Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: anger, angry asian man, banquet, big girl, blog, chinese, cuisine, cultural differences, Dr. Frank, driving, Final Cut Pro, fun, Ghost Town, girls, happiness, ignorance, King Kong, LA, languages, laptop, life, Lyle the Crocodile, mid-life crisis, music, old movie posters, PC, prodigy, record, Ricky Gervaise, stop-motion, the Cowardly Lion, The Wizard of Oz, violin
I won’t hide the fact that as I read MUSIC’s comment my heart rate increased dramatically and I had to take a few deep breaths. I actually tried to find my happy place, an activity I believed only existed in mediocre romantic comedies. The good news is, I found it.
I will say that the point of sharing that part of my past wasn’t for telling the world I was a really good violin player. The heart of that post, in my opinion, is the part about how no one is willing to believe that great things are happening around them. And not just in my case.
I do realize how extreme the word “prodigy” is. I use it lightly, as I do fatteh, ugly, and poop. As I was typing, I paused before putting that down – but I get slightly emotional when I think about violin – as pathetic as that sounds, and decided to go through with it anyway.
It’s gotten better, though. Before I thought that I had pretty much wasted my life – bear with my former self here – because I had been given a talent and, well you know the story. I don’t pretend that I’m the only one in this situation, or the only one given musical ability. But the reason for my premature mid-life crisis was that I didn’t really have any other purpose in life – I was still looking for things. If you’ve been following for the past month or so, you’ll know I’ve found something, if not it.
That still didn’t give my friends the right to roll their eyes at my then mid-life crisis. When you’re watching from the outside everything is belittled. Knowing that, I try to see things from the bereaved person’s perspective – maintaining a balance, so to speak. And it doesn’t give them the right to crack jokes about my behavior then either. What someone did in the past is laced with ignorance – because hindsight and all that. They may know they were stupid, but – well, there’s just something very rude about making fun of it.
Back to the happy. We – HOLY GOD IS THAT “BIG GIRL” ON THE TV NO DONT CHANGE THE MUSIC DAMMIT
A human stop-motion is in the works for this summer, and it’s a lot more plausible than “Angry Asian Man” and other stop-motion ideas I’ve had. Once I talk to my buddy, we’ll see if “Angry Asian Man” is happening this summer. I’m pretty sure of the human stop-motion though. It’s for a teenage cast, and it doesn’t take itself as seriously as “Angry Asian Man”.
We’ll be asking people to be in it starting Monday.
EDIT: We left the house – another false start for the San Diego Zoo.
Anyway, it’s pretty much out in the open that I have a blog now. I hope Fatherman isn’t looking for it. He asked me what was on my blog and presented the story of a Taiwanese girl whose blog won awards for its photos of Taiwanese farmers.
My blog – doesn’t have a point. I don’t really want to have a point, but I’d like for it to be more than just my day-t0-day events. Which is why I try to share my thoughts rather than what happens to me that day. Would you rather it have a point or to go on like this…I don’t know, myself. I think I’d feel restricted if I could only talk about food, or furniture.
Although this is my only record of my life, and for posterity there are some mundane things I can’t leave out.
Last night was the Journalism internship banquet. Being with a group of girls and just letting go, having fun – that was really great. I sort of liked the relative anonymity. They know nothing of my old personality, so I could just start over and be a real girl. Sounds weird, but I’m rather reserved about letting my feminine side shine through. It’s a stigma, I think, that a lot of little girls have to deal with. Because every tells them not to be such a girly girl and suck it up.
Permit me to rant a little here – I just finished watching “Ghost Town”, and while overall an ordinary movie, meaning it wasn’t extraordinary, there was just one part that was a bit unbearable for me to watch. Don’t tell me it’s just a joke, or that I’m overreacting. The part where Ricky Gervais makes fun of the Chinese because we have funny names. He tries to justify it by saying it’s not about our faces, but it still reeks of ignorance. Everyone has different languages, and we should respect that by recognizing that things may sound funny – but it means something else, and to a large group of people it makes perfect sense. I’m not usually one to nitpick about racism or whatever. For the most part, I ignore racist jokes because it’s really not worth my time. And I don’t know why this time it mattered, it just really bothered me. I was squirming in my seat, disgusted.
DR. FRANK IS ON TV MIYA LOOK NOW LOOK NOW
I loathe Chinese buffets. And I am only slightly annoyed at the people who go there for the orange chicken and fortune cookies only. Like the couple who exchanged the following conversation today:
Girl: I saw people eating crab legs!
Boy: Ugh.
Thank you, American couple. Thank you for that enlightening insight. I really don’t know what to say to that. I can’t call it ignorance, because then I wouldn’t be any better than Ricky Gervais in “Ghost Town”. I wanted to pick up a crab leg and tear into before their faces, saying, “Mmmm. Yummy.” But sometimes I think that Western cuisine, while good to eat, really pales in comparison to Eastern cuisine. When I want something complicated and a mix of tastes in my mouth, I go for Asian food. When I want just plain good, I go for steak and mashed potatoes.
Today I realized I wouldn’t mind having an old movie poster in my room. A classic would be preferred, just for their aesthetic. I saw a couple today in K-Mart, but only King Kong, which was cool to look at but terrifying, and The Wizard of Oz, which I was terrified of as a child. The Cowardly Lion still strikes fear into my heart. I once made my family change hotel rooms at MGM because there was a “Wizard of Oz” theme going on.
I don’t really have much more to say at the moment. I haven’t been following my favorite blogs lately because I don’t want to risk letting another virus loose on my dad’s laptop. I really want a laptop of my own. Then again, I really want to learn Final Cut Pro – it’s the industry standard – but my dad insists on getting a PC first.
As my activities get more and more hectic, I realize the need for the ability to drive. I need it now – or my dad’s never going to get a moment of rest. But I’m going to miss driving an hour with him to LA every week – and falling asleep for half the drive.
Whell then. How many times have I ended a post awkwardly? Almost every time. Huzzah, goodbye. See you later, Alligator. I want to read Lyle the Crocodile.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: believe, classical, Doubt, extraordinary, fandom, fansites, happiness, Johnny Depp, life, movies, music, nature, organic, past, Pirates of the Caribbean, prodigy, regret, violin, violinist
I’ve just returned from the spring concert – which answers the question of whether or not I play music. By asking this question, you unleash a long and tragic - only to me – backstory.
Before I was four years old, I started learning to play the piano from the daughter of my parents’ friends. She introduced me to her violin teacher, who decided to take me under his wing, so to speak. Before I go on, I’d really appreciate if you would stow all cynicism under your seat.
I’ll start by saying that when I returned, he told me I had been his favorite student.
I started learning violin when I was four-years-old. My Russian teacher put a lot of effort into me, because he knew I had an excellent ear. Thanks to him, I built up quality sound and technique. The only flaw really was that I had yet to learn music theory. I played by ear. I was, as many people have taken it upon themselves to sarcastically put it, a prodigy of sorts.
Like any young violinist, I hated practicing. Playing made me itch and have to go to the bathroom. My mother, believing in me, ran after me with a clothes hanger, trying various techniques of motivating me to play. She made me play in the kitchen, where I could time my three hours a day practice time with the microwave and my one minute bathroom breaks.
By the time I was nine, my life had been filled with arguments where my parents threatened to stop my lessons, and I would cry. Of course I knew I had talent, and I wasn’t going to let that go, even if I hated violin. One summer my parents decided I should take a break and return in the fall. That break lasted for four years.
Until I was thirteen, I always thought it was my fault, because I had hated practicing. Later I learned that it was also financial.
We finally called him two years ago, and by that time he had moved out of his private lessons in his home and set up a music school. He basically ran the school, taking in only young children with a lot of potential, and everyone else went to other teachers that taught at the school.
He said that he had waited a year for me to return. I know, sounds like a cheesy love story, but bear with me. It’s almost over. It was a waste, because he would have taught me for free, he thought I had that much potential. I always felt a pressure to include musician on my list of possible careers, and frankly that pressure has not gone away. The only difference is that the pressure comes from myself now.
But now he wouldn’t take me as a student because it was too late – I was too old. For two years I was taught by an Armenian teacher, a woman. She was emotional but it’s nice that I learned from a different aspect.
Again, my parents said we were taking a break so we could go to my grandma’s funeral. I haven’t returned from that break. Sometimes I’d like to take things into my own hands and call my teacher. But I no longer have anything to bargain with. She wouldn’t take me back for free now.
Whenever I tell people about violin, they scoff and laugh at how highly I think of myself. I’m not someone who would ever think highly of myself until I know that I am what I say I am. I doubt it every day, I doubt whether I remember my childhood wrong. Once I quit six years ago, I relegated myself to the ranks of average people. People who play violin as a side hobby. I was trained to become a soloist, really.
The thing that bothers me is that no one ever believes me. They say they understand, but always with a pinch of mockery. Just because I’m your friend, because I’m a normal human being, that I’m tangibly here, doesn’t mean that I have to be normal. I think everyone’s hiding something extraordinary in their past. Or in their future. Everything spectacular starts small. Why is it so impossible that your classmate, your friend, was a prodigy, once?
All that “Just believe” stuff makes me want to puke too, but I can’t help but think that it is true, we just don’t acknowledge it.
That’s part of what makes me so determined to stick with violin – because people don’t believe. But time is running out because I keep getting older. Soon playing well will be nothing extraordinary.
Today TheRealFatteh was talking to me at the concert, and she was praising her freshman friend. I heard these words come out of her mouth, “He’s really good, better than y-”. I was looking at her somewhat intensely then, because I knew what she was going to say. She met my eyes and abruptly changed the sentence. “The only people ahead of him are seniors. That’s really amazing.”
I haven’t come to terms with violin yet. I sort of hope I never do. But now my life has expanded so much – to film, church, and just plain happiness and pretty things. I really wish I had had the interest and love for violin I have now, and that my parents had been able to support me financially. But that’s in the past – I can’t always be wallowing in regret.
In other news, I sense that our respective sides of the fandom argument are sprouting from personal preference. I know that as a PotC fan I always wanted to defend PotC, no matter how ridiculous. I wasn’t the only one. I’m going to leave the argument here, although I do recommend that for some of the most courteous intelligent fans I have yet to come across, find a good Johnny Depp fansite. A good, really informative one. Usually the good ones have their own domain names.
I should really start homework now. Today will probably be an all-nighter. Depressing, because my eyelids are already drooping. I can’t believe that just two hours ago I was playing with orchestra onstage. It’s surreal, the stage.
I love the organic things in life – music and nature, for example. Movies make me happy, but nothing really compares to the instinctive, primitive happiness that comes from playing music.
I’ll admit, I am somewhat of a music snob when it comes to my instrument. I’ve mainly learned classical all my life, but occasionally I play PotC or some song by ear. Classical will always be much more fun to play.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: 50's housewife, A Chair for My Mother, actor, amazing, angry asian man, APHG, art, banquet, bees, books, classical music, cool, culture shock, Danny Boyle, director, drama, dressing room, Everyday Lessons, film festival, fish, Forever 21, French, friends, fun, happiness, independent movie, India, interpretive dance, interview, ironing, Keira Knightley, life, magazine, magical, Miya, msn, Nobu, Outsourced, people, personal stories, Phineas and Ferb, Reading Rainbow, shopping, split personality, stick up ass, stop-motion, stuck up, The Duchess, The World is Flat, ugly, ugly flower prints, Vera B. Williams, William Turner, yoga
Whilst shopping with Miya and Nobu Saturday – fun but we got almost nothing done regarding our AP Human project – I suddenly felt like listing things that make me happy on my blog. I know, I’ve done this before, but that list was definitely incomplete. Here are a few more things that have recently made me happy.
1. Ironing. Goodness this is one thing that makes me want to become a 50’s housewife, women’s rights or not. Actually, if I actually think that statement through there is something seriously wrong with it. Ironing caters to my OCD and my love of spraying water with my fingers.
2. Ugly flower prints. I saw plenty of these at Forever 21, and it was while I gazed at Miya punching a mannequin’s ugly flower-print skirt-covered plastic behind when I realized where my desire for an ugly floral armchair comes from. When I was little I read a picture book about a girl whose family goes shopping for a new armchair. They finally settle on this red rose-patterned ugly thing, and her mother loves it. I think they were Mexican. Does anyone recognize this?
Speaking of books that have escaped my memory, has anyone read a book about bees? Not The Secret Life of Bees, but in this book the bees are the characters, like they have conversations and stuff. I read it after waking up from a nasty nightmare.
Oh! I googled it. It’s called A Chair for My Mother by Vera B. Williams. I remember always thinking, “God. Is that Vera B. Williams again? She writes every picture book from ‘Reading Rainbow’”.
Dang, there are all these books I have forgotten.
3. Trying on the ugliest clothes in the store for fun. Unfortunately I don’t have any pictures. Most people go to Windsor with their friends and try on the most elaborate, beautiful dresses. I tried on a grayish fish-smelling maxi dress, strapless blue gingham dress, zebra-print electric blue swim shorts, a denim jumper, and a rainbow plaid skirt. Good god.
4. Magazines. When a magazine page is made well, I actually get excited to read it.
5. Interpretive dances set to classical music. It makes for a very humorous scene, at the very least. It’s also a great workout.
6. Pretending you’re going to wake up early tomorrow and do yoga. Makes one feel accomplished. Gives one the feeling of being hip. You don’t say…
7. Meeting someone who is just amazing. Not a guy, but when you meet a new friend or when you look at your friends and realize they are amazing people, it’s makes you happy and want to hang out with them even more.
Gosh, these explanations are getting shorter and shorter. I’ll just stop here since I’m grasping for ideas now. Let’s skip ahead to tonight’s French Club Banquet. I had some fun, but some stuff happened that gave me things to complain about here.
One thing that irks me about some people is their split personalities. They are, in a sense, bipolar. Not actually, but some days they’re your best friend and others they are just real fattehs. Please, I’d rather you make up your mind.
We were sitting at the same table as KarateTetherballGirl and eventually we became too uncool for her attention. And she turned to the one person who would happily gossip with her about her “drama-filled” life. She seemed really thrilled to have drama in her life. Really thrilled, because she said so herself in a very awe-filled voice.
One thing I couldn’t understand was how talking about everyone you know is more fun than making gay “Twilight” references and laughing about forgetting your parent’s anniversaries.
Another thing that irks me is when people have sticks up their asses. There are three types of stickuptheirass people. The first is like William Turner, and I’ve yet to meet another like him. Since he’s fictional I never really get annoyed at him. Yeah, I yell at the screen but I’m never annoyed from the gut. I don’t know if this makes sense. The next kind is like – what was her pseudonym – my French class partner. Where they never really learned to let go and have fun. And they’re hesitant but sometimes you can have a lot of fun saying the most ridiculous things around them. The last kind is like KarateTetherballGirl. The kind who goes through life doing a lot of looking at people and then turning back to their buddy and saying, “Anyway…” or “Okay…”
The ones who savor being “the only sane ones at the table”. The ones who wouldn’t have fun if you dropped them in a field with their friends.
I take that back. They’d have fun sitting in the corner and talking about the guys at school. And no one would stop them from being put in the corner.
She was mad because one of her friends couldn’t make it to the banquet. Get over it and have fun with the people who are there, even if you don’t know them. Why not get to know them?
Enough bitterness. I had fun nonetheless. That rhymes a little bit. The food was delicious and just the right amount, so I’m content.
For MUSIC, here’s your Angry Asian Man update. It’s in limbo right now. In my head, being contemplated every day. If it doesn’t work out, I’m also planning a stop-motion. 
If it’s not made this summer, it will be made next year. Chances are it’s this summer.
Last night I watched “Outsourced”, which was like The World is Flat transcribed into dialogue while stuff happens to a white guy in India to demonstrate culture shock. It was a very obvious independent movie. I’m guessing it’s a debut film.
I also saw “The Duchess”, on which I have no thoughts except that I read the script during Oscar season and there’s a reason I don’t like watching movies with my mom sometimes. “Yuck! Is this movie for children? Yuck! Don’t look! You’re peeking!” Yes, Mother, because I like watching Keira Knightley’s bony back twist about in candlelight. Whatever you believe about whether she’s anorexic or not, one cannot deny the bonyness of her back.
Ooh. I just read this on MSN. “Everyday Lessons”.
“Watch all the movies by one actor or director
If you love movies, have your own personal film festival. Rent all the movies created by one director or about a place or that showcases one actress you love. Become an expert on the things you love.”
I guess I’m on my way to enjoying my life.
The creators of “Phineas and Ferb” said this:
“One thing I’d love to teach children is the fact that there is no right or wrong way to draw. Draw what makes you happy and never worry about somebody saying, ‘Oh, that isn’t a good drawing.’ There are so many, infinite drawing styles out there. Your work doesn’t have to look like it’s straight out of a comic book or straight out of an art book. As long as you’re expressing yourself and you’re getting a reaction, then that’s good.”
My Danny Boyle drawings are good. Hahaha.
I’d love to go interview everyone in the world right now. I’m sure everyone’s got something interesting to say. I used to hate personal stories because I thought they weren’t as magical as fiction. What a fatteh.
Whell then. Sayonara, Japanese goodbye. My sisters’ fish count is down to six.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: blue whale, carefree, chick flicks, child, childhood, conscience, cook, directors, exercise, family, fiction, filmmaking, forget, Francis Ford Coppola, future, goals, goodies, growing up, happiness, health, human, idiot, immigration, independent film, kindergarten, life, Martin Scorsese, memories, movies, Nobel Prize, optimism, perseverance, personality, photography, plans, projects, Romantic, swap, Taiwan, teaching, Tetro, thinking, travel, trip, United States
I’ve been thinking. Again? Yes, and I will be for hopefully the rest of my life, so suck it up if you want to read this blog. I know that every single post here says “I’ve realized” somewhere or other, and includes some profound epiphany that has blown my mind apart to smithereens but is really not that exciting. After all, haven’t all the old people already figured out what I’m figuring out right now?
It’s still mindblowing to me.
See, now I’ve forgotten what I just realized. The blue whale is returning to my mind. Get out, fatteh. The blue whale is what I see when I forget what I was about to say. No, I’m not crazy – once I wanted to tell fatherman some weird fact about blue whales but I forgot because someone else really wanted to speak instead, and all I could remember was the image of the blue whale in my head, but not the fact. It was really frustrating.
I used to be one of those people who wouldn’t let things go. Meaning, if a sentence didn’t make sense in a book, I’d reread it until my head was on the verge of exploding and all the words had started to look funny. Heck, I still do that. Other than that, if I had forgotten what I was about to say, I would rack my brains furiously until I could figure it out. And when this happened, I would also wonder if I would go on doing this for the rest of my life.
Oh yes. I’ve been optimistically contemplating my future, while at the same time keeping a bit of myself distantly skeptical. Dreams take money, believe it or not. And while you’ve all somewhat garnered that I love love love love love filmmaking, there are other things catching up. Like travel and teaching.
I wonder if all the kindergarteners who wanted to become teachers keep that dream somewhere when they grow up. I remember wanting to be like my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Fujikawa. She was a middle-aged white lady with neon red hair, a hue that gave it a plastic-y quality but kept it feathery at the same time. I’m sure my five-year-old mind filtered out the adult reasons behind her actions, but she was one of my favorite teachers. In fact, I’m just starting to realize that my memories of childhood may be inaccurate. Maybe I wasn’t as old soul as I thought. I mean, a toddler who sits down at Borders and begins to read aloud every picture book she can get her hands on in the middle of the stage/reading area can’t be that reserved, can she?
Anyway, I wanted to be just like Mrs. Fujikawa and be awesome to kids. All that jazz, real reasons why one should be a teacher. Today I don’t have any such ideal aspirations connected to teaching. I just want a classroom to decorate. Influencing people, I believe film can do a much better job with that.
Dare I share some of my other aspirations here? Why, sure, if you give me a cookie.
More than being a filmmaker, I’d like to be a person. God, such cheesiness again. But it’s true, and maybe blasphemous to people already in the film industry, that if I had to give up filmmaking or the opportunity to travel and really live my life, I’d take the latter. Filmmaking is part of living my life though, so it’s a bit of a tough choice.
I think a part of passion for film is to constantly be desiring it. If you get every movie you want ot make, you become too content and it becomes just a job. What would be interesting is if everyone were required to make one film, and that one was the only one they would ever make. Francis Ford Coppola’s been making a bunch of news with his new independent movies, one of which is “Tetro”. But I get what he’s saying when he says that he wants to return to amateur filmmaking. I love that he’s doing this, frankly.
What brought me to writing this post was, aside from procrastinating on my essay on the rise of independent film, is that I want to be someone who does things. That doesn’t necessarily include winning a Nobel Prize. You know those blogs you read, where they’re always going somewhere or doing some unconventional exciting project with their friends. That’s who I want to be. And even though I’ve always avoided my kitchen, I’m going to step into it this summer and learn to cook.
So I’ve planned out a few projects of my own, and a few goals, starting with this summer. I’m going to try photography, for one, and make time to read some fiction. I’m going to familiarize myself with famous directors, because it’s not cool to have never seen a Martin Scorsese movie. Then there’s the usual: exercise. I really get the feeling I’m going to pay for my lethargy later on in life. And while it is a little bit about weight and size, I’d like to build healthy habits and keep them going. How many overweight forty-year-old women have pledge this? My mother being one of them, unfortunately.
I feel so white saying this. A trip to Taiwan is long overdue. Not one where we do Buddhist chants for my late grandmother every Thursday, like last year, but one where I can see the entire country and maybe even get to know it better than my cousins who live there. Of course I’ll never beat them in familiarity, but maybe in having experienced more of it?
I wonder if over the years my entire family will have somehow ended up in the US and there will be no more of us in Taiwan. I know that some of my cousins plan to move to the United States later on, and it’s weird to think that in the future, when we probably no longer speak to each other, they’ll be here living through what I have my entire life.
So the big project I was talking about yesterday. Every week, a couple of friends and I will swap boxes filled with goodies – snacks, books, movies, clothes, whatever. Doesn’t that sound exciting? Yes. Yes it does.
What would suck would be for summer to end and for nothing to have happened. Keep me in check, fattehs.
A while back I felt like I had corrupted myself as I grew up. But I think that it’s the opposite now. Every time I get lazy as we’re unloading the car, something nudges me toward helping out. And now I do it. My conscience is stronger than ever, and yet I know when to let things go. I love growing up.
I think I’ve realized (there it is again) that I’m a romantic at heart. Ugh. Now if only that personality would transfer over to when I’m at school as well. I would miss the way I am currently, though. I feel a little bit genderless at school, like a little kid, which gives me the freedom to do stupid things and act like an idiot, but I do feel disregarded at times because of it. It’s like, I couldn’t tell Grapes that, she’d probably make a joke. Or, she wouldn’t understand.
Yes, occasionally, I would like to stop being the child in the group and have friendships like in those horrible chick flicks. Take my photos for instance. All anyone has of me is a creepy face. I am craving a good picture, but it’s weird posing for one.
I guess all of this can be summed into: I love being carefree, but I hate the patronization that comes with it from other people. And when it comes to having friendships, I’m tired of sitting at the kiddie table – having friendships that aren’t really rooted in any emotional bond, only the fact that we make each other laugh.
Okay, deep post over. What’s there to talk about now? Ah, yes. I love this blog more than my last one. Don’t go looking at it, those are the dark recesses of my past. Yuck.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: AP Human Geography, blog, Edward Scissorhands, encyclopedias, environment, happiness, Harry Potter, ideas, Las Vegas, life, Life in Cartoon Motion, Mika, personality, psychology, Raffa, Star Trek, The Terminal, Tom Hanks, trip, why
My mom is in Vegas with our church. Tomorrow I’m going to see “Star Trek”. Just a few random notes I’m jotting down for future reference, when I’m sixty-five and having my youngest literate grandchild read this to me in an unnecessarily loud voice whilst I lounge in a rocker, not listening.
Suddenly, I am once more in a blogging mood. I’d like to churn out seven posts per minute, but much like Edward Scissorhands, I can’t. This urge probably stems from an inability to write my APHG essay on political geography in “The Terminal”, a movie which redeemed Tom Hanks in my mind. Not because I spent a large part of the movie spewing Raffa’s speech from Life in Cartoon Motion. Check it out, it’s a great album – my favorite. Haha that was not meant for Miya.
I disagree more and more with my dad’s life policies. Funny phrase, “life policies”. Maybe it’s because I’m growing up in the US. Heck, it probably is that reason. And that the Internet (unlimited stream of information) plus my I-need-a-life-because-I-read-encyclopedias-from-the-60’s-for-fun-at-six-years-old personality, has given me a more open mind. That made no sense whatsoever, and I will probably regret ever typing this out, but schwerp. More sound effects.
I think that while genetics do contribute to our personalities, environment and events shape us even more. Isn’t this a fundamental part of psychology? I wouldn’t know because I have yet to study it, but I do think about why people are the way they are a lot. And what goes into someone’s actions. That could be why history is so interesting to me, even if I am one of the few.
He’s been spewing one phrase in particular, about how we must always move forward. That means lectures when we try to watch the same movie twice, or read a book more than once. Come to think of it, he’s been saying that forever, especially when I read each “Harry Potter” book nonstop multiple times over.
Those old encyclopedias? He encouraged me to throw them away because they were outdated. He’s not the bad guy in my life. I think we just grew up differently. My grandparents worked hard for a living, in an LDC – DORKY USE OF APHG TERM – where my grandma and aunts made clothes. It was six kids, they lived in utilitarian fashion. Again, dorky use of English vocabulary. So my dad thinks everything must have direct purpose.
I guess I’m glad he turned out that way, because it’s given me a balance. I’m not sentimental to the point of saving everything, although I once was, but I don’t think everything needs to be practical.
By the way, have you ever touched your eyelid when your finger was really warm? It’s an incredible feeling. Yes, I just did that.
Didn’t feel like continuing my “rant”, so I waited until I lost my train of thought. And so I have.
Hello, how are you? I’m having one of those life-affirming days. Not sure what “life-affirming” means exactly (meaning I don’t have a dictionary definition), but it sounds right. I’ve got some great ideas for summer, and they’re not screenplay ideas. It’s a let’s-make-life-more-fun idea, and twill be revealed in due time.
Whell. I’m off to write my essay and my first screenplay-related writing in days. Sayonara, Japanese goodbye. Imagine my father singing that, because that’s how it’s meant to be.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: AP testing, elitist, fish, high school, life, puberty, summer
My sister brought home eleven fish from the elementary school carnival and now they’re housed in the fish tank that used to be home to her old goldfish – the ones that slowly wasted away until one day my dad forgot to lower the temperature and their blood vessels exploded.
The new fish are pretty odd. They haven’t got names, except there’s one that always sits in the corner and never eats. What a mellow fellow. Today he finally left the corner. I call them all fatteh, and I love to feed them. What is this, a third grade essay?
AP’s are over, huzzah, now the fun hopefully begins. I’m trying to figure out how to make the most of all my remaining high school summers.
Goodness gracious, my posts have gotten shorter and shorter. I’m too consumed in screenplay ideas and twittering. Apologies, miss. It was not my place. That started out as Barbossa and ended as Elizabeth’s idiot maid.
I could tell you my summer plans, but I’m not sure anyone is interested in those.
It’s interesting to see my sister go through puberty. Not that I’m done with it, but I feel like I’m at least more than half-way through. Huzzah. And yet not, because as annoying as it is puberty is the most emotional time of your life. From here on out life is one great unwatered lawn.
I will now start a new paragraph to draw attention and pause to that great quote-like statement.
Occasionally I feel elitist, and I feel great joy from having tastes. It makes me happy to know that there is a list of favorite movies in my head to draw from, if ever the question is asked, and that I have a preference for children’s programming. I hate elitists, but sometimes I am one myself. Everyone is a hypocrite.
We briefly interrupt these deep musings to ask, “Do you ever have boogers fly involuntarily out of your nose?”
And with that lovely question, I end this painfully written blog.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: confidence, deep, determination, directing, empowerment, film, growing up, happiness, idealism, independent film, inspired, Johnny Depp, life, obsession, prolific, skin tone, story, Teddy Geiger, The Rum Diaries, Thinking Underage, writing, youth
One thing I’ve come to learn is that it’s not about finding the untold story, or the gimmick that sets your story apart from everyone elses. It’s about finding something you want to explore, a theme if you will. As much as we all hate English class, as someone who will one day produce the “crap” we read, I actually think about the themes I want to explore, the symbols and foreshadowing I want to scatter throughout the story. And it’s very thrilling to have symbolism in your story, it’s very stealthy.
Looking at pictures of the filming of “The Rum Diaries”, I just realized that Johnny Depp is once again in the process of losing his pallor and turning orange.
There’s no denying the whole Johnny Depp period of my life will pervade everything I do for the rest of my life. I’m not saying that I will never get rid of this obsession, but it did happen in the formative years of my life. I wonder why I’m stuck with this love of quirky independent movies when my dad has weaned me on blockbusters since birth?
Sorry for the deep posts, but at least they’re happy deep, right? I am at the peak of idealism.
I am most prolific on my cell phone. When I’m on that thing I type up eight pages without knowing it. It’s only when I’m retyping it all onto my computer when I suffer. Perhaps it’s because the screen isn’t as daunting as Microsoft Word, the big white page glaring at you.
I love growing up. Ask me in fifteen years and I’ll tell you I’d give anything to go back to fifteen-years-old. I think I’m going through what Teddy Geiger went through when he wrote “Thinking Underage”, because a lot of the songs on that album make a lot of sense right now. Of course, I’ve moved past the Teddy Geiger phase. Yes, there was a Teddy Geiger phase. Who’s Teddy Geiger? That’s what google is for.
I have absolutely no resentment toward anyone right now. Thankfully everyone I was ever truly irritated by has moved away, which makes life a lot easier. Even the irritating people that are still around don’t bother me anymore. I am truly mellow.
If it’s yellow let it mellow, if it’s brown flush it down!
I am so happy, so inspired, so encouraged, so confident, and so determined right now. The best way to live life is to surround yourself with a bubble of awesome people but experience everything and open your mind at the same time.
I’ve realized why I want to make movies: to open people’s minds. Is that a bit cheesy? Oh well.
Sorry if this sounds like a empowerment post. It is.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: cinema, directing, director, Ed Wood, Epiphany, film, happiness, Jean Valjean, life, movie, movies, passion, Pirates of the Caribbean, STAR testing, underwear, Who Am I?
It’s the second day of STAR testing, which I’m not complaining about. Being confined to one’s French classroom to finish fifteen minutes worth of work in an hour, one gets a generous amount of thinking time. Maybe it’s only me, though, because every time I look around it’s like a battlefield. Everyone’s sprawled all over their desks, and there’s a bit of snoring going on behind me.
I have a problem with falling asleep in public, however, so I stay awake, thinking about scripts I’m working on. Occasionally I venture into that cheesy territory of Jean Valjean’s: who am I? For me, the best way to answer this questions is by imagining I’m being interviewed.
That sounded way more epic in my head.
This job shadowing experience, while not over, has taught me a lot about the film industry, as much as I hate to admit it. I thought I knew enough, but it turns out that I didn’t. And thank god I haven’t encountered anything that would make me shun filmmaking forever.
As of now, I’m going to say directing is for me. The acting bug is shrinking, although I fully expect its return full-force next year when I take Theater Lab. Could it be more obvious when, instead of watching interviews with actors, I watch interviews with directors? And when Johnny Depp’s explanation of his character from “The Astronaut’s Wife” doesn’t move me as much as Martin Scorsese talking about the balletic movements in “The Tales of Hoffman”.
Do I sound overly pretentious today? Blame it on the English Language Arts section of the STAR test, the reading passages of which I must not be outdone by. There I go again,with the lengthy sentences.
I’m so in love with movies right now – they are as epic as PotC 3. I really appreciate every single director out there…even if their movie is crap, they’ve got passion for it and ideas that just…didn’t translate to the audience. Which is not good, but I admire their passion. Yes, I did just watch part one of Ed Wood, how did you guess?
Whell. This half-baked post can’t be as bad as that highlighter-yellow underwear Miya and Nobu bought me…which will never see the light of day.
One last question. These epiphanies, do you ever reach a certain age where they stop appearing?
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: AP Human, blog, chemistry, deepness, dreams, failure, fangirl, fanvideos, Johnny Depp, life, math, movies, movivation, obsession, phases, procrastinating, Thursday, wishing
I dislike Thursdays for one major reason: it is stealthy.
By the time Thursday rolls around, you think you’re done, relief has finally come your way. There’s always that little “ping!” that reminds you that there’s another stupid day around the bend. Just around the river bend. And that yes, you do have to do homework; there is no guilt-free procrastinating about today.
Another day of math and such.
What is it about math and chem that makes me unable to keep my eyelids open? Is it the high wavering voice of Ms. Breik that lulls me to sleep? Or is it the glare of the smartboard?
Something smells like death in my house. Or rotten bananas, but death sounds so much more dramatic.
My life goes through phases now,
1. extreme motivation – I write a lot, get a lot of ideas
2. materialistic wishing – I online window shop.
3. one day – I dream about stuff like sailing in Maine, having my own cubicle.
4. deepness – What its name implies. I get nostalgic, discouraged, and unmotivated. Also, my friends suck more during this phase.
At the moment, I’m at materialistic wishing.
And is it bad that I’m reading the blog of someone I know and I feel outfanned by her? Meaning I must prove my former obsessiveness. But I’m lazy, and have a lot of homework. Doesn’t mean I’m doing it though. Also, Johnny Depp fansites have sort of died lately. I think it’s because 2008 was a stealthy year for him. But 2009 onwards is most probably huzzah. Huzzah.
Yeah, my obsessing failed. It’s nice though, not to check on every single poll to see if he’s winning. There’s less resentment in my life, less competitiveness over things that, in the long run, probably hurt more than help.
I always start my week sure that I will finish early every day. Then Thursday rolls around and it is a failure.
Like today, like now, when I’ve finally realized I’ve got 3 key concepts in Human to read.
And now, I am nostalgically watching fanvideos. Figures.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Claire Danes, college, Colm Wilkinson, Dr. Frank, Drew Barrymore Syndrome, Epiphany, Evita, Gerald Ford, High Flying Adored, high school, Hugh Dancy, Jean Valjean, Johnny Depp, les miserables, liam neeson, life, Michael Ball, middle-age, motivation, mullet, Natasha Richardson, Osbourne, pressure, purpose, sleeping in class, The Parent Trap, Vanessa Redgrave
I’m amazed at high school. It’s the one time in anyone’s life where they are driven by determination, where they have a real purpose in life.
True, that purpose may be not that awesome (read: going to college), but everyone’s so motivated. We stretch ourselves so much I’m surprised we don’t age fifty years in one school year. Or maybe this could just be my school, churner of America’s future Dr. Franks and [insert lawyer here]’s.
Actually, no. I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the fact that my high school is kind of sort of supportive of the arts. Maybe I’m not in the wrong place after all.
Today I was walking in the hallways to P.E. and I had this weird epiphany that every single person was working super super hard. No one is just cruising through high school, and if they are, they are screwed. Then a hunched over seventh grader swooped in between me and the door, and I changed my mind.
Everybody but those little children who do not know what is to come. Suckers.
By the time we get to middle-age, how many of us will still have goals beyond buying a purple Porsche (Oh goodness, what a wonderful idea.)? How many of us will just be dragging along until the end? Huzzah. What a happy idea.
This week was killer. I finally know how it feels to fall asleep in class. Well, no, I haven’t reached that accomplishment yet, but I’ve let myself doze off to half-asleepdom once or twice. The truth is, I’m afraid to have some sort of weird Freudian slipup.
When I was little I had a buddy named Osbourne. I wish I still had a buddy named Osbourne, come to think of it, but we moved and he was a guy and by the time we got to first grade things got a little weird. Not scandalous weird, just awkward. In the end our mothers conversed for us.
According to his mom, he would always fall asleep in class, so she had to give him vitamins to stay awake. Or caffeine, but we don’t know that. My mom would boast in typical Asian mother manner, “My daughter never falls asleep in class,” and for fifteen years it has been true.
There’s so much we have to do and I have no idea how I’m going to impress colleges. It’s a ruthless process.
Natasha Richardson’s death is pretty sad. Don’t look at me like I’m an idiot, death is always sad. Except in the case of Gerald Ford. I had no idea he had been living when he died. I was in a state of shock. “Gerald Ford was still alive?” Sorry, Mr. Former President. You had a nice haircut though.
Back to Natasha Richardson. When I was little my dad always talked about “The Parent Trap” lady. And even though he pointed her out to me so many times, I never really knew who she was. Until last year when I watched “Evening”, that odd movie with Claire Danes and Hugh Dancy, two actors who somewhat annoy me. Claire’s got a bit of the Drew Barrymore Syndrome going.
RESIST. RESIST.
Anyways, Natasha Richardson was in it as – surprise, surprise – Vanessa Redgrave’s daughter. Vanessa Redgrave always seems to be really frail in movies, but in random paparazzi shots she seems really strong for her age.
So. I finally understood. I think she was one of my dad’s favorite actresses, because he kept pointing her out. And when I told him he got kind of quiet, in a Little Bobby sort of way.
But I’m sadder for Liam Neeson, because I was more familiar with his work than hers. And at the moment when I opened MSN and saw the news, I had been thinking about Jean Valjean.
Speaking of which, Colm Wilkinson, who plays Valjean in the musical, is pretty odd.
I encourage you all to see his version of “High Flying Adored” from Evita. I trust it will blow your brains out until you have nothing left except that tune, and his “suave” smile staring into your eyes.
Also, Michael Ball needs to shave his mullet. At first I thought it was just some weird interpretation of Marius, but then I saw it in other performances. It’s the way his hair is: a curly mullet. Shave, Michael Ball, shave. You could visit Johnny Depp, if you like, and he’ll gladly do it for you.
In other news? Nothing.
