I wonder if I’ll ever stop remembering those things I’d like to forget. Will I think of that creepy guy when I was 13 on a walk with my dog every time I drive down that street? Will I ever forget that tip that friend I’ve lost touch with told me about turning down the burner? Do I have to keep thinking about that fight we had in high school? It was so long ago. When will the remembering end? Sometimes I’d like it to stop.
like this, but with a square toe
But there’s so much I desperately want to keep in my head. Every conversation I have with my family (how many are left?), the way my friends and I used to hang out and talk all the time (I miss that), the things I loved about my first car (her name was Danny), those horrible loafers I wore to high school (I secretly loved them), the names of the kids at the dojo (I’m terrified of seeing them out and about).
So I need to write things down, and take pictures, and tell stories. It’s a large part of why I started this blog; so the remembering doesn’t stop. Because in the end, there’s so much more I’d rather not forget.
I chat with nannies at the dojo who talk about how hard it is to discipline the kids because the parents consistently undermine them in order to be the good guys. The parents don’t want to spend the little amount of time they have with their kids disciplining them, so they get away with murder while mom and dad are around, and harass the nanny with “mom lets me do that” when they’re not. It’s an uphill battle. I can’t imagine working for people who aren’t on board with setting up some kind of structure with their kids. Why send a kid mixed messages? What a complete waste of time.
that's a "bad choice"
I’ve told a few nannies (and parents) that they can just say no to their kids, but they don’t want to be too strict because they’re afraid of losing their job. When one nanny said this, I was baffled. Wasn’t her job to act like a parent in the absence of the parents? She responded, “They (the kids) will lie to their parents that I’m hurting them, or ‘she made us to this or that.'” WHAT?! Jesus.
There are a couple of kids at our dojo whose behavior has improved since they started taking classes with us, but they still do stuff at home like intentionally break windows and hugely expensive flat screen TVs, and fight violently with each other. I saw a new woman with them last week, so I took a moment to chat with her. I asked if she was the new nanny, to which she grimaced, “Yeah, unfortunately.” I was struck dumb for a few seconds. I must have looked really, really stupid. I just couldn’t think of what to say to a nanny who didn’t want to be a nanny. How long have you been with them, I asked. One and a half months. And she’s already miserable. The kids are out of control, the parents undermine her, she’s afraid of being too strict; it goes on and on. I gave her some advice (don’t give up, talk with the parents, make sure you’re on the same page, ask for their support, feel free to put the kids on timeout if they misbehave), and walked away shaking my head.
So now I have a question: Who in their right mind wants to become a nanny? Who aspires to raise someone else’s kid? Is this a profession like bus driver, filled with people who just couldn’t cut it in any other industry? My morbid curiosity has been piqued.
I was raised watching musicals. I could sing along with every song in Oklahoma, Singin’ in the Rain, The Sound of Music, The King and I, Meet Me in St. Louis, Gigi, My Fair Lady… the list goes on, and I love them all. Point proven. Moving on.
now in eye-bleeding technicolor!
One of the events I’ve been planning for over a month went well today; a reception before a musical performance of On the Town by the university students. Everyone seemed to enjoy it, and after intermission, the play finally seemed to hit its stride, but I wouldn’t see this play if it were performed by professionals. Nothing about a jazzy, WWII era New York filled with sailors and sassy women belting out verse after verse about taxis and contemporary landmarks appeals to me, especially when they spend 80% of their time gazing appealingly over the heads of the audience as if to say, “Hey, what’s that?! Oh never mind, it’s nothing… Hey, what’s that?!”
As I noted first in this, and then this post, getting caught at an event in which I’d rather not participate requires some kind of self-created entertainment/distraction. Hence, the Bitter Haiku was born.
You’d think the dean of theater would memorize her introduction.
The dean of theater was basically reading from a prepared statement. Of all the people in the university from whom I don’t expect this… it’s her.
Really? Not even one gesundheit? In a full theater?! My word!
I sneezed during the dean’s intro, no one said a word. Unbelievable. I’m already annoyed.
The play opens with film footage. Seriously? Ugh, bad idea.
Ok, who’s fuckin’ idea was this? It’s a play, people. That’s like opening a sculpture exhibit with a painting. That’s like asking for a manicure, and getting a haircut. That’s like paying for apples, and getting fuckin’ oranges. They’re not the same thing.
Everyone is so excited. Maybe that’s why they can’t hit a note.
Ask anyone in the dating world; first impressions are pretty important. So when the play opens with a few solid minutes of film footage, then the three main actors deliver minutes of dull dialog, followed by butchering the main musical number… let’s just find the silver lining, and call it lots of material for Bitter Haikus.
really? I can climb it?!
The museum scene was always gonna be the best, naturally!
It’s the Museum of Natural History! Of course it’s gonna be a good scene. Who doesn’t love jokes about dinosaur skeletons? This was the highlight of the production for me.
.
Ninety minutes in, and I’ve smiled exactly twice. Is it over yet?
This is a play about some nice guys falling in love with some hilarious women. There are loads of opportunities for comedy and that “awww” moment. The guy behind me was laughing his ass off, but I couldn’t find much reason to grin, let alone laugh. I felt disappointed and left behind at the same time.
They bullfight with a tablecloth, and stacked people dance: plagiarism.
see it done here first, and properly
There were at least half a dozen very specific examples of choreography throughout the play that were basically stolen from Singin’ in the Rain. Two of these examples were ripped straight out of the scene where Gene Kelley, Donald O’Connor, and Debbie Reynolds sing “Good Mornin” (in which two characters try to cheer up their glum friend), and were used in a scene in today’s production (in which two characters try to cheer up their glum friend). The similarities are… depressing.
wait… it dances?
Don’t hire a male lead who can dance! When would he find time to run around?
The one guy we spend the majority of the play following around spends the majority of his time looking confused, and speed-walking around the stage, trailing after extras with more purpose in one stride than the male lead had during the entire four-hour production. When he finally broke into dance within the last twenty minutes of the play, I was shocked–shocked. “Was he supposed to be dancing this whole time,” I thought, “or did they really hire him because of his amazing voice, despite his complete lack of dancing talent?” Then I remembered: none of the other two male leads did any dancing at any point in the play. None of them. No wonder I was so much more impressed with the women. They sang and danced, often at the same time (once while in a handstand), and still managed to hit every note.
If there was just one fewer dance number in which the cast coordinated pumping their dancing spirit fingers in the air to the beat of the live orchestra, I think I would have enjoyed it a little more. At least I got paid.
Maybe college students aren’t the brightest age group, but there’s a shit-ton of evidence proving that a good number of them are just idiots right now. I don’t usually post on topical crap like this, but it’s just… too weird.
Some blonde white girl at UCLA put up this video mocking “these hordes of Asian people that UCLA accepts into our school every single year… which is fine!” Yeah, you seem super stoked about it.
why yes, my boobs ARE always this distracting!
Anyway, she goes off (awkwardly) about how these Asian students’ families flock to campus, care for their kids, and speak not-English to each other. How dare they! Mostly she’s pissed that as she’s studying in the library, “about to, like, reach an epiphany…” someone starts talking on their phone in what can only be described as some kind of clanging-pots language: “ching chong ling long ting tong!” No wait, she’s being racist. What a bitch!
My favorite outcome of this (aside from this chick becoming a complete pariah) is the first comment on this article about a 17-year-old Ivy League addmittant who pistol whipped her mom for not co-signing on a black Nissan 350Z (seriously though, I love that car. So maybe mom deserved a stern talking-to, but not a knock in the head with a gun). The comment reads: “So if she wants to talk on her cell phone in the library, let her.” HAHAHA! Oh man, so good. Thank you, internet.
Just made an appointment to test drive a Fiat 500 tomorrow afternoon after Office Job. They apparently have three models: Pop, Sport, and Lounge ($15,500, $17,500, and $19,500 respectively). The Pop is what I’m looking at because it’s cheaper, but they only have one automatic transmission Pop model at the location I’m doing my test drive. I might have to wait around, driving Dad’s old Exploder until more arrive. The guy said they sold three yesterday, “Boom! Gone!” but translated from car salesman speak, I’m guessing that means four test drives and one sale.
WAAAAAANT
If this Fiat doesn’t work out… I’m going to regret selling my Pontiac. It would have been so much more economical to keep it that I’m still panicking about selling it. But when I mentioned that to my friends last night, they all sang out at the same time, “Nope! That car always had problems, you made a good choice!” Maybe they were right.
Cost of Pontiac: $9k
Cost of Pontiac with upkeep: probably around $11k
Sold for $2,200
So I end up $8,800 in the hole. I had it for three years. That’s about three thousand dollars a year. Yikes. Not a very good investment. I should have hung onto it.
BUT NO! I found the front right headlamp had fallen out of it’s place, and was dangling from it’s wires over the front fender once, for no reason! And every time it rained the light would go out and I would have to take it to the shop to get replaced! And Dad had to manually install a switch to turn off the security feature that caused it to stop recognizing my key, and occasionally not start! And the snap-crackle-popping noises coming out of the rear speaker were so bad, I had stopped listening to music at all! And only half of the speakers worked! And every time I looked at the dented fender, it made me feel bad about myself for being a bad driver while sick! And the fuel pump broke within the first year just like my first Pontiac (not cheap), but this time I was on the freeway… in the fast lane… on my way to Medieval Times for a friend’s birthday party, which I ended up missing RAAAAAGH I’m still angry/sad about it! And the doors were really heavy because the coupe was too long, and I was never able to find the the rear center seat belt, and the middle seat was rock hard anyway, and there was a small crack on the windshield from a tiny pebble hitting it on freeway on the way back from Pomona, and it was such a dark green that it was hard to see in the dark and was unsafe and was sweltering hot in the summer, and the AC wasn’t great, and neither was the heater, and the front right blinker hasn’t worked in forever, and Dad had to duct tape part of the door bumper on (before I took it to the shop and they forcibly screwed it back on), and the volume control on the stereo didn’t always work, and when Carmax sold it to me and I had my mechanic have a look at it, he pointed out (among several other problems) one part under the hood that was being held on with twine! The brakes sucked (they made a horrible, deep whining sound when I had jam down on them), the pickup sucked (there was a full 1-2 second delay from when I hit the gas, and the car would speed up). And it was about to hit 100k miles, which means its value would have plummeted if I hadn’t sold it when I did (it was at 99,964).
Things I liked about my dark green Pontiac Grand Am GT:
-red light-up display
-thick steering wheel
-enormous trunk space
-can’t think of anything else.
UPDATE: March 15, 8:56pm
Did the test drive. Loved it. The ride is pretty smooth, there’s plenty of room for two people with some small dogs in the back seat, and groceries in the boot. Look at that. I’m calling it a boot. Because it looks like it was snatched off the very streets of London. It looks so much like one of those black cabs they have, it’s uncanny. Larger on the outside that I thought, which I like (safer). Cramped for head and legroom for anyone taller than me in the back, but fine in the front, so I don’t care. Loads of standard features that are actually attractive. USB hookup, remote lock, etc. Good shit.
A 8.9 earthquake is really, really huge. The scale America uses is scary because the intensity of a quake is measured with exponential values. Meaning a 4.0 quake isn’t twice as intense as a 2.0 quake, it’s eight times more intense. Now look at the number again: 8.9. On a scale of 0-10. Scary. Plus, you’re a coastal country, so the tsunami that inevitably follows a quake of this magnitude only exacerbates the problem.
Japan is going to make it through this because the world needs their economy to get back on their feet, but also because the Japanese are an amazing group of people. Period. Who blogs about the amazing ideas Russia comes out with on a daily basis? No one, because Russia sucks. The Japanese have a repressed culture that somehow allows its people to think outside the box in ways the rest of the world marvels at. And for that, we love them.
In honor of how awesome Japan is, here’s a list of ten reasons why I love Japan, in the order they occurred to me:
1. Anime
Paprika made my brain melt
Who the fuck would think that there could be billions of tiny, diverse ghosties floating around that effect us (Mushi-Shi), or that dreams could be your next form of therapy (Paprika), or that a young girl could work in a bath house run for (and by) spirits (Spirited Away)? And who else would write a fully-realized, philosophically-driven, action packed science fiction series on the future of human-cyborg robotics (Ghost in the Shell) that actually makes sense? The Japanese direct my imagination in directions I would otherwise never explore. Thank you.
delicious
2. Sushi
I realize that raw fish has been a celebrated dish for (tens of?) thousands of years, but it was the Japanese who spread it across the globe for my pretentious Los Angeles palate to enjoy. It’s a simple pleasure that always makes me think, “Wow, the Japanese are geniuses. And bears. Bears who eat salmon all day and sleep all winter. Fucking genius.”
3. Cars
I’ve had two Pontiacs, and I’ve had trouble with them both. My roommate has had her Honda for over a decade, and she bought it used, and it’s still running just fine. Am I buying American again? No way. The Japanese know how to make a damn car.
adorable
4. Maru
The cutest, and most famous cat in the world lives in Japan. He has his own website, loads of YouTube videos, and millions of fans. His owner keeps us up to speed on his newest toys, favorite napping spots, and intense fear of crows. He’s the only life form (other than his owner) who I feel like I’ve kinda gotten to know over the past year, so his well-being was one of the first things that occurred to me when I heard about the earthquake and tsunami (sorry humans!). Turns out he’s safe, yay!
epic
5. Samurai, Ninjas, Martial Arts
Where do I begin? The samurai bushido “way of the warrior” will never be replicated en masse the way it was in feudal Japan. The intense philosophy that ran throughout every aspect of the samurai’s life from the way they fought to the way they ate and slept is just incredible.
Raise your hand if you never wanted to be a ninja. You, you, and you; you’re all liars. EVERYONE wants to be a ninja at some point. I just learned recently that ninjutsu is not a martial art, but an art of war. Yikes. Awesome.
I’ve been practicing martial arts since I was 14. I earned two black belts, and now I work at a dojo where I get to teach kids how to be polite, work hard, and beat the shit out of their siblings who are too stupid or unlucky enough not to be included in class. With all my experience, I can safely say that everyone on the planet would benefit from learning a martial art (especially a soft style like hapkido or aikido).
6. Nintendo
It’s not just some 8-pixel side-scroller. It’s a virtual world. My generation grew up with the gray-box Nintento, and Mario was as real a character as any idiot on reality TV today. Nintendo set the bar for video gaming. It started an entire sub-culture. With a video game. Cultural references to the original Mario Bros. will never end. There will always be a “Sorry, Princess is in another castle” joke for unforeseen failure. Coins will always be shiny, floaty thing we all yearn for. Stars will always look like a chance at temporary invincibility.
ruuuunnnn!!
7. Godzilla
Haha, oh my god. I can’t believe Godzilla is #7. Where was my brain. The Japanese took fear of giant monsters to the ultimate extreme. So classic. I still haven’t seen this movie, btw. Must remedy soon!
.
.
woah
8. Noh
If you don’t know anything about the theater of Edo era Japan, wake the fuck up. The makeup, the masks, the nuances, the costumes, the stories… amazing. Google it. It’s the oldest form of theater (even older than the famous Greek tragedies). Kabuki centered around drama, love and all that mushy crap. Kyogen was mostly comedies. The actors were huge celebrities. Some even had trading cards. It’s true! And one of my favorite comics is based on the masks worn during these iconic plays.
.
.
.
i will never understand it
9. Sumo
I wonder if this should go under martial arts… haha just kidding! Can you picture one of these guys rounding a corner in full battle gear? Hilarious! But seriously, there’s a ton of ceremony that goes into every match, which are fun to watch. Giant dudes pushing brutishly each other out of a small ring? While the referee holds a fan and wears traditional robes? And the attendees get crushed whenever one of the sumo guys tumbles off the platform? What a sport!
10. Takeshi’s Castle
This is a little-known series that aired in 1989 that started the wave of shows that put normal people through ridiculous obstacle courses for the world to laugh at. America has a show called Wipeout that does the same thing. Genius.
I want to write more about each of these but I’m at work, and no one wants to read that much about this stuff (including me). Suffice to say, the Japanese people have my adoration and respect. Now if they could just give a serious apology about invading Korea, and the whole “comfort women” thing, that’d be great.
UPDATE: March 15, 5:32pm
Wait! I thought of another reason to love Japan: the Polysics!
I mean people do fun, silly stuff people do in music videos. The Japanese are clearly no exception, and for that, I love them.
Remember when I got asked to blog for a website about comics? Turns out they didn’t exactly, how do you say… have their shit together. I would submit a blog, and weeks later, it still wouldn’t be on the website. This happened a few times before I stopped submitting ideas. I gave them a blog after they sent me to ComiCon; it’s still not up, and I’ve given up on expecting anything of mine to ever go on their website again. So sad. I was really excited about that, and the people were cool. In fact, they were extremely warm and seemed almost as excited as I was to join the team. It’s too bad it didn’t work out. But I lived the dream, for a short time. And I’m happy about that.
I was also on one of their radio shows. I don’t come across as too noobish, and I’m happy about that. All they really do is ask me about the KickAss [comic] contest, and martial arts in general. Overall, I’m pretty happy with the result. I’m only in the first fifteen minutes of the cast, which is perfect. I don’t think I could stand hearing more of myself than that at a time. I had only been awake for about twenty minutes at the time, so I sound a little husky (Lauren Bacall, woot!).
hey look, it's me and Diminutive Roommate
I just found the email I sent to my friends announcing the publication of my first blog. *sigh* Memories. I was so fucking excited. Everyone was so supportive. And that post was pretty good! So I’ve decided to publish the blogs that were (and were not) published on the comics website here. Get ready for a quick injection of a whole lotta nerd-speak.
Innocent bystanders at my office job are unwittingly turning me in circles, and it’s starting to make me dizzy.
I’ve been trying to get in touch with someone who can tell me who is in charge of reserving a plaza for a reception before a theater production. I’ve been sent in a hilarious series of circles, and I’m close to losing my patience, so I’m letting off steam by posting the process.
it's a crazy machine; your voice goes in, the crazy comes out
-Email scheduling office, no response.
-Call scheduling, leave message, no response.
-Call scheduling back, told to contact athletics, maybe they’ll know what to do.
-Get athletics email contact from Nice Scheduling Lady I’ve worked with before.
-Email recommended athletics contact. He recommends I contact the scheduling office. Ugh.
-Search for the plaza on university main page. Notice it was advertised for a reception for a previous theater production. How did they do that?
-Email Nice Theater Lady re: previous use of plaza for theater reception. She recommends I contact the scheduling office, and gives me their general office email. Thanks, Nice Theater Lady.
It’s taking all my self-control not to walk over to the plaza and yell “WHO THE FUCK IS IN CHARGE OF THIS LOCATION?!” Just about everyone I’ve interacted with has been nice, but ignorant of anything relating to that damn plaza. Should we just show up that day and hope no one’s there? Odds are it’ll be empty, but I wants it for mine ownsssss, the preciousssss.
UPDATE: 10:18am, April 1
Turns out it IS the athletics department that’s in charge of the plaza. Thanks, random guy from athletics who told me otherwise. Thanks.
I just called to confirm with them, like a responsible adult would. The first lady I spoke with said, “We don’t reserve that space.” I said, “But I already reserved it with you.” When? “Over a month ago.” Who did you talk to? I give her the name (let’s call her Romilda, and thank god I made note of her name). I’m put on hold for five mins until a woman answers, “Hello?” I say, “Hi there.” Silence.
Her: Hello?
Me: Hi… Did she not tell you why I was calling?
Her: What? This is Romilda, can I help you with something?
Me: Ok, I’m calling to confirm my reservation at the Plaza.
Her: Ohhhhhh-kaaaaaay… hmmm, that isn’t here… Who did you speak with?
Me: I spoke with you.
Her: OH. Uh, ok. Did I get back to you?
Me: We spoke over the phone.
Her: Ohhhhhhh, ok. I must have not put it in here… What is the event?
I give her all the information she asked me for the first time, hoping she’s actually writing it down instead of whatever she was doing last time for CHRISSAKE.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a heartless, unforgiving bitch. People make mistakes. I make mistakes. It happens. It just seems to be happening a lot with this one event. Scheduling thought I was hosting this event in another location, and demanded a ton of paperwork under threat of canceling my event. I stayed late and filled it all out in a flurry, sending various copies to five different departments before someone from scheduling asked for a form I had already submitted, and randomly said, “Sorry I didn’t see this the first time, it has a different location on it.” I said, WHAT? Hence, all the paperwork I filled out was useless. Awesome. Thanks, team. Way to go.
Why do I want to punch every handsome man in his handsome face?
I’m not a huge fan of good-looking people in general, but when a certain kind of handsome man enters the room, I want to throw coffee all over his tailored sweater, and break his perfect nose. But why? Do all handsome men look like douche bags by default? Why do I hate them so fast? I have a few theories, and they all include broad, sweeping generalities, so be ready to sprinkle asterisks (with “most of the time” attached) all over the following:
1. Good looking people are more likely to be jerks.
christian bale can run his mouth like a pro
Handsome people are treated slightly better during simple interactions with strangers than average-looking or ugly people. As a result, they become used to this treatment, and come to expect it. For this reason, their sense of entitlement makes pretty people automatically intolerable (even though they’ve been trained to feel this way by others, and it’s not their fault). People who expect attention seek it out when they don’t get it. They’re not content to be wall flowers; they must be heard and watched, and do what they must to achieve the attention they crave. Their tolerance for not being the center of attention at some point during every interaction is laughably low, and for this, I hate them.
2. Good looking people are better looking than me, and always will be.
I can’t stress enough how annoying it is when I’m feeling unusually pretty, and a beautiful woman walks in and suddenly I feel totally inadequate. It just sucks out loud. But what’s even worse than not feeling pretty anymore is that the whole time, I’m fully aware of how dumb it is that I feel this way. Have I gotten uglier since she came around? Of course not, but I’m less attractive by comparison, so I might as well have. It doesn’t make sense, but my brain can’t get around it; this woman’s face has conquered my brain and she doesn’t even know it. Fuck. And cosmetic surgery is for morons with issues, so this effect is guaranteed to happen again in the future. It’s a depressing, shallow thought from which I should be able to logically free myself. No dice.
3. Good looking people are vapid.
don't encourage her, cow
Clearly this isn’t true for every handsome person on the planet, but I’m making sweeping generalizations, so who cares. Pretty people are like pretty paintings: fun to look at, but lacking in depth and long-term return. With no need to do anything other than smile and laugh to get a positive reaction, deep interactions are unnecessary for pretty people. They don’t have to try hard to seem interesting, so they don’t. Think: If you wanted to have a fascinating conversation with someone, who do you think would be more likely to be able to provide one; a handsome person, or an average-looking person? Perhaps more importantly: which is less likely to complain about how fat they feel after eating half their meal?
4. Good looking people get credit for being good looking.
This is by far the most ridiculous issue I have with handsome people. I recognize that no one approaches a pretty face and says, “Wow, you’re so pretty, good job!” But some small function of my brain recognizes being handsome as a benefit on the same level as other accomplishments (the kind people work at). So who should get credit for a person’s good looks? I want to say the parents for passing on their genes, but they’re not responsible for having said genes either. So we’re left with natural selection, and chance. The handsome people didn’t have anything to do with it, so when they’re paid to be models or shitty actors, or whatever, it makes me pop my best “are you shitting me?” face. Stop rewarding people for shit they didn’t do.
So let’s review: Pretty people are jerks, they make me feel like shit, they bore me to tears, and they get rewarded for doing nothing. This all seems like solid evidence for my previously unnamed, knee-jerk hatred for the handsome.
Now that we’ve established that I’m a shallow person who hates pretty people, I have a confession to make: All my friends are handsome and beautiful. All of them. I don’t have a single ugly or average-looking friend. They’re also intelligent, funny, thoughtful, selfless people who work hard, and are not rewarded for their looks with modeling contracts or acting gigs.
I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to my friends, and especially Boyfriend, the handsomest guy I know.
Be Random, Be Clear 