There are very few things that I see and automatically go...'That will be mine'. This last happened with a pair of engineer boots that are currently sitting at the bottom of my bed. My new current obsession is the fully unlocked SoftBank 920SH. I don't get the big deal about gadgets alot (though god bless all of the iPods I have been through...and yes I love my Macbook like a child). The iPod Craze just kinda made me shrug. This phone though. I. Must. Have. It.
I love asthetics. Which is probably why I am a sucker for Macs. They're really no more sturdy then other computers, but hell the interface is to die. Worlds above Vista. But I love this phone it all its ridiculous size. It's a big phone. Enough to fill my hand, but i can probably drop it on the cement and not worry that it would shatter like the Verizon phones I've had. And yes, that is a badass antena coming out of the top. You rock those antenas Japan.
So for $550 this lovely little competely unlocked phone will be mine. It will be like Christmas. Though honestly I'll probably end up getting it around then anyway since I can't afford it right now. On Why Not to Live in NYC:
Plus, I'll have my full salary while peacing out of NYC as far as living concerns go. I'll still work there, but...yeah I dunno if I can handel the living there anymore. Not that I don't love it, but I've grown kind of tired. That and for about $500 dollars less I can get an apartment where I grew up with actual air conditioning, utilites that don't break the bank, fully insulated walls, an elevator, a washing/drying machine, a dish washer, grass, a pool, and the ability to get a puppy. Now...I'm sorry but my care for a zip code and hipsters bars takes a backseat to my love of comfort and nesting. I just don't think I can do it anymore. Honestly, if Philadelphia wasn't so crime ridden I'd rather move there (possibly in a few years) because atleast that city isn't half as stuck up and discnnected as NYC. So yes I will unfortunantly become a *commuter* ah the words tasted so dirty. But that gives me the ability to shop, eat, get a few drinks, and then peace the fuck out of there. Plus, I won't melt in the summer or have the constant smell of urine and sadness from the subway. For now...I need a break. Maybe when I can actually afford to not be so blatantly poor in the city I'll move back...into a place that has air and not prone to possible bugs or mice.
Everyone I know is currenly either a commuter, fanning out into buroughs or already complaining and moving out later. Everyone is fanning out and fanning out means I hardly see the people who once lived in a condensed area to me. Fanning out means hardly ever seeing. Hardly ever seeing means little conversation and little conversation = lonely bouts. Staying in once and awhile is normally fine with me, but it's gonna be in a space thats bound to be uncomfortable during the more extreme seasons. NYC is saying you can't afford to live comfortably here with me right now and I'm saying back...okay touche see you in a few. So I'll head back to my cars, my fall colored trees, none disgusting snow, my Korean super market, (I love you H-Mart), my Princeton coffee house/ fair trade store, and a strange plethora of Asian fusion. Tis okay, at this point in my life. Tis okay. I shall visit you often Kinokuniya...while talking on my Softbank.
I was fumbling my way down Bowery last night with a friend from high school to play a came of catch up over beers. May I add I had THE BEST Lychee Sake last night as well. Perfectly chilled and everything. But we stumbled straight into Lindsay Lohan and her girlfriend. I'm not gonna hate because they looked adorable together. Tiny as hell though.
I told my friend for a period of time he was a NEET. He had no idea what that meant, so I explained Neither in Education Employment or Training. I wish I could take credit for the phrase, but Japan beat me too it and I kinda stole it from them. Let's hear it for a city that takes someone from the outside five months to find a job.
Okay, well maybe I would trust Aizawa since he's such an ace...or well...an ace that is continuously told he's skilled/good looking in every episode. But I would trust these kids like I trust NYU's nursing students (which from my experience my senior year watching freshman nursing students...wowwwwwww). Let's break it down:
Aizawa Kousaku (Yamashita Tomohisa) - This character...above all of the other pointless none developing characters...makes me wonder how the hell I sat through this show. All Yamapi did was POUT the entire time with a perm that riviels MatsuJun's HYD in sheer horrendousness. He's brooding and self centered through the whole thing. BUT, oh wait for it, he loves his grandmother and has a pension for buying crying children goldfish. SEE he isn't that much of a jackass. He buys children fish and sometimes visits his grandmother to let one stray tear slide down his chisled face. Let's not even get started on Yamapi's lack of acting skills...I have yet to encounter any character he's played that I don't want to punch in the face.
Hiyama Mihoko(Toda Erika) - Manages to be the only character I came out of the show liking in the end (out of the interns that is). She basically doesn't get any type of flushing out besides she likes to better then everyone and this inturn causes some 'ZOMG she's not as good as she claimed moments. It's pushed that she's emotional, but yet she manages to have no personality to develop this. Can someone answer why Toda seems to pop up in everything.
Shiraishi Megumi (Aragaki Yui) - This character is the type of person that's beyond frustrating in real life. People who are actually skilled, but seem to not even put any thought into it. They freeze and tense up under a pressure as a result. Hell Shiraishi actually made me wish there were more Aizawa's. I'd rather have a fighter then someone who thinks they can kinda sorta maybe see things through. These people end up being the ones who never reach actualization. They make you wanna slap them and yell "WTF is wrong with you. Do you want a gold star every day so you know you're doing a good job?" Let's not even get stared on how her big plot development consisted of her charater being careless, but with a whole 'accidents happen' route. No. No. Accidents are 'oh shit I totally misfiled something because I'm sleepy' not 'oops I ran into a blatantly unsafe area and had steel beams fall down around me'.
Fujikawa Kazuo (Asari Yosuke) - HOW DID YOU PASS MED SCHOOL? You know. It sucks to know you're shitty at something you want to do. That's why I'm kinda glad that by my sophmore year a high ranking professor told all of us Psych students that we would probably amount to nothing in the psych world. To move on while we can. It completely pissed some kids off, but I took it for what it's worth (noting that I am far too apathetic) and moved on. May I add that thank god I did. Fujikawa...someone should have told him to move on earlier. He's the kid (and how stereotypically Asian) whose probably incredibly smart, but just not smart enough. I would rather have my younger sister try to remove my apendix with a protractor then trust this guy withmy life. They want you to feel that he's defining himself, but in reality you realize that he's pretty incompetant and probably should have gone in to stocks where all the other awkward kids go (of course they laugh all the way to the bank).
All in all. The show has no plot line. Like absolutely no plot line. There is no story arch. Something that they teach you in creative writing is a MASSIVE no-no. It's basically 11 episodes of character sketches where they cut people open, open their own hearts to the world, and touch lives. It's aboslute Yamapi fluff. Not fluff to the ridiculous level of Nobuto, but still fluff. I still can't believe I made it through the whole thing. Then again I also sat through Regatta and Bambino though, so I've expierenced worse.
Overall: You can watch the whole thing lazily. No big rush. Not a must see. But if you have nothing better to do it won't kill you.
"That's it," Oshima says. He taps his temple lightly with the eraser end of the pencil. "But there's one thing I want you to remember, Kafka. Those are exactly the kind of people who murdered Miss Saeki's childhood sweetheart. Narrow minds devoid of imagination. Intolerance, theories cut off from reality, empty terminology, usurped ideals, inflexible systems. Those are the things that really frighten me. What I absolutely fear and loathe. Of course it's important to know what's right and what's wrong. Individual errors in judgement can usually be corrected. As long as you have the courage to admit mistakes, things can be turned around. But intolerant, narrow minds with no imagination are like parasites that transform the host, change form, and continue to thrive. They're a lost cause, and I don't want anyone like that coming in here."
Oshima points at the stacks with the tip of his pencil. What he means, of course, is the entire library.
"I wish I could just laugh off people like that, but I can't.
- Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the Shore
The first time I read this book was about two years ago. Since then, within the last few months, I've gotten on this massive Murakami fix. My bookself is currently filled with his entire collection (sans one book). Basically I ran out of his books and kinda felt sad about it. I had no idea where else I could go to find something else that even came close to what his novels convey. Instead I've basically looped back around and decided to reread the novels that I first picked up. The ones I paid attention to, but not really. Hell I read Kafka on the Shore the first semester of my junior year of college. And honestly it's about 10x better the second time around. The nuances, the characters, the dialogue. It's all brilliant. I haven't loved characters this much since discovering the Glass family in JD Salinger's works.
The drowning girl's fingers
Search for the entrance stone, and more.
Lifting the hem of her azure dress,
She gazes -
at Kafka on the shore
I've been asked so many different versions of "what are you" be it covert or someone in Istanbul yelling "Are you Japanese!?" and pulling back their eyes. I get spoken everything from Spanish to Portuguese. Are you Hawaiian, half Japanese, half Filipino? From an island somewhere? Portugal? Like half Portuguese? I get it...someone people think its awesome to come up to me and start rambling in different languages because they assume I know it and then ask me what it is I speak if I don't speak that language. But there are always the days I snap and clarify I speak English...because I was kinda born in AMERICA.
Growing up a mixed kid in my area was difficult as hell, now all of the sudden we're novelties. Heh, how times have changed.
My kids, if I so choose to have them, will probably be the most ethnically confused children yet. It's gonna be amazing.
Me: "You know I really like the name Sufjan. Like Sufjan Stevens. My last name sounds pretty badass with it. My son could be named after a writer/folk artist."
Friend: "...you realize you will NEVER find that on a little license plate for him to hang on his bike right? Your gonna deny him a license plate and a childhood!"
..don't be fooled...mixed kids parents react the same way when you go outside of the two halves.
An Oboist with So-So Virbato
When my mother dropped me off at music school in upstate New York, she said, "Oh Jesus help this kid be something special!" She wanted a child prodigy, like Mozart and Lizst, but I was just an oboist with so-so vibrato. When my mother left, I changed my name from Horace to Horatio. It was a boarding school. You could be whatever you wanted for a year. I told everyone I was from Argentina, which made things better, since I was last chair in the orchestra. I refused to speak Spanish since I was in America now and I wanted to be American.
In truth, I was from Michigan. I wore Izods and stonewashed jeans, tight-rolled. I had a Midwestern slang. I said things like hoydie-doydie and naw. My father was an elder at a Pentecostal church. My mother cleaned our kitchen for a living. I was raised in a house with more bibles than aspirin tabs.
No one caught on because in music school you spend so much time repeating minor arpeggios that you don't notice other people's accents or skin tone. You only notice embouchure and posture. You envy someone else's G-sharp major scales and circle breathing. If you were an oboist, like me, you noticed the shape of a reed, the wood tone and nationality of the instrument: French Loree or Rogoutat. If you had a plastic oboe, like me, you were told not to leave your instrument on the radiator since it would melt and ruin a perfectly good case. I decided to rent an oboe from the music library; it was made of African balsam. "At least you don't sound like a saxophone anymore," Heather Wong said after sectionals. She was just being nice since she was second to last chair.
The other players fondled their oboes like exotic wives, with bulbed bells and cotton pads and gold-plaited keys. The best players used peacock plumes to swab. I used an old sock and a piece of string. Sarah Sinigesson said her father found her oboe in an abandoned Egyptian attic; it was worth ten grand, she said. I said my plastic oboe cost me two-fifty brand-new. She said, "Oh Horatio, that's just awful."
We learned to make double reeds with bamboo cane and colored thread. We shaped them with Vitry knives and a straight edge. I practiced for six hours every day. There was nothing else to do. I played Marcello, Vivaldi or Verdi, because Italians knew how to make something sound pretty with just a triad and some trills. But I was terrible.
"Relax your wrists!" Mr. Blund would say during my lesson. "If I see you use forked-F again, I will cut off your hands." Mr. Blund said he was very respected in Belgium. Mr. Blund said he couldn't wait to get out of this God-forsaken penitentiary and tour with a real symphony. He was right. The campus was stuck in a knot of trees: a row of cinderblock buildings and a performance hall shaped like a UFO. Every room on campus was sound proofed with synthetic pads and asbestos. Everywhere you went it felt like an asylum.
Juries were worse than The Gong Show. Anyone could sit in and offer remarks about intonation or timing. A bassoonist named Barbara Mushwater once stopped me in the middle of Wagner to tell me my retardation of the slurred note before the cadence was bad. I said I didn't know there was such a thing as good retardation, but no one found it very funny. I said, "Could you be more specific than bad?"
She said no, that about summed it up.
I have this inability to get angry at people who my mind decides are middle men. After years of my PC exploding I was always the kid on the line who could never yell at tech support. Because honestly what the hell have those outsourced people ever done to screw me over. They're just basically all poorly trained, thousands of miles away from the people who make the decisions, and just trying to make ends meet filled with a day of people screaming at them. Tis a shitty shitty job I think.
So my inability to yell at these middle men is either a blessing of extreme patience or a massive flaw in the working world. So on Tuesday I spent around 6 hours...yes six hours on and off the phone with the people who take care of our server. Disasterous. I have never felt more drained in my entire life and I was never once able to actually demand. By the time I even got to the guy at billing I think he just felt horrible for me.
After about two full days of hellish telephone calls, I finally initiated the move to another server. I just want to be done with it all.
Other then that though.For you kids in school, college...whatever...people are gonna say you're always going to want to go back once you're done. LIES. Total and utter lies. Once its done it's done and your time becomes your own. Your money, debts aside, become your own. By the end of it all you're over it and just want to move on and work. Then again I got a job I love, from a internship I loved, and I get to make green tea from my lose tea leaves at my leisure and scratch the head of an office puppy if I ever wanna bash my head against a wall.
I'm very thankful for what I have gotten,which has honestly been everything I ever worked towards. Times are hard for a lot of people, so be thankful if you're in a good place in life.
Jun is horrible with children:
Here's the thing. I literally CAN NOT sit through boy bands of any sort, English, Japanese, Korean....whatever...I can't do it. It's like voluntary letting my brain leak from my ears. The weird ass bass beats and over done bridges that are made for dance breaks. GAH. *shudders*.
But my kryptonite comes in the form of Arsashi...horrible music...oh yes, but oh so endearing. It's like watching a puppy run around in circles and it never getting less adorable. They're not even very attractive, but, yes, it makes complete sense that they all seemingly dominate various areas of entertainment overseas.
A love letter:
Aiba attempting english:
A 27 year old calling his mother:
Yeahhhhh I'm gonna stop now.
On youth in Manhattan:
"The problem is there are just too many of them. You can't throw a brick on this island without concussing one. I wish I had more restraint. But I can't help but hate how they look at me, I hate their interchangeable bodies, their mass-rehearsed attitudes, their cars that look like boxes, like baseball caps, like artificial enlargements, their loud advertising, their beeps and clicks and trings, I hate how they speak words as though they're chewing them, how they assume the business of the world revolves around them - how they're right - and how everywhere this cult of youth, this pedamorphic dumbing-down, has whored beauty - duped, drugged, damaged, pixelated it and everywhere turned it to plastic"
- from Nam Lee's 'Meeting Elise'
And, seriously, I suggest reading his collection of short stories called "The Boat" the first short story alone is worth the purchase.