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: 20 location: oakland, ca hobbies: anime, manga, comic books, reading, writing, doodling, video games likes: all of the above, being lazy, mushrooms, animals, food, laughing loudly in public, SUSHI dislikes: nuts, stinging/biting insects, religious fanatics, violence, olives contact: coloredink(at)gmail.com wishlist playstation 2car a good night's sleep money stress-free life trigun long colt keychain ipod hardon-kardon speakers 19" flatscreen monitor world peace realistic wishlist dvd-romlucifer vol 7-8 transmetropolitan vol 3, 5-7, 9-10 sandman vol 4 long-term obsessions anime/mangayaoi/shounenai/slash writing music animals life and living current obsession(s) smallvillecurrently reading nothing newcurrently watching hana yori dango (20)utena (23) 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) smallville (2.19) |
Wednesday, August 10, 2005 [link] 12:19 a.m. listening to: "The Bonny Swans" - Loreena McKennitt I ate something with cashews in it earlier today. It's nobody's fault. My cousin brought back some kind of ginger-chili sauce with the falafel (yes Virginia, there is good falafel in the United States) and it must have had cashews or pistachios in it or something because one bite and I knew that doom was upon me. As far as I know, the only nuts I'm allergic to are cashews and pistachios. I don't know why, and I don't particularly feel like I'm missing out on anything seeing as how even a crumb of either nut makes my life extremely unpleasant for the next few hours. Not bad enough that I need to go to the hospital or carry an epi-pen, but bad enough that I wish I were unconscious. I don't even know what either nut tastes like, since I've never eaten enough to really register a flavor. So, yeah. This evening's been kind of a pisser. But now I actually have an appetite, so I'm going to go find food. Tuesday, August 9, 2005 [link] 01:36 a.m. listening to: "I Wish I Was Queer So That I Could Get Chicks" - Bloodhound Gang So I'm listening to this song and thinking, why yes, it is certainly true that many women like to hang out with gay guys rather than straight guys. And you know why this is? Because girls aren't threatened by gay guys. They know, in a very clear and certain way, that these men are not and never be interested in them, or in any woman for any matter. So they can hang out with these guys without worrying about it wandering into awful, awkward territory. She can be honest with this guy without being afraid that it'll be used against her later. You know, I think I'm just going to use this entry as an opportunity to bitch about men. "Nice guys" who never get the girl? Shut up. Just. . . shut up. See, nobody gets a girl by sitting at home and whining about how they never get a girl because they're too nice. Go out and get the girl. Take some initiative. Learn how to make good conversation. Work out. Eat right. Study diagrams of female genitalia and learn how to find the clitoris. Don't jack off too much or too hard; it'll desensitize your penis. Also, I think I can count the number of females I know who have platonic male friends who haven't developed horrible one-sided crushes on one hand and still have enough fingers left over with which to make sushi. Just. . . argh. It's not cool. It's uncomfortable and awkward. I'm not saying that romantic relationships between friends may not necessarily work out, it's just. . . one of those things. Kind of like how friends may not necessarily make good roommates. Friends are supposed to stay friends, and friends are not necessarily good relationship material, even if you have lots of common interests and seem to click like whoa. Just. . . just trust me. The chemistry is completely different. Booty is a completely different matter. Also, stop crushing on the first girl who looks in your direction. So she's nice to you. So she likes video games and anime. This does not make her a unique and magical female, especially these days. This does not make her your soulmate. This does not mean she is interested in a relationship with you. This doesn't even mean she's good relationship material. For all you know, she could have a boyfriend. A really big, beefy boyfriend who hates anime and doesn't play video games but can crush your face in two seconds. With his thumb. I understand that you are a shy boy/man who has never really experienced any kind of positive feedback from the opposite sex, but see aforementioned statement about working out and learning where the clitoris is. Alexander didn't conquer Asia by sitting on his ass and whining about how Darius gets all the breaks. Okay, I think that's enough vitriol from me for today. Whew. Now to eat ice cream and read children's books. Sunday, August 7, 2005 [link] 02:29 p.m. listening to: nothing God, my internal clock is so fucked up now. I went to bed Friday night--or rather, Saturday morning--at 4 AM as I often do. I then woke up at 9:30 for a 10:00 chiropractor appointment. My plan was to go home, take a nice long nap, and then be fresh for Blogathon at 6 PM. Which totally turned out not to be the case, because Blogathon started at 6 AM, not 6 PM. Oops. I managed to hang on on until aroud 3:30 PM, when I went and had a two hour not-very-restful nap. Then I stayed awake until 6 AM, when I crashed mightily. Oh, how I did crash. Again, not very restfully because the rest of the house woke up at 9 AM and proceeded to be kind of loud, although they did let me sleep in as late as I wished. They don't interfere much in my life here. It's nice. But as a result, now I'm terribly fucked up. I was counting on the Blogathon helping to reset my circadian rhythm, since--in my head--it wouldn't ended at 6 PM, and then I just would've had to stay up a few extra hours before going to bed at a semi-normal time, like say 10 PM. Now that I've slept in until 2 in the afternoon, I'm not going to be sleepy until, well, tomorrow morning. Crap. Thursday, August 4, 2005 [link] 09:10 p.m. listening to: "Between the Lines" - Janis Ian I cut myself yesterday while preparing a salmon sandwich. I cut open the can of salmon and had difficulty getting the top off. I thought I'd cut myself, but my finger didn't hurt or anything, so I went on and mixed the salmon together with the mayo and the mustard and the relish. It wasn't until later, when I was eating my sandwich, that I realized my fingertip was crusted with dried blood. I sucked it and thought about how blood is red because of the iron molecules but it doesn't quite taste like iron--does it?--but something else salty and metallic. And I realized that I didn't really like the taste of blood anymore, though I used to, and liked my meat slightly undercooked, my burgers medium well. There's nothing deep here, folks. I cut myself yesterday. It stung, today, while I was doing the dishes. Wednesday, August 3, 2005 [link] 03:40 p.m. listening to: nothing Because this has inexplicably happened--or rather, not happened--to me several times the past few days, I would like to note that I always thought it was simple etiquette to call before coming over. But no. Seriously. Was I the only one raised this way? I always call before going over to someone's house, to let them know I'm coming. I expect people to do the same. It's common courtesy, the same way you call someone to let them know you're running late. What if the other person is sitting around the house naked and needs a few minutes to pull on some clothes? What if the other person's in the bathroom, or doing something private, or playing a video game and needs to save, or in the garden out back? There is any number of activities a person can be engaged in while waiting for someone else to come over. Even if you're supposedly showing up at a pre-decided time--like, say, 7:30--you should still call to let the person know you're on your way (so they know that you've left and will be at the house within a certain amount of time and that you're not running late, etc.). I mean, if I'm expecting someone to come by at 7:30, I stop doing anything meaningful at, say, 7:15 and am completely ready by 7:20. If I'm going out somewhere with the other person, then I'm waiting outside at the curb at 7:25. Which is another reason I appreciate it when other people call before coming over: it lets me know that I should be outside, because it's rude to keep someone waiting while you run around looking for your shoes. But not everyone is like this, and they appreciate the heads-up. I'm sure you don't enjoy idling by the curb while he or she finds the nearest save point in RPG flavor of the week. But it is even more important to call ahead of time when the time of arrival is not set in stone--if it's a range, like say "between 3 and 4." And if you think this entry is about you, no, it's not. **sigh** Or rather, it probably is about you, but it's also about three other people. Sweet Mother of Jesus, is Rachel the only one who calls before coming over anymore? Tuesday, August 2, 2005 [link] 05:47 p.m. listening to: nothing So for the last few months or so, my burner has been b0rken. I have handily ignored this, thinking that it was something fixable. Alas, a few weeks ago I tried to repair it, and a Google told me that my burner is probably kind of dead. This provides me a handy excuse to buy that dvd-writer I've been hankering after with the money that I now sort of have. But until then, what do I do when I want to pimp comic books, anime, and TV shows to people?! The summer is short, and the comic books are many! I must have a burner! That is when I remembered that the other computer in the house has a burner. The computer is not currently plugged in; it is, in fact, the computer that my computer usurped. And so I cannibalized it, stuck it in, and everything went perfectly until I tried to start up Nero and discovered that Those Bastards had apparently made it work only with Yamaha burners. ALAS AND ALACK. Fear not! said my friend Rachel, for you can get it off oldversion.com! She failed to inform me that you needed a serial number, which I did not have on hand, but that has never stopped an industrious student before. After all, this is what the Internet is for. And so now, I have sweet, sweet burning power again. But I shall have to purchase a dvd-writer before the summer is out. I don't think my cousin will let me take it with me. Monday, August 1, 2005 [link] 10:04 p.m. listening to: big honkin' playlist One evening, some years ago, I was peeling potatoes at the sink when I told my father, "I hope you don't want grandchildren, because I don't think I'm going to have kids. I don't like them." My father, attending to something on the stove, chuckled and said, "Oh, you're just like your mother." I stopped peeling. "What? If Mom didn't like kids, then why did she have me?" "Oh, I suppose she felt obligated," he replied, stirring. "Well," I said, not knowing quite how to respond. "That makes me feel good. I'm an obligation." "What?" He turned down the flame. "Aren't you glad you're alive?" That conversation's cleared up a lot of little things that never quite made sense in my life. Like, for instance, my mother's remarkable non-presence in my life. And my aunt. I was raised by my aunt for the first thirteen years of my life. I don't really recall how much my mother was there; you don't really remember things from before you were a certain age. But I remember my mother being there less and less as I got older, but my aunt was always there. She gave me baths and wiped my butt and sewed me little pillows. She walked me home from school. But it never really made sense that she was here: she was old (probably in her late fifties, maybe already in her sixties) when she came to the United States, so she clearly was not looking to start a new future. She did not speak English. She did not know how to drive. What reason was there for her to be in the United States except to take care of me? And when I was old enough to take care of myself--which, for her, was age thirteen--she left. My father left five years later, disgusted with the current administration and atmosphere of the United States, when I started college and began life on my own. But for all this, it's like he still doesn't trust me to make my own decisions. I want to move off-campus my senior year; find an apartment and put down some roots. I'm sick of moving somewhere else every three months, staying in places where there's no room for me in cities that I have no love for. But he says I should stay on campus all four years, concentrate on my studies, and go to him in China next summer to help him with his business. I hate China. I hate such constant impermanence in my life. I love travelling, sure; I enjoyed backpacking this summer and last summer. There's something exhilarating about a new city every few days and having everything you need on your back. But at the end of such journeys there's always the knowledge that you'll be able to go home at the end. That there'll be something or someone waiting for you, where things are familiar and easy. My life has been a constant series of leaving: people leaving me, and me leaving people (I'm good at that; I have a lot of examples of draw from). I think I want to try staying for a while. Sunday, July 31, 2005 [link] 06:47 p.m. listening to: "Chinese Burn (Steve Osborne mix)" - Curve In the immortal words of Spider Jerusalem, I hate it here. I feel this more strongly on some days than others. My friends make it all right; everything else makes it feel like I'm caged, pacing back and forth like Bagheera the panther in a recent issue of Fables by Bill Willingham. I am aware how much of a loser this last statement makes me. Tonight I'm going to go out, I'm going to eat dinner (or rather, enjoy a drink while my friends eat dinner), and then I am going to play pool. And then I am going to feel better, because pool always makes me feel better. I play a very un-serious game of pool. I don't even keep score, most of the time, and I certainly don't know how to keep score with more than two persons. I helped my cousin move into her new office last night and the night before that. They're on the eighth floor, facing Colorado Blvd., and I stood with my palm pressed against the window, just staring at the night. The view is nothing like from an airplane, or from the 29th floor of a skyscraper in Hong Kong. But it made me aware, all over again, how much I don't fit in somewhere where there are fields and trees and where people's properties are described in acres, and where you can see the stars at night. It makes me ache, sure, how you can't see Orion's belt unless you're lucky, or how the Big Dipper's there only sometimes, but the stars are just as beautiful the other way around, sky to earth. I will quote Spider Jerusalem again: I hate it here. I hate the way it smells (except when you get into a fully residential quarter where people are predominantly first-gen American: the way people express their culture by their cooking is one of the few good reasons for being alive). I hate the way it looks (except for the weird beauty that hits you in the eye every other second). I hate the way it thinks (except when it buys this newspaper). I hate the things it does to itself (except when it lets me do them). I hate the way it loves me, and I hate the way it makes me feel. I hate it here. . . but God help me, I can't imagine living anywhere else. Sunday, July 31, 2005 [link] 06:27 p.m. listening to: "Ghost" - Indigo Girls How can a person shed so much and not be bald? The amount of hair on a person's head is finite, right? I seriously need a haircut. This is driving me crazy. Friday, July 29, 2005 [link] 06:42 p.m. listening to: "Push It" - Garbage [x-posted from the livejournal] Christ, is it really 2005? Sometimes I have trouble remembering. Anyway, me 'n' some of my pals over at Blue Tumbleweeds, a now barely-alive group blog that now basically exists for me to post music recs to, is doing Blogathan 2005. The idea is, we blog every half hour for 24 hours, and if we succeed, you donate however much (or little) you want to the charity that we're blogging for. In our case, it's Physicians for Human Rights. If you have problems with this, well, uh, it was literally picked out of a hat, so. So if you have an extra buck or two, please sponsor us! It's for a good cause, and then afterwards you get to see how increasingly loopy we get over a 24-hour period. And if you don't have any money to spare--which is totally understandable--then at least pass the word along, ja? Friday, July 29, 2005 [link] 03:19 a.m. listening to: "Babylon Falls" - Chris Ayer Today I realized that I have not been outside in literally days. Tomorrow I'm going out. . . to a bookstore, where Linda and I are going to camp in a bookstore and read comic books. Possibly I will come home with another comic book, because apparently she has coupons. Score. I'm such a loser, it's amazing I have any friends. Wednesday, July 27, 2005 [link] 03:48 p.m. listening to: "Maybe I'm Amazed" - Jem I just thought I should blog, since I haven't blogged in a while and sometimes people express concern if I go a while without blogging. So, uh, I'm still alive. And I'm not overtly unhappy or anything. I've just been working on my dad's website and playing FFX-2 and stuff. FFX-2 is surprisingly fun and entertaining. I remember there being a lot of hue and cry when it was first announced, what with Yuna being dressed like a skankalicious ho and all. But since it's a class-based game, if you're upset at Yuna's unfortunate choice of clothing you can keep her a white mage or something for the entire game, if you want. But, you know, this sort of thing really belongs over at my geek blog, so I'll shut up now. Back to work I go. Saturday, July 23, 2005 [link] 03:06 a.m. listening to: "Bone in my Ear" - Bruce Cockburn So I've been hanging out on gay left-wing pundit blogs lately, and of course they link to other gay left-wing pundit blogs, and this basically leads to my hopping around a lot of gay left-wing pundit blogs. And one thing I've noticed is that they pretty much all dislike Christian fundamentalists right off the bat. I mean, I don't really blame them. Christian fundamentalists say some pretty awful things about gays, and right now a lot of these people control policy. It just seems, well, a bit judgmental. Not all Christians think gays are taking the fast track to hell. I mean, hell, there's gay Christians out there. I mean, okay, most conservative and fundamentalist Christians probably think gay is an acronym for Got Aids Yet, but let's not ostracize the ones who're on our side, okay? There's enough hate to go around. We don't need to add to the pile. Saturday, July 23, 2005 [link] 12:43 a.m. listening to: "Opportunities" - Petshop Boys There are days when I look up and realize that I listen to Petshop Boys, Rufus Wainwright, and opera, and wonder if I'm secretly a gay man. Then I remember that I also listen to the Indigo Girls, and then it's okay. Although I don't listen to Melissa Etheridge. Friday, July 22, 2005 [link] 02:49 p.m. listening to: "The Ballad of Barry Allen" - Jim's Big Ego Neil's Anansi Boys tour. He'll be at Cody's Books on Telegraph on September 30th. I must remember this. For anyone who reads this who still lives in my hometown area, he'll be at the Vroman's in Pasadena on October first. But I think anyone who reads this who still lives in my hometown's area isn't interested in Gaiman anyway. |
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