Colored Ink
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miss something? check the archives about me name: n/aaliases: kit, kits, kit kat, the smart girl, foxay, an chin age: 19 location: oakland, ca hobbies: anime, manga, reading, writing, doodling, video games, french horn likes: all of the above, being lazy, mushrooms, cheese, animals, laughing loudly in public dislikes: nuts, stinging/biting insects, religious fanatics, violence, olives contact: coloredink@mailcity add .com wishlist playstation 2car a good night's sleep money stress-free life trigun long colt keychain cowboy bebop dvd box set ipod world peace realistic wishlist dayworld by philip jos?farmerkabuki by david mack lucifer by mike carey infernal affairs ii long-term obsessions anime/mangayaoi/shounenai writing music animals life and living current obsession(s) infernal affairsfullmetal alchemist currently reading rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead by tom stoppardcurrently watching hana yori dango (20)utena (23) gto tv (39) witch hunter robin (18) naruto (58) get backers (27) rose of versailles (19) matantei loki ragnarok (15) scrapped princess (14) peacemaker kurogane (15) fullmetal alchemist (28) sailormoon live action (25) |
Thursday, July 8, 2004 [link] 09:14 p.m. listening to: big honkin' playlist Last summer, I worked for my aunt and uncle for a grand total of a week before going off to college. I didn't really do much; some data entry, some filing, you know. And at the end of my stint, my uncle said to me in a very joking sort of tone, "When are you going to come back and take over the business?" "When Kelvin comes back," I replied in the manner of the deadbeat dad from the film Angels in the Outfield, who tells his confused, questioning son that he'll return when the Angels win the pennant. Kelvin is my cousin, and he's certainly not returning any time soon. My uncle didn't get the irony of my statement. "Oh, Kelvin's not coming back." "Exactly." This summer, I returned home and told my family I wanted to be translator. They looked at me like I was crazy. Earlier this week, my uncle approached my desk where I was doing my stiflingly tedious data entry and asked, "Have you changed your direction yet?" "My direction?" I replied, confused. He beckoned for me to follow him, and I followed, thinking that perhaps I was going to be assigned another task. As far as I was concerned, sweeping dead cockroaches was better than data entry at that point. My uncle led me into the small showroom, which had recently been converted into another company called Cabinets and More, headed by someone named Victor. Victor wasn't in at the moment--he's not in half the time, as far as I can tell--so Uncle took his desk and I sat across from him, like a client. He asked me if I still wanted to be a translator. I nodded. "Is there money in that, translating?" he wanted to know. "Not necessarily," I replied, after a little hesitation. Eleanor knows some people who are self-employed translators and make tons of money, but I'd talked to some people who'd been paid twelve, thirteen dollars an hour. Not very lucrative, translating. Not unless you're really good, and I don't think I ever will be, not at something like Chinese. "How would you like to take over Cabinets and More?" he asked. "Uh. But I'm going to college." He waved a hand. "Sure, go to college, do whatever you like. Then take over the business. Auntie and I, when we first got married, we were really poor. We fought over anything, everything, because there wasn't enough money. Now, look at us! She can buy a new car, go shopping, whatever she wants. I'm not about to fuss. I write ten thousand, twenty thousand dollar checks without flinching. And Victor here, he's not even here half the time and he makes thousands of dollars a week. A week! "Auntie and me," he said, "we aren't getting any younger. And we want to hand the business over to someone we trust." I think I blinked at him quite eloquently. "I tried to train Siean, but that guy, he don't want to learn." This didn't surprise me; Siean's something of a black sheep in our family--didn't finish college, doesn't have any ambition, doesn't seem to want to do anythnig with his life. "So I'm training Jimmy, here--guy who's not even related! I'm letting Wing handle Door and Window Plus--I pay him twenty-two dollars an hour, and if he does a good job, I'll pay him more. But Cabinets and More, this is Auntie's baby, and we're not getting any younger. But you're young, you're twenty! Just throw a check at us every once in a while to keep us happy." He went on to describe how incredibly easy it was, how I could easily learn the computer program that Victor uses to design kitchens and bathrooms, how incredibly not-fun it was being poor. How I didn't even have to be here half the time--heck, Victor sure wasn't--how I could even set it up by appointment only, and still get customers. How our lower, more competitive prices drew in people from all over the state. I thought of how my father had always said that I had no business sense. I thought of how doors and windows were kind of interesting, when you started learning about them, and how cabinets were probably just as interesting when you started learning about them, and Victor's program wasn't that hard to learn, was it? After all, Victor wasn't the most computer literate guy in the world, and he could do it. I thought of how I really hated Southern California and I wanted to live in the Bay Area for the rest of my life. I thought of how nice it must be to have financial security. I thought of how I really wanted to spend the rest of my life helping people. "If you want to translate, sure, go ahead," he said. "When someone wants you, you go! Two hundred dollars an hour, you do it part time." I tried not to laugh. Two hundred dollars an hour! "I don't want to be a translator," I said. "I--I want to be a writer." And I explained to him, somewhat hesitantly, how I was really just searching for something I could do to support my writing. Everything I do, everything I want to do, it's so that I can continue writing. "Fine, sure," he said. "Set your own hours. Do it by appointment only, even. You work five hours here, then you go home and write." He made it sound so easy. "So if you want to, then say yes. If you don't, then say no, and forget we ever had this talk. But I need commitment, okay? Just think about it." So I'm thinking about it. I've been thinking about it. It's tempting. I'm materialistic, I'll admit it. I don't care about being rich, but I don't want to be poor. I know that being poor, living from check to check, having no assets, I know it bites. And it's so tempting, not having to worry about rent, or food, or whatever. But what if I fail? And I can't see myself dealing with the paperwork, calling dealers, making sure shipments get in on time, calling clients--I can't see myself doing that for the rest of my life. The sales, the designing, sure, I could probably handle that. That's the creative stuff. But the actual business management part? I can't even handle my own money. I don't know one end of a balance sheet from the other. But that's what you hire other people for, right? It's such a gigantic opportunity. Who gets an entire ready-made business just dropped in their lap? But do I want to take advantage of this opportunity? There's so many other factors involved. I'd have to move back here, I'd have to learn to drive, I'd have to start taking business classes, I'd have to be trained--but would it be worth it? Would I succeed? Would I make money? Would I be able to continue writing? Could I do this for the rest of my life? I don't know. I don't know. Just when I think I have everything figured out, life throws another curveball at me. Wednesday, July 7, 2004 [link] 10:32 a.m. listening to: the sounds of the workplace Notes to self: - call cellphone repair center to find out if I need to buy a new phone - throw money at college - stop eating potato chips Tuesday, July 6, 2004 [link] 10:28 p.m. listening to: nothing Seeing as how it's been a week since my last entry, I should probably blog just to let anyone who reads this know that I'm still alive. All sorts of interesting things have happened, I suppose, I just haven't had the time or energy or inclination to blog about them. My cellphone broke, and I've probably spent at least a full day's wages trying to get it repaired, and I'll probably just end up getting a new phone anyway. I went to AnimExpo last weekend. It fell particularly flat this year for some reason. None of the panels seemed very interesting, they weren't showing too much good stuff in the video rooms (not that I've spent much time in the vid rooms in the past anyway, not with Orbit Comics & Anime so close by), and I couldn't really find what I wanted in the Dealer's Room. Well, the latter was probably because I didn't spend as much time in it as I'd have liked, and also because I didn't really get into it until the second and third days, when a lot of the really popular merchandise is gone. Oh well. At least I have a plushie Kiba. Anyway, from now on I'll be attending Fanime, unless AX pulls some really glorious Guests of Honor. I'm pretty sick of big industry cons, and it'll be nice to attend a little fan-based con for a change. The main problem, of course, is that the BART doesn't go out to San Jose, so I'll have to find an alternate mode of transportation. Oh well. I'll burn that bridge when I get to it. Tuesday, June 29, 2004 [link] 04:19 p.m. listening to: "Lullaby" - Loreena McKennitt My dad's a brilliant person, but sometimes he needs help understanding things, particularly when he doesn't have any background in them. Take, for instance, the Middle Eastern situation. When I explained to him that Israel was actually a relatively new country, formed rather arbitrarily, my father exclaimed, "Why, no wonder the Palestinians are angry! I wouldn't like it if someone gave away part of my house to some strangers who didn't have one!" While he's of course oversimplifying the situation, I think there's a certain amount of truth in it. For a while he thought that the Muslims worshipped a different god from the Christians. I had to explain that no, this was not the case, Allah is really just another name for God. So the Jews and the Muslims worship the same God, then? he asked. Yes. And the Jews and the Christians worship the same God? Yes. And the Catholics worship the same God, too? Yes. Yes. Yes. Well then, why do they fight? That's what everyone wants to know, Dad. I remember, after 9/11, on the way to school, my friend Rachel (who carpooled with us back then) saying how it was different from Pearl Harbor because those had been military deaths, and these were civilian. And my father, who was two years old when the Japanese occupied Malaysia and remembers well the bombs and the bayonets, responded vehemently, "That doesn't matter! They killed your brother, so you want to go over there and kill their brothers too, and then their children hate your children and they kill each other, too, and it never ends." Thanks, Dad. Monday, June 28, 2004 [link] 06:31 p.m. listening to: asdrfd;ljkfdsalk INFURIATING CONVERSATIONS: Janet: So what did Diana La Opinión say about the proof? Me: Oh, well, she said she didn't send one because she was waiting for Thomas to call her back, but that she'd put one together and fax it over by the end of today. Janet: Why was she waiting for Thomas to call her? Me: Well, she said she was waiting for Thomas to call her BACK, because she needed to know what to put in the ad. Janet: But we just wanted her to replace the blurry pictures with the line drawings! Tell her to just fax it to us. Me: That's what I thought, and I told her that, but I added that maybe she'd better have Thomas confirm it! Janet: That's not the way it works around here! She faxes the proof and then Thomas confirms it! She should just fax the proof! Me: She is! I said she'd put something together and fax it by the end of the day! Janet: It's been two weeks since I've gotten back from vacation and there's still no proof! Tell her to just fax it! Me: I DID. SHE IS. LISTEN TO ME. And then I came home and got grouched at for forgetting to turn the light off this morning because I was running full-tilt out the door in order not to be too late to work. Grar. I'm going to take a nap, and then everything's going to be better. Saturday, June 26, 2004 [link] 06:11 p.m. listening to: none THE ANGER. IT'S ALMOST STIFLING. Okay, so, I came home and noted that my cousin's car was gone, but my cousin's ex-husband's car was in the driveway. Hmmm. Okay. Sal (that's the ex-husband) dropped by, that means David's probably here, too (that's Sal's nephew from Cambodia, who's going to be attending school in the US). My inferences are correct; Sal and David are present, as is the little kid, Rachel. My cousin, Lee, is nowhere in sight. Upon investigation I learn that she's at the mall. I'm hungry, it's dinnertime, she says we need to fend for ourselves if we're hungry. Okay, so this is where I make a mistake. I don't ask if Sal and David and Rachel are going to eat in or out. I should have. I thought about it, and decided against it for reasons I no longer remember. I start cooking for five people (well, four people and a child). I put two cups of rice into the rice cooker and start mauling all the vegetables in the fridge so that I can make stir fry. Sal is in the kitchen when I start preparing the vegetables, defrosting the fish, etc. He does not say anything until perhaps fifteen minutes into preparation, when it's already too far to turn back because a bunch of vegetables are diced. He says, "Oh, I was going to ask you to come to dinner with us, but you're cooking, huh?" I say yes. Ten minutes later, he tells me that he, David, and little Rachel are going to El Pollo Loco. I say nothing. Then, on their way out the door, I ask, "Do you have to go to El Pollo Loco?" And I explain how I started cooking for five people already. "Oh. . . well. . ." He hesitates. "Lee's going to eat it with you, right?" ". . . okay." I go back to slicing mushrooms. He leaves. I want to cry out of sheer frustration and rage. Friday, June 25, 2004 [link] 10:19 a.m. listening to: nothing My cousin Lee becomes a US citizen today! It's a funny thing, how I've always taken being a citizen for granted, when in fact I'm the only one in my family to have such a luxury. It's easy enough to bitch about the government, about those damn Indians having our jobs, when you've grown up taking advantages of the security and resources of being a United States citizen, when you've always known the lyrics to America the Beautiful and the Star-Spangled Banner. I remember, one time, seeing my cousin Wayne's driver's license, and it had RESIDENT ALIEN written on it. Alien. Like he's from outer space, so foreign that we can't hope to comprehend it. But they've been here nearly as long as I've been alive, they speak English better than many "natives," they vote and follow politics. Hell, they're accountants, they help other people do their taxes. They're better Americans than many of us will ever be, but their identity, their status, is that of "foreign." Alien. But we all came here from somewhere else. |
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