and she now knows to come to you for sustenance.

People swarm other people who have babies, raucously spitting out baby talk, inquiring about weight, sleeping habits, and diet, it all feels like a real and flowing conversation.  But then the baby has to be put down for a nap, and all the grownups realize they really didn't have anything in common after all.

Babies grow up to be children, children have specific and contemporaneous cultural needs.  Children are people conscious of social hierarchies and relationships.  That toy that might have been adorable and treasured is now embarrassingly outdated.  That sweater is too frilly and thick, all they wanted was a t-shirt from Target with the latest Disney fad plastered on the front.  Or they didn't want toys or clothes at all, don't you know the newest smart phone renders everything else obsolete?

Children are polite to old people because everyone tells them to be.  They're friendly but condescending, egotistically relishing that their mere presence is a whole lot more important to the old people than vice versa.  Even as children grow into young adults and adults who appreciate the lives of old people, it is more out of guilt than genuine desire.  Even when younger people appreciate the wisdom of experience, there's a bit of humoring involved as the role of caretaker is reversed. A close relationship with an elder becomes something to boast about rather than inwardly appreciate.

I'm way too proud of myself on the rare occasions I behave like a grown up

1.  Like when I don't laugh or make a face when someone says something stupid in a professional environment

2.  When I don't interject that someone is being an asshole when it doesn't involve me/ mind my own beeswax (except, sometimes, I get annoyed when people are just bystanders because they think they're being polite)

3.  When I hold my tongue before I comment "wow, your feet are really red" or "you look thinner" or "your mom is pretty crazy, huh?" (in all seriousness, what comes off as an observation sounds like a judgement)

4. When I say thank you to accept a compliment instead of some stuttering deflection (they're just being nice, they don't really care!)

5.  When I don't blabber a long-winded explanation in person or email

6.  When I go to an event and I don't blurt out, I'm here for the food!

Dream Diary Post 13 Day 81

Walking into hallway with nice french windows  on the right hand side and wooden floors. Straight in front of me was one of those metal buffet warmers filed with some sort of panini/waffle filled with scrambled eggs and breakfast sausage, a cafeteria-riff of waffle tacos I suppose.

I was at a talk featuring Sarah Silverman and it was Q&A time.  There was this one guest with messy bleached blonde hair almost dreadlock-like in texture and she was asking too many annoying lame questions basically insinuating that she and Sarah must have similar creative struggles, were comedy equals, and that she smokes a couple puffs of weed before she sleeps.

I wanted to ask Sarah Silverman a couple questions about her creative process, how she came to structure her one liners. She called on me with a knowing and sympathetic smile, like how some of my teachers did in high school, as if she sensed my nervousness.  She said she loved my performance in Peep World.  I smiled politely, not wanting to ruin the good-naturedness by correcting her that it wasn't me (heart-brokenly she must have confused me with another Asian).  I continued with my question.  Did they just pop into her head, did she observe something and then try to formulate a one-liner out of it?  Except when I was asked to provide examples I was totally stumped.  The crowd moved on and Sarah called on another person while I wracked my brain and Youtube for examples.  I raised my hand again but I was repeatedly passed over for new question askers.

Random Thoughts Day 80

1.  It's survival of the fittest, and I feel like I can barely catch my breath

2. Being an entrepreneur is a hustle all the time (no shit, but it's just what's on my mind)

3.  Things, delicate things, do they mean anything?

4. Is my life worth more than a cockroach's? To me, yes.  But isn't a cockroach's life worth a lot to a cockroach? How would I like to be ended with a smash

5. Every now and then in blows my mind that you can just walk into a book store, read the books, and then leave.  Imagine if you can do that in a mattress store.

6.  I really can't remember if I watched You've Got Mail in the theaters, or I just heard about other people watching in theaters, pictured myself watching it in the theater, and then memory and imagination blurred after the passage of time

7.  There are some people that are so impressively good at tearing down my new experiences and accomplishments  that I was so purely excited about before and making them seem absolutely pathetic.  Except I've learned to take it in stride and give less of a shit about what they say.  One of my bosses (that sounds like such a major word, he technically was my boss, but I always feel like that word is reserved for the corporate world) once told me that you don't have to let anybody make you feel bad about yourself.  And like everything, I think it's half true half not.  I feel like sometimes you shouldn't stand for bullshit, but sometimes, you should act like the person isn't even worth your time.  In a way, it's true, they win if they make you feel crappy.

And also, I now give them the benefit of the doubt that they don't totally understand what I'm doing.

8.  I don't want to be a people pleaser.  I don't want to fake smile and fake laugh at your jokes.  But I can't help it.  The silence is too awkward for me and I feel like I should throw you a bone.  This is not a humble brag, I won't even pretend it's compassion.  I do it not for your sake, but mine, I don't want you to hate me, even though I don't respect you.  Why can't I be like that girl who doesn't even smile when you utter a lame punchline, who barely gives recognition that she heard it?  I want to be like January Jones, stoic and confident, unaccommodating to pandering efforts to feign camaraderie and small talk.  A lot of people think she's a stone cold bitch, which seems a little bit true sometimes  in interviews when it's obvious she feels her character's competitive relationship with others as if they were her own.  But I think she's mostly just a genuine person who isn't easily pleased and eager to please, which in turn force people to make a greater effort to get into her good graces.

9.  Are people inherently good or bad? I don't think there is such thing as an opaque evil person.   Or rather, people do malicious evil things, but I don't think they feel inherently evil.  They perhaps have an impulsive uncontrollable urge to do bad things, but I do not think they derive any true pleasure from it other than a temporary dopaminic high. On the flip side, I think that this means that people are fully responsible for their actions.  For all intents and purposes,  to do evil is to be evil, regardless of the nature of your soul.

10.  I am not very eloquent, and my thoughts and become entangled with my tongue resulting in a incoherent dithery string of "words." Especially when someone asks, so what is it that you want to do?

11.  I think I would probably "win" the marshmallow experiment.  Not because I don't mind delayed gratification (which I'm only sometimes good with), but rather because I'm so fearful of authority

Dream overview

My dreams are telling me I miss high school, which basically means, it's officially too long ago for me to remember what it was really like.

Because while I miss some of it, the only reason I really mourn it is because I will never be in that time space again.  

I miss the mundaneness, of walking through the hallways, talking during lunch, joking around after school, coming home and eating a snack and watching bad tv, 

I was back in school and it was graduation day, for some reason we would have two graduations, one before and one before and one after college.  I ran into a former teacher here and there, they remembered me, even though I never visited them, I felt pleased but also embarrassed since I still sucked at small talk in my dreams.  We went to the library, and it was so cool, like a treehouse.  there were two parts, both had to be accessed by ladders.  The shelves were shaped like branches with no sharp edges, like we were in the kids section of Barnes and noble.

I rationally remember, but also don't remember, the stress of it all, of hating waking up before the sun, tests tests tests, projects projects projects, to be the best of the best of everything, the petty jealousies and gossip, even though I wasn't even in the running. I do remember the raisism though, internal and external, overt amd covert.  The girl with the effortless bangs who wouldn't hold my hand during square dancing because of my Asian cooties, even though this wasn't a problem when we were in the same class in second grade, the portly blonde boy who all the teachers loved, who called me japanese like it was a four letter word and I was frozen, mouth shut, knowing I should say something but instead just stood there feeling the contours of shame in my tummy. Who was going to care, anyways? The gym teacher regularly rattled off his favorite Chinese take out items while he timed my flex hold.  Chow mien, lemon chicken, beef with broccoli.  Did I eat those all the time at my home? Silence.

I found my old binder from photo I.  And while there is only one photo left that I really like, It was a reminder that I did enjoy that class, even though I often did the homework at the last minute like any other obligation. But looking through, I miss the creativity, the obligation to be creative, that while it makes creativity work when you obligate it, it's also like like sometimes telling you to play.  I miss the creativity mixed with structure and method, thinking of an idea and then working on the technique to make it happen.  The fstops, the exposures, focusing the picture and letting it burn, setting it in a cool tub of chemical.  (Things that I learned and  I wrote down that I barely understand now.  It's funny how you can understand something so fully and not know it at all in the future, as if you haven't learned it at all, or unlearned it.  Even though the evidence is right there that you once knew it. )  Not worrying about practicality, society, what it is all for.  Just creating beauty and hoping someone will agree with it.

Nostalgia is Greek for old wound, as I learned from mad men, and Wikipedia, but more memorably mad men. 

Random thoughts day 75

I completely forgot what I was about to type. It's that weird temperature where it's too hot to use a blanket but too cold not to

Allergy season! I feel constantly covered in dust, sniffling, unclean

In my dream a line of food trucks set up in the middle of the night in front of my house.  One of the trucks rang our door bell and gave us a whole tray of burgers as samples.  I was trying to take the proper photo of them in neat rows against the pale pink table top to Instagram but frustratingly they kept bunching up no sliding out of their relegated rows.  

I was trying to floss my teeth.

There was a coffee table full of various cookie pies, a hybrid if pie and cheesecake.  Chocolate chip, Oreo, and more.  They tasted like paper.

Hugh Laurie took this buntd shaped magical cake out of the cabinet and kept taunting us asking if we wanted to try it.   Except it was covered in whip cream and chocolate sprinkles, neither of which I'm particularly fond of.  I kept imagining how this cake that didn't look very good would be able to manage to taste very very good.

Dream Diary Post 12

A I was looking for one of my older pay checks that I had socked away in one of the drawers in my bedroom.  I was so sure it was in the top one but I couldn't find it.  People were over for some gathering, but at the stage of quiet conversational lull after the initial lunch festivities and before dinner.

I sat on the ground rummaging through the second drawer, pulling out handfuls and handfuls of treasured knick knacks that I still admired, but thought the world of when I was younger when I started heaving loud scratching sobs because my childhood was over.

I couldn't stop because a stupid emotional classical score was playing. 

Dream Diary Post day 73 11

We were on a school bus. We stopped because there was a ice cream truck outside and my grandma wanted to get ice cream. I was afraid she was going to fall going down the big bus steps but she didn't.

We were on the street where I lived on Montgomery. It was a sunny day and the grass was green. There was a little Chinese girl kidnapped by the old lady and old man that lived on the house on the far left with the white paneling and the white roof. The old lady had a curly white perm and the old man wore a plaid shirt and baggy khaki pants and a black leather belt as old men tend to wear. They carved words into the little girl's face with a switchblade. The old couple let the girl's parents visit her in the basement, but she couldn't go home. My parents and aunts decided to go to the house and rescue the girl. The general consensus was, this is absurd, we all know they have her, we should hurry up and rescue her before they know that we know.

We're in the foyer of their house, it's airy and cool, and has all the pretenses of a casual conversation between neighbors. Except all of a sudden the old lady is swinging kitchen scissors in our faces so we try to run out the door. Except she grabs me and blocks me and shuts the front door and I'm alone with her. She carves my initials into the inside of my lower lip with a switchblade. I scream and it stings and she releases me as I try to open the door as fast as I can. I'm crying as I stumble back into the sunlight down the stone steps towards the sidewalk as I keep telling myself it's just flesh, it's just flesh, it will heal.
Sent from my iPhone

Faux-girl power pet peeve

There's that recurring trope in romantic comedies where the main female protagonist is jealous of her male love interest's new hot close lady colleague but at the end it's revealed that said hot lady is a lesbian, or even better, a lesbian in love with the protagonist.  I hate that.  It's like the only way to remove girl on girl competition is to replace it with lesbianism.

Like that episode of family guy where Meg proclaims that she is a lesbian just to feel some affection from another human being, and Lois calls her out on it.

Or to bond over hating the same guy they both have a crush on (see: hos over bros) 

Maybe she's born with it

What if talent is a limited pool a first come first serve dip 

I sure hope not because I am so thirsty but slow

Growing

I finally don't want to be friends with everyone, I don't have the urge to understand everyone.  Assholes are just assholes sometimes, unworthy of love. Lol.  Anyways I now know that I at least have enough of a backbone to abandon people that don't respect me.

Side note, grammar has been escaping me lately.  How about I just throw out words and you assemble  them into sentences yourself? Know now at least I 

Day 69

Are some of us meant to shine and the rest of us meant to remain unpolished? Or are the fates determined in high school false figments of the past 

All I know is some of the teachers I admired in middle and high school wrote rather generic things in my yearbook, reserving their curls of wisdom for the more perfect. 

Day 68

I love to eat but the best days I've ever had are the ones where I forget to

Talent always wins, but beauty and talent wins faster

Sent from my iPhone

Day 67

A regular ritual when I go to taiwan is that my grandma will ask me about all the things I want to eat in Taiwan and we'd anxiously tick them off my invisible checklist.  But once I've gorged myself on East Asian food, I'd guiltily suddenly crave (white) American food.  Dirty greasy American food.  Usually halfway through the trip.  But I'm in Taiwan! With the best food ever, and for cheap! What kind of stupid whitewashed Asian am I ?

French fries 

Pepperoni pizza

Cacio e pepe

Cheeseburgers 

Brownies 

Day 63

Emails are the stupidest form of marketing ever who actually reads the onslaught of emails everyday who likes receiving loads of emails everyday if I wanted to buy something from ebay jcrew groupon Pinterest I would just go to the site when I want to

On thin girls

So mad when posts disappear

Ordinary girls but they have cheek bones and no sloping giant cheeks that look awkward and shapeless from certain angles when caught off guard by a stealthy camera

Skin perpetually soft pale even without lotion no scales and cracks like the Sahara desert 

No slack skin and flesh that overflows, the curve from waist to hip is always delicate and visible 

Legs that are thin and dainty without the worry of skirts hitting at an unflattering length which makes the calves look stumpy as hocks of ham 

No bust that interrupts the simple constructs of a Madewell shift dress 

They don't have curves they have no depth of beauty but this lack of depth and intrigue makes them versatile 

My dream ordinary life

I wake up at 6:40 and go to sleep at 10:30 

We eat lots of fresh bread crusty and chewy 

In the afternoon we play rounds and rounds of mahjong with sunlight streaming in through the glass sliding doors

We take a nap 

Play in the beach that's behind the house that has the bluest green water sleep in the sand

Read and read and read novel after novel and design books full of pictures and cook books too

Then I woukd make jewelry and other things 

As the night winds down people are talking and laughing in the other room while I look at the pretty things on Pinterest and watch tv 

Blue yellow white are the colors that I see 

Day 50

Finally I am in Taiwan and it's not too hot and it's not too cold just the slightest dampness that hangs in the air

There was an odd but concerned man that sat next to me on the plane worried that I wasn't eating the gross airplane food he ordered ginger ale while I was sleeping and let the cold mini sandwich and ice. Cream melt on my table  as I weaved in and out of consciousness while watching friends

Finally he saw my interest pique at a pack of extra gum and slapped the whole pack in my hand 

Day 48 Dream Diary Post 10

Soaking currants in water

OhohOh little girl how happy I would be if some miracle would win your love for me playing in the background 

I don't remember the rest 

Lots. And lots of Christmas chocolate wrapped in foil on a three tier platter 

A very slow elevator

Buying adidas shoes. An ugly flip flop wedge hybrid 

Babysitting on the beAch a docile bAby sitting under the car she pees everywhere she's so small she fits in the palm of my hand 

Introspection

I want to be friends with everybody even the people I don't respect I want to understand everyone as having a soul I want the empathy and respect of the good apples and the bad apples

It's probably the reason I can't hold a grudge against assholes the second they're nice to me again I want to pretend they're nice people 

Or if people are friendly and want to hang I want to yes even though we don't share the same values and well never be friends longterm 

My time is valuable I need to find people of my intellectual level instead of trying to ingratiate myself with everyone else 

It's not high school middle school college anymore it's not enough to spend a shitload of time together a friendship that does not equate

Creative Exercise No. 42 on the magnitude of fame

Living in New York, the center of pseudo sophisticated fashion entertainment culture, where it's easy to become someone when a friend of a friend and so on knows you, and as long as you have the right connections you can walk into Vogue a subway ride away, it's hard to gauge whether the people I'm following are famous famous or just New York famous.
Man Repeller, Lena Dunham, Mindy Kaling, and a host of designers, sure they're sprinkled across the top fashion and lifestyle magazines as persons of interest, have thousands of followers on Instagram, their own shows on major networks, but i still wonder, does the average American Joe consider them a household name?



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Day 41

Why am I prone to feel like I alternate between unrelenting busyness and swathes of boredom 

Is there no middle ground sir 

I need to escape yes I do

Creative Exercise 37 Adventures in Babysitting

Toddlers are so so cute.  Duh.  But seriously, I can't stand it.

Even when they're mad, the way they try to articulate their anger verbally, the words sound so formal in their little mouths.

The 2 year old middle sister I sometimes babysit, even when she's angry because her sister is being mean to her, she doesn't always fight back physically, she just sticks her tongue out and blows a raspberry.

The other day she was so angry because her sister was kicking her doll's stroller, she dropped the glass cup of water on the table and ran to berate her sister in tears in deliberate words she uses, no contractions, simultaneously livid yet trying to form her mouth around language.

That is not nice _____!
I do not like you anymore____!

Even though at the moment I was slightly frantic, worried she broke the glass ( she didn't), mopping up the spilled water with measly paper towels, worried their screaming woke up their napping baby sister

The situation was quickly assuaged (just as suddenly as it started) with promises of Extra gum spearmint flavor.

Creative Exercise 36 On Hot Chocolate

I Love Love Love Hot Chocolate.  

The batter-thick Lavazza version that is essentially quite literally a melted chocolate bar

the malty marshamallow tinted version that more closely resembles its Mexican ancestor

But what is so special about hot chocolate? what distinguishes it from other chocolate products?

What makes it feel homey and soothing in a way that a chocolate chip cookie isn't quite the same?

It's hot.  But so is chocolate lava cake

You hold the warm cup in your hands 

It's liquid, like a chocolate soup, that is hot from the second it touches your tongue all the way until it slides down your esophagus to your stomach 

The psychological-physiological link where it feels like it literally warms your body and your soul 

Even though you can drink it anytime, it's nostalgic association with nasty weather makes it feel all the more cozy 

Creative Exercise No. 35 Twitter Joke Templates

if it's done well, I don't care how many times I see these formats.  Otherwise, give it a rest.

1.  The fake quote
some do it better than others
@meganamram "I see people." - The Fifth Sense
@willyferrell Thats what - She
@aparnanapkin "omgomgomg"-squirrels

 ‏@dubstep4dads "YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS!!!" - an over informative server at a restaurant

@jondaly "Imagine" - John Lennon
@aparnanapkin "Fake it till you make it"-moustaches
@aparnanapkin "pepsi ok?" -terrible 9-1-1 operator
@aparnanapkin "um TMI"-bad interrrogator
@aparnanapkin "Please, you have to believe me!"-Religion
@meganamram "Hey, my face is UP HERE and also OVER HERE"-oma in Picaso painting
@meganamram "My name is Kid Rock"-Kid Rock
@meganamram "Sometimes I feel like a woman trapped in a woman's body"-Russian nesting doll
@BrennanLM "The world is full of hateful bigots! Do you want to see twelve pictures of hot coccoa?"--Tumblr
@totallymorgan "Oh tis old thing?"-me being awful about my grandpa


1.5. related: the fake definition
@meganamram Plastic Surgery = tailoring your birthday suit
@meganamram Blushing = face boner
@meganamram Noah's flod= God clearing his browser history


2. using a serious source to ask a rhetorical question

@robdelany is a frequent user
@robdelany @tedcruz "What is 'Medica debt has drive many of my constituents to suicide?"
@robdelany@FoxNews It's enough that Obama had Mandela killed for saying mean thingsa bout his website, but now he's taking selfies at his funeral??
@robdelany@BarackObama @petsmart I think I have vagina dentata but in my butt
@meganamram @rupertmurdoch I loved the sixth sense
@nataliesurely @Pampers how can i meet hot single babies in my area


3. retweeting people in a facetious manner. Could be regular people complaining, could be Justin Bieber.  The interesting thing about this tactic is that this joke doesn't involve any material of your own, but rather the appropriation of others. You're funny because you've recognized ____is funny. Like the twitter, written word, version of a Warhol painting.

People retweeting Justin Bieber saying Hi
People retweeting Amanda Bynes' crazy antics


4.  The one word punchline.
@kellyoxford has frequent examples

@AntiJokeCat Don't you hate it when you're reading a sentence and it doesn't end how you testicles.
@mzeld Thank you god for the gift of eyes because TV.
@mzeld I am very tech savvy. For example: megabytes

Worshipping people

Worshipping people scoping out their work corner to corner as if it were truth, platonic ideals

When they are also just humans just people flesh and blood

And the hint of envy I feel... to have someone rever my work in the same way!

Kanye West Zadie Smith Louis CK Seinfeld Miyazaki

Creative Exercise No. 25 Dream Diary Post 9

 I had a dream where I got a $20  ticket to go to space.  It looked just like a Broadway show ticket.  I was so excited, like I couldn't wait to show everybody, but also so, so nervous.  Was I going to get claustrophobic? Was I going to get nausea? Was I going to die? I could handle Mission: Space in Disney World, would this be the same thing? I saw a rocket shoot into the sky, only to peak and nosedive into a building, with a deflated red parachute dangling behind it. They said, that would never happen to us, because we have new technology now.  They told us what life would be like at the station, how to shower, how to not touch our hair a lot, because when we cook, dust ignites, and if there's dust on our hair our hair will ignite. I remember Skyping with my mother and telling her the news, wondering if I'd wimp out at the last second.

Creative Exercise No. 21 Dream Diary Post 8

I had a dream I helped kill someone. Or I was a witness. And we were discussing how to dispose of it, how we would bury it deep in the woods and nobody would know. And I kept thinking, someone's gonna find out, someone always finds out. We could break him up into little pieces and someone will still find out.

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Creative Exercise No. 20 Dream Diary Post 7 and what I look like in themorning today

A semi-lucid dream, a group of children taught philosophy basics in the ledgers of Berenstein books in music class

 I'm still waiting to finish my film 

In the morning my hair hangs down like a worn rag, my eyes tiny slivers of olive pits swallowed and overwhelmed by the shallow slopes of chubby cheeks my mouth is thick amd grumpy 

Creative Exercise No. 19 Dream Diary Post 6

I can't shake this particular image even though it's rapidly fading.
It's this ecological pool, whatever that means.  It was this giant deep pool inside a glass greenhouse.  The borders were gray wooden slates.  The water was so cold.  I sat down, walked along the edge of the pool, looking up at the sun streaming in, the ivy hugging the glass panes.


I dreamed I bought 5 cans of Campbell's condensed chicken noodle soup.  They were old and dusty.  My brother didn't like them.

Creative Exercise No. 14 I'm 90 Percent Certain That Woody Allen Did it

And it is less to do with Dylan's brave letter and her supporters with "factual evidence" and more with everything Woody Allen presented himself.  Woody Allen damned himself.

Roman Polanski was braver fleeing the country and not saying a word.


Listen, we can say he was in the attic, wasn't in the attic till we're blue in the face.  But the most damning thing about Woody's side is the exhibition of classic abuser characteristics.  Subtly discrediting the victim while seemingly simultaneously offering pity to the victim by casting the blame on someone else.  It's not your fault, it's her fault for tricking you.  Because he knows he cannot approach Dylan's arguments head on, he seeks to create a cloud of confusion by creating a he said/ she said scenario for which there IS no evidence.  In this case, it's scorned Mia and her fury.

I don't know why anyone questions Dylan when we have the example of Soon Yi staring us straight it the face.  It doesn't matter if she was 17 or 21, this young woman was meant to see Woody as a parental/guardian type figure from a young age.  Woody boldly crossed this moral boundary, and no one sees the parallel?

Woody never answers the glaring questions straight on, and instead chooses to attack the moral fiber of Mia.

To paraphrase a couple other opinion pieces, what's more logical, that Mia was so furious with Woody "falling in love" with his stepdaughter ( I don't care if Mia and Woody weren't married) she choose to implant one of her children with a false memory of one of the gravest crimes of human nature for which she had to struggle with for 20 years and has brought up again just so Woody wouldn't win a stupid award, or that he did it?

Creative Exercise No. 13: Thoughts/Tweets that will probably never make it Part 4

1. I fucking hate bad books.  Especially by celebrity writers/comedians.  I bunch of self important works thrown together reveling in their own nuance when they're just flimsy bullshit.  Just because it has a hard cover on it and quotes from your famous acquaintances doesn't mean it's good.  NY Times Bestseller List don't mean jack.

2. What constitutes writing too much about your real life? The kind that will get you fired too much for your job? Is saying this is the second time you know the insecure lowly superior is sleeping with the ulteriorly motived employee saying too much?

3.  Whenever I see a main character in a sitcom explain away the on camera absence of a guest character, I imagine the producers like ka-ching! another dollar saved.  Unless the guest star is Matt Damon.  Then he probably is off somewhere on important business.  Making movies that are way worse than 30 Rock. Because 30 Rock is awesome.  And Matt Damon movies generally suck.

4.  Eating junk food is always a battle between the brain and the tongue.  On the one hand, I'm not that hungry.  On the other, Frito's Honey BBQ Twists are delicious.

5.  I realize I think way too much about mistakes and over-inflate their importance.  But then on the other hand, I don't think I do.  I think people genuinely are taking notes.  And being short and Asian works against that.

6. I think our society is way to body obsessed.  Well no shit, Kristy.  but like, all this "health" nonsense, is just code for wanting to be skinny

7.  Sometimes I just dream of eating and eating and eating. I could have fried chicken for days. Guacamole. Chicken nuggets. Cheeseburgers. S'mores. Baked Spinach.   But the truth is, I usually eat the first tthings and then I'm full. 

8.  Can we just pretend that didn't happen ?

9. Everytime a celebrity tweets something nice about another celebrity I think that the second celebrity has died.

10. Never believe what anybody says. The more they talk, the more they bullshit.

11. I take everything personally. 

Creative Exercise No. 12: On when strangers stop being strangers

You know when you first meet someone you have no preconceptions of the type of person they are, and you ask questions with authority, entitlement, and no fear.  You ask questions because you deserve to know the answer, you tease with a straight face because you don't give a shit if they think you're weird.
  And then you get to know them better, they become real people, and all of a sudden you care what they think.  So you feel the urge to create a safety moat around yourself, so they can't use anything against you. You start to worry about bothering them, you don't want to give them any reason to bad mouth you.

Some of these people get stuck in the acquaintance stage, some become frenemies.  And some, some you never go through that stage.  Those are the friends.

Creative Exercise No. 11 on missing people

I only miss people really badly right before they leave. The anticipation of not seeing them triggers a wave of nostalgia before the actual passage of time.

But the second they're gone, I feel nothing. Out of mind, out of sight. Of course I occasionally think about how it'd be nice to meet up again, but none of the aching sadness that truly warrants an I miss you. Is that horrible to say? I feel like a robot.

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Creative Exercise No. 9: On being a entrepreneur by necessity

Dammit I went to sleep without doing this last night.
Something quick.

Feeling preoccupied, anxious, holding my breath, like the projects that I want are not going to come to fruition.

I hate the feeling that a project's success is in the hands of someone else... But that's what collaboration is.

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Dream Diary Post 5

Searching for sticky buns, infatuated with sticky buns. They were sitting in the counter, and then they were in the refrigerator. I wanted to eat them even though they had pecans on them, I would not be hindered.

We were in this arcade/airport/mall amalgamation, a combination of a dusty carnival Nathan's lookalike, a shaved ice shop the kind that had mangos and condensed milk shaved ice that I liked, and an Indian food stand that served samosas and tandoori chicken. Clearly I had Asia (namely Singapore and Taiwan) on the brain.

I went into the Nathan's lookalike and ordered a school lunch style pasta with meatballs and a happy meal with chicken nuggets and stale crinkle cut fries. Each meal cost about $18. Clearly I had overpriced airport/circus food on the brain.

And then a flurry of bird-brained chaos ensued. I forgot my happy meal, I couldn't find my keys. I went outside ( which looked like the entrance of Berkeley, and it was a sunny day) and got distracted by all the students with hats. I went back inside, and couldn't find my ring. My parents and family showed up, ready for our flight. I bought another side of fries and hid them in my pocket, but I still couldn't find my happy meal. My wallet hurt from the wasted $18. I found my keys. The cashier thought I was crazy.

I dreamt that George Eliot wrote Black Beauty, and that someone told me she also wrote a sequel, called Black Cat, about a kitten that wore a red ribbon bow. I remembered watching the cartoon version of Black Beauty over and over again in summer camp, the smell of damp mulch as we lined up to go into one of the classrooms on yet another rainy day. I felt a heavy rock of dread in my stomach when I remembered the scene where the girl had to give Black Beauty away.


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Creative Exercise No. 3: The Passive Opportunist

I realized that I have the delusional hope that opportunity is contagious.  That if I just stand next to it, I could catch it.


All obstacles can be boiled down to time and money.  Though if you have enough money, you could buy time.

Creative Exercise No.1 : A man and his daughter/son on the subway

I think she was a daughter.  She was dressed rather androgynously, but I had a feeling she had shoulder-length curls underneath her auburn-gold knitted hat, contrasted with a green toggle coat that was a little too kelly green for a boy under current gender norms.

The father was explaining himself to the girl, why they weren't doing this or that, because he was tired, his day went okay, but if they did that she wouldn't have enough time to finish homework right, by the time they got back to Brooklyn.  The girl, while tiny in body and voice, oddly had the poise of an equal and peer, humoring a distracted and preoccupied friend. She laughed just politely (though good-naturedly) enough at his frantic explanations that my hypothesis of their relationship ranged from father to uncle to family friend to kidnapper.

New Year's Resolutions a Month Late

In typical me fashion my vehement denial of something got me thinking about that very something I've been denying.

My New Year's Resolutions:

1.  To grow at least 3 plants (mint, ginger, onions, perhaps)

2.  To put out something creative at least every other day ( I was gonna say everyday but just the thought of that drives me insane)

3. Be a nicer, kinder, more empathetic person.  Not just polite and friendly, but genuinely care about the well-being of other humans.
4. To use my right hand more often for tasks I usually use my left hand for (brushing my teeth, combing my hair, cooking, etc.) 

An instance of discredited Indignation

Me speaking to myself, to everyone : why are my legs so swore 

Brother : they're swollen? Your legs are swollen?

Me: Ugh No! Swore!--Sore! Dammit. 

The Visceral Perception of the Embarrassment of a Stranger

It was Santa Con.

I had just moved to a seat on the opposite side of the subway to avoid one of the swaying drunk girls that may or may not have been ready to vomit.

A bottle blonde in a elf outfit playfully sat in the lap of a brown haired moderately good looking man next to me, who chuckled at whatever the blonde girl was saying.  I was attempting to deduce whether they were a couple or a couple of strangers when the man appeared to take out his phone to ask for her number.  The girl continued to smile but started to stiffen just the slightest bit, seemingly suddenly uncomfortable with the situation. She slowly doled out her number digit by digit while he scrambled painstakingly to record her number digit by digit, frantically aware of the squeal of the train wheels as we reached the next stop.

As he feverishly tried to verify the last four digits "six-oh-two-what? Six-oh-two-what?" The subway doors slid open and the blond skipped off the man's lap hurriedly and rejoined her drunken girlfriend.

He watched the girl scamper away, mini skirt and bare legs. The man shrugged and turned to me and the other surrounding passengers with a forced laugh and "ah, whatever" while we smiled a curt "we'll-pretend-that-wasn't-embarrassing-for-you" smile.   The elderly man standing in front of me sagely commented " looks like you used up all your luck this year, man."

food food food

I hate the word food, why can't they come up with a better name for it? Food reminds me of feed, which reminds me of the tiny hard yellow grains we throw at the animals at the petting zoo.  Sustenance is too technical.

But I love food.  I love love love it, eating it, thinking about it, watching it being made, looking at pictures of it.  It's such a cliche, everyone is obsessed with food these days.  But it's art that touches  all the senses.  You can taste it, smell it, touch it when you make it, feel it in your mouth, listen to it crackle, crumble sizzle, pour.  Admire how it looks-- whether it be a comforting mound of potatoes or delicately placed au jus drizzle.

sneaking spoonfuls of potato salad from the refrigerator

that warm spiced salty crispy creamy texture of that first french fry that you wrap your mouth around after what seems like a tortuously long 7 minutes waiting for your meal

the crunch and sweet tartness of a roasted brussel sprout soaked in balsamic vinegar

the pudding-like softness and chili infused meatiness of mapo tofu

I should find another hobby