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Tue | May 30, 2006
heat
Summer is here-- right on time, over Memorial Day weekend. Summer and winter are decisive seasons. There is no question of what they are; they are, respectively, hot and cold. Spring and autumn have more indecisive personalities. At any rate summer is here because there is no question about whether it is hot or not; it is always hot and it's just a matter of degree.
With summer comes dealing with the heat. Fans help a little but not that much. The better strategy is to go to the library for all or most of the day, remembering that there is three hour parking-- not that I have ever seen a ticket in that parking lot. But to be safe, to go for a few hours, then have lunch, then go back. Or to take the fifteen minute walk over, and stay without worrying about parking.
The problem then becomes dealing with being at the library. It is well-lit and thanks to the renovations a few years ago there are places to sit, and it's nice. Obnoxious people leave their residue, though, in the form of scraps of paper or dustiness and stickiness. And sometimes they attempt to sit at your table, as this woman did just now. I looked at her and then spun around to see if there were other tables open, and there were. And she moved. Good. Then there is the problem that it is so cold, and it's a shock to go from hot to cold like this. I am getting a headache right now just sitting in this refrigerator.
In elementary school they would tell us not to move. And to put the fans away. We made fans out of notebook paper by folding them like an accordion and pinching one end. Movement, they explained, generates heat. The lights also generate heat. So we'd turn out the lights and sit there in semi-darkness. We'd wait until June 21.
Now another source of heat is my laptop, which could shut down if it's too hot. So that's another reason to get out of the house.
I suppose, of course, I could turn the ac on.
journal | Posted by Lily at 08:13 PM
Mon | May 29, 2006
diet
The diet is going all right. I am telling myself that it is, even though there is no perceptible difference in how well my jeans fit. However I do have more energy, or I am telling myself that I do; maybe it is my imagination. I have slept a lot recently so maybe that's not true. But at at a certain point I felt like I had more energy and --yes, that my body had shifted into a different mode. That it was burning more, that it was active. I think that was the feeling of energy. And when you eat healthier foods like fruits and vegetables, apples, green peppers, celery, carrots, etc-- you are indeed less hungry, than if you had eaten the caloric equivalent in cookies. So it is going well simply because I have been successfully eating healthier foods, and proportionately fewer junky "foods," and the benefits will kick in sooner or later.
Meanwhile I come perilously close to saying, to hell with this, and eating potato chips by the handful. That's all it would take to undo everything I've accomplished thus far.
I probably won't though, because I understand that this is purgatory.
journal | Posted by Lily at 12:51 PM
Sun | May 28, 2006
Prime
Last night I went to Blockbuster at 11 pm with Pride and Prejudice as the first choice in mind. Finding only three cardboard cards where the movie had been, I picked up the nearby Prime. Towards the end of the alphabet, five billion copies of Walk the Line, by sheer number, asserted themselves as more important. Plus, the subject of a musician/ artist seemed remotely relevant to my interests. But finally Prime had French language and subtitles, and I figured I could read the French subtitles if the movie sucked.
It turned out to be great (of course, or I wouldn't write about it). And it made me realize that I like romantic comedies, but don't like to admit that I like them. They give off a more optimistic feeling about life than the dramas I tend to watch. I tend to rely on serious dramas and important classics, but the romantic comedies are contemporary and provide the kind of relief that I unadmittedly seek.
The romantic comedy's mix of reality and wishful thinking can be dangerous, though. It can make you think that a guy should sneak you into a gated park, and set up a romantic dinner with a Rothko painting as a backdrop. It fuels defunct roles of man as entertainer, woman as passive recipient of man's lead. Mixed in are contemporary ideas about therapy, dating, relationships, etc.
Perhaps what's good about it is its balance of all these elements. The film has to sort out where it stands among all these changing elements and whether you like the movie is a matter of whether you agree with it. The movie tries to make you agree with it, to see its point of view.
This happened to be a good romantic comedy. I didn't laugh that much but I enjoyed following the plot and thinking about the story. I have skipped from thinking about Prime to thinking generally about romantic comedies, allowing one movie to represent and redeem the genre. More often than not I feel like I have just killed time watching them.
Livres, films, TV | Posted by Lily at 01:10 PM
Thu | May 25, 2006
AIM
If you want to cultivate the obsessive compulsive elements of your personality, sign up for AIM. Add a bunch of people you barely know to your "buddy" list. Watch your "buddies" log on and off.
Begin the obsession. You know when they're online. They know when you're online. You know that they know, and you detect patterns in their online behavior as well as your own. You know what time they go to lunch, whether they get to work early, and whether they leave late.
Once it has a hold on you, try to communicate about your life via the patterns of your computer habits. Say "I am a night person" by staying on late. Or log off at 11, even though you are still online, because you don't want them to know you're up.
But remember you barely know them; you hardly talk to them. It is like being in a crowded place and having someone walk by and brush ever so barely by. Maybe you didn't even touch-- just your clothes did, or the air was disrupted between you. You want to talk but you never do. You just keep walking by, and watching each other. And wondering if the other one is watching or if it was all just a coincidence.
You brush shoulders virtually by being online at the same time as they are. Once you see someone online at a certain time you try to be online at about the same time the next day. If that doesn't work you try again for one or two more days, and also the same day next week. You want a pattern but sometimes there isn't one. You log on hoping a person will be online and they're not and you're disappointed. Vengeful, you try to be random too.
You aren't random. You're in front of the screen all the time. You're obsessed, remember? You start to use away messages and invisibility and linked screennames. These are things you used to not bother with but now they give you something to do. You put up an away message knowing full well that no one was going to try to IM you anyway.
Stop.
Web/Tech | Posted by Lily at 06:31 PM
Wed | May 24, 2006
idol
We don't need any more minds on American Idol-- and yet I watched the entire show yesterday. I have only seen a few episodes (if they can be called that) and only in pieces, over the numerous seasons of this show. Last night I watched, in its entirety, part 1 of 2 of the finale.
The show is a forum in which Americans can unabashedly fall for people they see on television. The title of the show captures that idea in six inspired syllables (two iambs and a trochee). But it's also about criticism, competition, and failure. What kept me riveted last night was the fact that this girl was so close to the end, to death, and yet still doing the jive.
Maybe she was just oblivious, somehow disconnected with what was happening-- with what the judges were clearly saying in the other guy's favor, and with the overwhelming support of the audience for the other guy. More likely it taps into the sports mentality that is not embedded in my own psychology, and that is therefore fascinating and unfamiliar to me-- this idea of playing as a visitor at a home game, of performing exceptionally well while most of the people in your immediate environment don't support you.
I don't think I could learn how to do that by watching, but for an hour last night, I marveled at Katherine McPhee looking great while getting clawed alive.
Livres, films, TV | Posted by Lily at 05:57 PM
Tue | May 23, 2006
html
G. asked me whether she should take up painting as an outlet for her energy. I said painting is expensive and involves a lot of cleanup, which knowing her, I think she wouldn’t like. I suggested photoshop and html.
Html has come in handy in all sorts of ways. It gave me a role in the Brown club-- I webmastered brownnyc.org for a couple of years, which really solidified my familiarity with html. At the same time I attended a lot of the club events, which for awhile gave me an illusion of having something to do, until I figured out that they were irrelevant and what I really wanted to do was write. I don't view the time spent there as a waste, or not a complete waste, or maybe it was... but at any rate the webmastering part wasn't, because I got really good at basic html and when I had gotten good at it, I did it for awhile longer, and then I stopped.
Around this time last year, I found out about movable type and decided to try and install it. It's not html, but knowing html makes me generally unafraid of other web-tech stuff. I had enough skills to install movable type and pick up on their coding system, style sheets, etc. It was rewarding just to successfully get the system up and running, and to this day I feel a sense of accomplishment every time I log on.
As a result of MT, I have invisiblecube.com and asianwriting.org, which are nice additions to my small collection of websites. As an outlet, websites and blogs are a stable solution, as long as you don't expect anyone to visit or respond. To me, creating the blog or website is enough of a reward, and when people do respond it's bonus points.
In addition to big things like creating blogs and websites and webmastering, html is handy in all sorts of smaller situations, like formatting my friendster profile, sending email messages in html, and posting to message boards. It comes up in all sorts of everyday online situations.
It does take some patience, however. After I stopped webmastering the Brown club website, we went through a half dozen 'webmasters' who had less clue than I did when I first started, and perhaps just a little less interest, and it just wasn't enough for them to stick. It was tough to watch them crash and burn but I knew I'd regret it if I wasted my time giving them full courses in webmastering and html. Instead I gave each one enough to get started-- more guidance than I ever got-- and then left them to figure the rest out on their own. It made me realize that it does take awhile to figure out all the little things and put them together, and that I had come a long way.
And I still have a long way to go-- but the bits that I know are useful. This is one of the reasons why html is a good hobby. There is always much more to learn and grow into, but I don’t need it in order to benefit from what I currently know. One of these days I might sit down with a javascript book, or a website about css, and just learn it through and through. But until then, I benefit on a regular basis from what I have already acquired, which in the grand scheme of all html and web related things, isn't actually that much.
Web/Tech | Posted by Lily at 06:32 PM
Mon | May 22, 2006
dogs revisited
While driving through Summit last Friday, I saw a grey spotted greyhound who reminded me of Chase, the greyhound I have dogsitted twice. I suddenly remembered that not all dogs are barking maniacs.
Chase, for example, is the most mellow, low-key dog I have ever seen. His appearance --large and muscular, with a wild coat of brown with black stripes-- belies his temperament. He's a former racedog so you might think he'd be one of those dogs that tows its owner along because they want to go faster. But he goes as fast or slow as I am going, and he never argues. He is my kind of dog.
Yesterday as I was leaving Carol and Alle's apartment, I saw a woman with a cocker spaniel. I petted its soft, glossy fur and thought about how you are allowed to pet people's dogs but not their kids. If it were socially acceptable to pet and hug and kiss people's kids, I would do so all the time. But I guess as long I can't, I have to take dogs as something of a consolation prize.
And on Saturday as I walked home from train station, I saw the closest thing to a hipster I have ever seen in these parts. He was walking two white dogs, the small kind whose energy and movement remind me of toddlers. "What kind of dogs are those?" I might have asked. Dogs are conversation starters, and in an alienated society, any little way out helps.
journal | Posted by Lily at 10:50 PM
Tue | May 16, 2006
The Bedroom Scale
One morning in spring, Dora began to fear that she would marry Chris. The thought had crossed her mind before, like a black cat, but it seemed new every time it occurred. It invoked a sense of forboding.
She lay in his bed. His bed was a mattress on the floor-- not even a mattress with firm springs, but one made of foam. She felt a dull sensation at the small of her back, and also his warm skin against her own. She moved both of these feelings into the core of her mind, where they took the form of two gaseous spheres, and she gauged them each, trying to figure out if one was bigger or denser-- and if either was even tangible.
He never called, and worse, never returned her calls. I don't call anyone in general, he had explained. But his cell phone showed plenty of recent calls. He didn't cover his nose or mouth when he sneezed or coughed-- he would sooner get someone sick than lift his hand. He played whatever music he liked without regard to her preferences. He made fun of Evan for reciting a line of poetry.
The previous night, he had eaten all the baby carrots and forgotten to buy orange juice. For dinner she had oreos and string cheese. Then she crawled onto the foam mattress and resolved to get out before the real talk began.
But out there was emptiness, and here was a comforting, solid presence beside her. The resolution to detach caved in like melted candle wax.
All was forgotten, but not gone. In the morning the mass of discontent materialized in its usual place. She didn't know whether to throw away what seemed to be inseparably a reassurance and a burden.
In the daze of half-sleep, his body seemed like nothing but warmth. She drifted back to slumber.
sketches | Posted by Lily at 11:53 AM
Mon | May 15, 2006
Dogs
The Britts next door got a dog. In about five months it quadrupled in size. The dog's name is "Amber" because of its reddish brown fur, but I think of it as "the dog."
A couple of weeks ago they had a black metal fence built around their backyard and now the dog capers outside all day, and seems at times to be eating the dirt.
When anyone appears, the dog barks incessantly. He doesn't stop until the person is gone. He doesn't even vary the way he barks. It's four staccato sixteenth notes, then two quarter notes. It's in three-four time, the four sixteenth notes in the first beat and the two quarter notes on the second and third downbeat. The first of the two quarter notes is staccato and the second is accented and forte. It goes mezzo forte, forte. Or perhaps mf, ff. That last beat is much louder than the first two.
There are no rests anywhere and the whole thing goes at an andante. It's in major key and one note, perhaps a high C.
At the panel about religion, during the PEN world voices "festival," a woman-- I think it must have been "Mary Gordon" because the only other woman there would not have had that voice-- said, "if we can't be pro-dog, what can we be?"
Everyone laughed. Civil white laughter. Now that I am thinking about it, I wonder if she intended a palindromic pun with god and dog, but I think she pretty much meant "no one agrees on religion, can't we at least agree we all like dogs?"
No we can't all like dogs. We can't all like either cats or dogs either. In response to the question "cat person or dog person" I say, "I dunno, cat sometimes, but not entirely, and dog in some ways too, but..."
Which is why I don't do well on textbook first dates.
Dogs represent a culture based on dominance and hierarchy. As part of training them, the owner must "show them who's boss" and be unwaveringly stern with the dog.
I like to give people chances, make exceptions, and be indulgent and forgiving. I want chances myself. I don't want a tug of war in which the other person just tries to get his or her way, and resolves conflict by being mean to you until you do what they want. Dog culture fosters this type of mentality.
Rather, that is the attitude towards dogs in the U.S. My dad looks at the dog and doesn't think of controlling or dominating it. He wants to give it the bones from dinner.
nonfiction | Posted by Lily at 08:40 PM
Sat | May 13, 2006
sytycd
So You Think You Can Dance is back on May 25th. I wonder if there will be a new Melody Lacayanga. Melody was so cute that I really wondered how that guy ...not Blake but his rival, what's his name, I can't remember, that's how forgettable he is... anyway how he won.
I'm not watching. I'm resisting. It's not for me, it's for kids, I know nothing about dance. There is nothing to be learned from the show... except that you are supposed to smile while people criticize you. And your actual performance or other qualities that you bring to the table are only some of the factors that influence how far you go.
Maybe I'll watch the first show, just to see who the contestants are. Honestly I only kept watching the first season because Ryan's dances were soooo cool.
Livres, films, TV | Posted by Lily at 05:10 PM
Fri | May 12, 2006
fat
They say that "fat is the new God." Fat-fearing people monitor themselves constantly, trying to be "good." We can bet on this religion because fat is a science. Considering the number of books, articles and daily conversations about fat and weight loss, one would think it must be a complicated science. It is-- or it can be-- but it can also be simple.
Take the inviolable principle that it's impossible to get fat if you don't eat more calories than you burn. "Everyone knows that," the fat person snaps, "but easier said done." Well add the fact that it's nearly impossible to eat more calories than you burn if you don't eat fatty, high calorie foods. That's what does it. If you sat there and ate vegetables all day you wouldn't get fat. Mostly because you'd get bored and then finally do something.
This is where the fat person insists they can't live without the bag of chips. So I am going to leave the fat person here. I come in. This is about me. I am getting a bit fat. I would like to get trim. I am convincing myself that this is doable.
pants
There are fifteen pants in my closet. Five of them fit. Of the pants that fit, two are summer pants. Of the summer pants that fit, one is a pair of newfangled "trouser shorts." The other is a pair of khakis I bought on Monday (even though khakis signify colonialism).
Basically I have one pair of pants and they represent oppression. Of the pants that don't fit, two "almost fit" and five are a full size too small. The rest are winter pants and don't matter at the moment. My goal is to fit into the two that almost fit. Technically I can fit into them now if I don't sit or breathe.
I am going to measure my progress with pants. I am going to stop eating junk food and eat healthy for the next few weeks. I figure it will take a few weeks because I'm not going to add exercise to this plan. I'll go for walks but I will not make a conscientious effort to exercise. Focusing on one thing is better than taking on too much at once. I'm going to eat healthy and in the next few weeks I am going to try on a pair of pants every week. One of these weeks, those pants are going to fit. Then I will keep eating healthy for a few weeks after that point, because as a woman I vary in size over the course of a month and in order to see if I've really lost the weight I have to pass at least one cycle.
sag
I am glad my ass doesn't sag. There are a lot of middle aged people here in Chatham, NJ. In considering their bodies, I used to only pay attention to whether they were fat or thin, so I thought many of these people were ok. (Especially since they act like they're awesome. There is nothing like white people for acting like they're sliced bread even though they don't do anything but run errands.) Anyway I used to think they were in good shape but now I realize that their skins hang on them like tired rags. They've got nothing on me. I'm not really comparable to them but then again I am. For once, I win.
journal | Posted by Lily at 07:12 PM
Thu | May 11, 2006
pop
I want to see X-men.
There is a Superman movie. He looks boring compared to the guy who plays Clark Kent on the TV show Smallville. The guy on Smallville is so much more interesting looking. His name is... Tom Welling. I can't go from Tom Welling to this completely bland looking guy. I suppose that's kind of the point-- he looks like "just some guy" but he's actually Superman! --but Tom Welling is such good casting for a modern Superman. And Smallville has Kristin Kreuk as Lana Lang. I dunno who Superman the movie has.
Lindsay Lohan has a new movie and it looks like a kids movie. At least she looks like herself in the movie. That was so scary how she turned into Paris Hilton. She became really skinny and blonde. I was afraid she was going to die. I saw her on a talk show when she was emaciated and I was like what happened to Lindsay Lohan.
Livres, films, TV | Posted by Lily at 11:28 PM
Wed | May 10, 2006
Bums
Yesterday as I was eating lunch in Bryant Park, I heard a man asking, "spare some change, change for lunch." I was eating a carnitas burrito from Chipotle, and there is no way to eat one of those without feeling that you are gorging yourself, due to the way you have to take big bites and due to the fact that they're drippingly delicious.
So I felt guilty, and also it didn't seem like anyone was giving him anything. When he got to me I gave him some change from my wallet. However I regretted it because as I turned and put the change in the paper cup I saw that he was a white guy wearing a red windbreaker, a nice one, like North Face, but not. There are a lot of bums in New York but I've never seen one in something like that. The jacket was kind of dirty but it wasn't that shabby. He looked in the cup to see how much I had given him. Real bums, or good bums, don't look; they just say thanks. He didn't say thanks. Most of all he just seemed like -- and I know this would sound racist to some but those people don't know the first thing about racism-- he seemed like a white asshole. It was in his look, in the type of connection that happens in the air between you and him when you make eye contact. It's something you know from the experience of meeting people like that and subsequently getting to know them and hearing what they say.
I have been meaning to come up with a set of "rules" for whether I will give a bum money. In New York this is necessary because you are asked all the time, and you can't give to everyone or you'll be broke. New York will make you broke anyway but you'll be even broker, faster.
For awhile my rule was that I gave singing bums money, but I didn't think that through-- I made it up based on nothing. It was an easy way to decide based on whether I liked the music. But people who have instruments are better off to begin with-- there's a bit of classism there. I realized this when I gave a dollar to a violin player who was so good that I realized later that he must have had training. I played violin for two years and was in contact with it for years through my sister's playing, such that I can recognize a well-trained player.
The rule must be based on a principle-- and the principle must be appropriate. Having developed skill in music isn't it. It's okay to give to a bum who happens to be skilled in music- there is no reason to decide not to on that basis either. It shouldn't be the reason to or not to.
In the case of the red windbreaker guy, I gave change because no one else was and I felt some inclination to "equalize" this. I often feel an inclination to "equalize" or "balance" things, making sure everyone gets a fair share. This isn't a good basis for most decisions, this one included. Actually the fact that no one else was giving to him should have been a red flag, but my "equalizing" instinct got in the way. As a result I helped a type of person who has been responsible for a lot of my misery, and more importantly, the misery of innumerable others.
At least it made me realize what the basis for decisions should be. In considering bums, I had been thinking there are music ones-- ones who play instruments or sing, ones that talk or give a speech, ones that smell. I had thought to consider how shabby they are-- how much they seem to need it. Or to consider how hard they are trying-- to give an "A" for effort. Perhaps to give to a little of each type on an equalizing principle. I was categorizing them by what they do, or as black or white, women or men, bitter ones and ones with good attitudes. When it comes to bums there are only two types: ones who are oppressors and ones who represent the oppressed. Ones who are victims and ones who would be oppressors if they had the chance.
It's anyone's best guess whether a bum is one or the other. That night, after work, I got on the subway to go to a philosophy lecture. A black woman dressed in all black walked into the car. "May I have your attention please," she said, or some other starter. She said three or four things, of which I only remember one in the middle: "I have two daughters." I was half listening and half sizing her up. I decided she would rectify my earlier misjudgment. I gave her the rest of the change in my wallet, which was regrettably less than I had given the man. However the black man across from me took out his wallet and gave her a dollar. So I figure I was partly responsible for more.
nonfiction | Posted by Lily at 05:30 PM
Tue | May 09, 2006
hoy
I am back at the office after a two week hiatus. During this hiatus I spent much time scuffling about the house in fuzzy blue slippers. As I walked to the train station this morning I realized I had lost the purposeful straightforward stride of a commuter. I didn't care. Hearing the sound of the train snapped me out of it though. Suddenly I thought I might be late. I had that feeling that I might be wrong about the time, even though I looked at a clock a few minutes ago. I turned on my cell phone --7:52. It was only the other train.
In New York a traffic cop shouted at a taxi driver who had picked someone up in the middle the road, right next to an intersection. "Stupid!" he shouted. He slammed his hand on the side of the side of the cab and went to the trunk where the would-be passenger was putting his suitcase in the trunk. "Excuse me," the policeman said and took the suitcase out.
I didn't know what time it was. I didn't check though because I realized that the information would not affect my actions. It's not like I was going to break into a run to get to 1440. It's not like even if I ran, I would get there that much sooner, with the crowds and the traffic lights. Better to just walk at the pace that everyone else was.
Now I'm sitting at the place I used to be when I first started here. The air is on and I remember how cold it was last summer. I'm watching the green plant with leaves so green it looks fake. It sits on top of this cubicle, and nods along under the vent.