There was a news report several days ago about how rude Americans are and that after Sept. 11, there was a period of kindness and self-reflection, but that most people think that things have gone back to "normal". I wasn't sure, it's still too soon. Any longer term socio-cultural impact would show over time. But I think it's true. 

The images of the twin towers being struck by hijacked airplanes, the collapse of the buildings with thousands inside, the tragedy and the heroism, the lives affected, the nation – society, culture, communities, identity and pride – all affected. But the truth is, here in the aftermath, we, as individuals making up a society, cannot even conjure the most basic decency towards fellow people.

Burma news (NYT): As the military government continues to make conciliatory gestures during long-running talks with the opposition leader Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, Foreign Minister Win Aung told the Reuters news agency that she would eventually be freed from house arrest. "Oh yes, if possible, of course we will do that," he said. "Suu Kyi will not be in her house for the rest of her life." Ms. Aung San Suu Kyi, a winner of the Nobel Peace Prize, has spent much of the last 13 years under house arrest.

Yea, I can see that statement being made. Foreign Minister Win Aung: "Oh yes, if possible, of course we will do that. Suu Kyi will not be in her house for the rest of her life. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Aaah-ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. . . . Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha . ha." (wipes tear away).

Arrgh!! 

I feel totally blocked. Last month I had a glimmer of hope of being able to write something, anything, even if it was crap. But now, nothing. Nada. Maybe it is time to give this up completely. Giving up music completely would be letting go of a huge weight. I know that. Music is an attachment, a distraction, an inhibition. 

I don't have musical "talent". I have to work my ass off for any accomplishment. Nothing I do music-wise is "inspired". It's ego. To do music is not why I'm here. My primary goal in this life is to just gain a little bit more clarity on the nature of reality and life, and the meaning of the link of this life to past and future lives. 

Last Summer, when I got back together with Nobuko and Vikki for the first time in five years after breaking things off contentiously, they were shocked when I told them I stopped running. They knew me from before, and running was part of my identity. It was an aspect of me that they knew me by. What if I cut away music from my identity? 

But we have to change and adapt, and if losing parts of me contributes to my journey, I'm mature enough to recognize it and be able to do it. Self-destruction is a theme of my life. Cutting away parts of my identity would be a form of self-destruction, just not as negative as my other forms of self-destruction. It's positive because it's not superficial, it's getting closer to my own truth. 

I'm not going to talk about this with anyone. If it's up for discussion, then it's fake, that means I'm not secure about the decision. If it's real, I'll just do it. It should be like the running was to Nobuko and Vikki. One day comes and it's gone and no longer part of my identity, just a memory.

dream interlude:
It was one of those dreams that interprets what I'm actually hearing while sleeping. In this case, NPR. Yes, my alarm clock is set to National Public Radio first thing in the morning. It was a news report on the latest in the Middle East. So in my dream I was in Bethlehem, lying on my back on the roof of the Church of the Nativity with a gun with a bunch of other people, hiding from Israelies.

I forget if we were Christian or Muslim, but we obviously weren't Israelies since we were hiding from them. But either the building was really short, or the Israelies were really huge because we could see their unusually big heads over the wall, and by extension, they could see us. The tension and fear was thick in the air, and at some point I fired my gun and shot an Israeli in the . . . well, obviously in the head, but it didn't do anything. I could see the bullet hole in his red bald forehead, but he was still there. Finding a news photo in my later perusal of the New York Times showed that my Bethlehem looked nothing like the real thing. Mine was too clean and not scary enough.

I want to make an Israeli flag, and instead of a Star of David, put a light blue Nazi swastika where the Star of David should be. Nazi Germany rolls off the tongue easily enough, as it is entrenched in our 20th Century lexicon, but it seems to take a little time to sink in when I say Nazi Israel. It would be ironic if it wasn't so horrific.

A rare Joycee AND ELIZABETH factoid of the day: They are both persons in black (pibs) today, and they are both too young to know what a pib is. Ah, the Asian pibs of the early '90's. Now there was a scene.

I think it's time for another mental health day. Maybe this Friday.

Depressingness: A Rant in Three Parts

I blog-surf and find these blogs by college-aged students complaining about how old they feel, and how they're still angsty and wonder when it will stop. Hardened, bitter cynic that I am, I just want to shake them and tell them, "YOU'RE GOING TO FEEL THE EXACT SAME WAY 10 YEARS FROM NOW". 10 years from now, you will still be feeling "oh, I'm getting so old". Get over it, you're getting older every day, age is arbitrary, what matters is how you feel inside, and if you're harping about your age at 22, you'll be harping about your age at 32 unless you GET OVER IT.

About the angst, the solution isn't that simple or promising. If you're angsty and without direction and not surrounded by like-minded people, you'll still be angsty 10 years from now. Only the angst will become an existential angst. OR you can bury your feelings and idealism, make sacrifices, and realize that for the long haul, the best thing to do is figure out your career and set your sights on making a living, and that that is more important than your feelings that are the cause of your angst, which 10 years from now will turn into existential angst.

The OUT: focus your passion and channel it and lower your inhibitions in pursuit of it. Starving for a while doesn't hurt, neither does making sure you don't have a net under you. If you're not on top of your game, humility is an ally. Even if you are on top of your game, humility will help you maintain your humanity. Prepare yourself for rejection on the way. Rejection will try to smack you down at every turn, but if you let it, you might miss the 'opportunity'. But more importantly, keep your eye out for your "tribe". When you find like-minded people, appreciate them and don't fuck with your relationship with them.

I am, of course, writing out of experience of what I have not done. Geez, I don't have issues, I have a subscription!

current soundtrack: Fugazi - "The Argument"

I like to walk around the office without my glasses on because I'm, like, blind without them and it's just another way to amuse myself and alleviate the boredom. I wonder what our clients would think if they knew what we were like. Or are work places pretty much the same anywhere?

Back by popular demand:
Joycee factoid of the day: Explained that Dannon yogurt is supposed to be eaten like a custard. You put it upside down on a plate, flip it over, poke a hole on the bottom of the container, lift the container off the yogurt, and the fruit spills down the side of the yogurt in a delectable treat. Not all lumpy like when you just mix it up with a spoon.

current soundtrack: The Beatles - (Abbey Road)

take free enneagram test
This was an interesting test. I'd agree with the results.

current soundtrack: Modest Mouse - "The Lonesome Crowded West".

Here's the man with teeth like God's shoeshine
He sparkles, shimmers, shines
Let's all have another Orange Julius
Thick syrup standing in lines
The malls are the soon to be ghost towns
Well so long, farewell, good-bye
- "Teeth Like God's Shoeshine" (Modest Mouse)

I went to Chinatown for lunch and it looks like they've painted all the garbage bins a festive Chinese red. I guess that's more PT (politically tolerable, we've lowered the bar in the post-90's era) than the chinkee pagoda phone booths.

That's right, children, no more negative admonishing with a pointing index finger, "that's NOT politically correct!". We're a kinder and gentler people in the post-90's era and give positive shrugs of, "eh, that's politically tolerable".

In other news, I visited WebMD.com this morning to see if they could tell me if I'm developing an ulcer. I ended up stumbling upon the section on depression and I take the depression test. The questions are pretty banal and predictable (yes, yes, no, no) and then I get to the suicide question. I answer it and a box pops up in bold: "You are at severe risk of depression, having your first born mauled by pitbulls, and a dark cloud of locusts descending on your mother's vegetable garden. Seek help immediately you psycho!! Retake test?". *blink* *blink*. OK then.

So I continue reading about depression and I'm going through the symptoms, and by the end I'm satisfied that I'm not depressed. Next section: Manic Depression/Bipolar. OMG, it's the story of my life! Sorry, I shouldn't be joking about mental illness, but if I hadn't gone through the system at such a tender age, I wouldn't have developed such a sense of humor about it.

NB: If you take the depression test on WebMD, the correct answer to the suicide question is NO.

Leaving the fiction behind:
The irony is that I'd been pushing the band to change its name for some time. But is there a more appropriate name for a band that I'm in than "Fiction"? "Fiction", as an art form, is the story of my friggin' life. Until, that is, blogging came along. Blogging, as a form of expression, is decidedly non-fiction, unless explicitly fiction.

So maybe it is appropriate that I quit the band at this point.

What does blogging mean to me? It means being able to be honest. Even if it's veiled, you can at least put it out there into the "wired" as it's called in Lain. And putting myself into the wired, I feel like I'm letting myself go into it. I'm draining myself out and making it not so important, by making it public. Once I get it all out, I don't know. I'll jump off that bridge when I get to it.

I moved half of my stuff out of the studio today. I felt nothing. I have no attachment to Lisa or the band. Once I'm out and return the keys, that will be the end of our contact. With that kind of dynamic, it's not a matter of why am I quitting, it's a matter of why didn't I quit a long time ago?

So I'm also selling equipment I don't need, don't know why I even bought a lot of it. I pulled my reserve Takamine out of the studio and it sounds sooo good. I'm not selling it! I'll lend it to Sadie if she likes it, give it to her if I leave the area, but I ain't gonna let go of it. I like my main Takamine for some reason I don't know, but I think my reserve Takamine sounds better.

It also occurs to me that I can move away from this city anytime now, there's nothing keeping me here. Maybe I can be an ex-pat for a while, maybe go to Taiwan.

current soundtrack: The Kinks - "Muswell Hillbillies"

"Well, I cut down women, I cut out booze
I stopped ironing my shirts, I stopped cleaning my shoes
I stopped going to work, I stopped reading the news
I'm sitting twiddling my thumbs cos I got nothing to do
Minimal exercise to help uncomplicate my life
Gotta stand and face it, life is so complicated
Got to get away from the complicated life, son
Life is over-rated, life is complicated
Must alleviate this, complicated life"
- "Complicated Life" (The Kinks)

Lain, Episode 1: An anime that opens up with a girl committing suicide. I think I'll watch more.

I've always had a fascination with trains. I started understanding it in Japan when I was 14 years old. I was spending the Summer in Osaka with my older cousins. One late night I decided to head out on bike.

It was glorious because the streets were deserted at whatever time in the morning it was. I rode across bridges that were crowded with cars during the day. I came across a train crossing. The train signal sounded and the bar came down. I stopped and stood waiting for the train to come and pass.

No one was there so I ducked under the barrier and saw the train light coming towards me, imagining that I was standing on the tracks. It was huge and frightening, and my eyes widened as the train rushed down on me. As the train was going past, I walked right up to it and held my hand inches away from it, feeling the wind rushing over my hand.

It couldn't touch me. So much weight, so much speed, so much power, and as long as I was an inch away, it couldn't harm a hair on the palm of my hand. All that power and it's all controlled, restricted by the track. One foot forward and I'm dead. One foot back and it's the rush of excitement from a warm wind and the smell of oil and steel. This means something yo.

current soundtrack: Engine Down - "Demure"

When people consider the preciousness of life, do they mean preserving biological life just because it's there just for the hell of it? 

When I consider the preciousness of life, that includes extinguishing it when it becomes meaningless, when it has no more point, when it has no reason to be here. When the only response to 'why tomorrow?' is 'why not tomorrow?', and 'why next month?' is 'why not next month?, and 'why next year?' is 'why not next year?'

I've had it with you, and Mexico can fucking wait

And all of those French films about trains

'Cos I'm not scared, but I'd like some extra spare time

And I'm not scared, but the bills keep changing colors

 - "Pictures of Success" - Rilo Kiley

Da cycling cul-cha: Critical Mass night. Yaaay!

It turned out to be cold, but it was fun anyway. Critical Mass is apparently different depending on the city. My brother informs me that Critical Mass in Philly, PA, involves hardcore riders doing high-speed rides on the outskirts of the city.

Here, it's more of a goofy affair with people dressing up, outrageous bikes, percussion or boom boxes, passing out far left literature ("I have seen the radical left, and they were all riding bikes!"), and with the professed mission of bringing awareness of bike traffic to this city by injecting hundreds of bicyclists into rush hour traffic on the last Friday of every month, basically bringing all other traffic to a halt wherever we go.

But, oh, the true madness, something I've never seen in a Critical Mass: the mass was uneventfully heading up 16th St. to the Castro, and then it got to where Market, Noe, and 16th Sts. all meet. As the mass entered the intersection, there was confusion as to which way to go (where the mass goes is always unplanned and impromptu) and it ended up circling back upon itself.

So in the middle of this intersection, there were more than a hundred bicyclist just riding around in a huge circle! I'd be riding, watching out not to get hit by anyone else, and I'd look back over my shoulder, and what a sight! It was serious goofy and so much fun! Madness, I say, it was madness! Never seen the likes of it before.

The mass then straightened out and headed out of the Castro down Market St., ostensibly to make the requisite pass in front of City Hall, and then it happened again at VAN NESS and MARKET. That was too much for me, too nerve-wracking, so I pulled off to a corner to wait for it to end.

The mass continued and did its pass of City Hall and then it did both Broadway and Stockton tunnels, which is always fun because everyone screams and yells through them, making a considerable ruckus. The mass pretty much ended at the ball park where an exhibition game was being played. I left the park with a mini mass and luckily it headed towards the direction of home. I parted ways with the mass less than a mile away from home.

The traffic circles were pretty cool, but still the most unparalleled outrageous moment I've had in a Critical Mass was when it went into the underground garage/loading dock of Moscone Center. I was sure there were going to be arrests at that, but it was so much fun. There were bikes coming and going in and out of friggin' everywhere.

Critical Mass soundtrack: When I die and my life passes before my eyes like a movie, I want the soundtrack of any Critical Mass scene to be: The Kinks - "Sitting in the Midday Sun", also one of my life's theme songs.

Friday:
I'm having the weird kind of day where I just want to laugh. Unload accumulated bad vibes. Be pleasant to people and laugh a lot. It feels kind of forced, but no, the funny stuff is indeed funny. OK, it's funny, but maybe not as funny as my laughter is suggesting. But it doesn't matter if the laugh is greater in degree than the funny, because it's just one of those days where it feels good to laugh, even if there wasn't anything funny. But fortunately there are funny people here, or else I'd just look crazy. And we can't have that happening. I hope I'm not laughing just to keep from going crazy.

Overheard:
Q: You wanna get falafel?
A: No, I don't eat anything with "awful" in its name.

Joycee factoid of the day: Is too YOUNG to know who the "Y" is in CSN&Y.

Words to blog by: "Never censor. I won't . If I hate you, I'll tell you. After all, it's you who wanted to read my blog . :)" 

Joycee factoid of the day: Her ensemble matches the cover art of Rilo Kiley's "The Initial Friend EP" CD:

 

Me factoid of the day: I'm quitting Fiction, the band, fin. It lost steam and I lost interest.

Rockface moves to press my skin

White liquid turn sour within

Turn fast - turn sour

Turn sweat - turn sour

Must tell myself that I'm not here

I'm drowning in a liquid fear

Bottled in a strong compression

My distortion shows obsession

In the cave

Get me out of this cave! 

"In the Cage" - Genesis

Northern Exposure quote of the day: Passover Seyder
Marilyn: (Parsley) The parsley represents our gratitude to god for the bounty of the earth. We dip it in salt water to remind us of the tears our ancestors shed when we were slaves in the land of Egypt.
Maggie: (Matzoh) Behold the bread of affliction our ancestors ate when we were slaves in land of Egypt. Let it remind us of people everywhere who are poor and hungry. Let it call to our minds people today who are still enslaved and without freedom. May all in need come and celebrate Passover with us. May god redeem us from all servitude and trouble. Next year, at this season, may the whole house of Israel be free, and may all people enjoy liberty, justice and peace.

A "what the hell is wrong with me" rant:
Just for the record, I don't want to get "better", I don't want to be here, I don't want to exist, I want to be excised from physical reality and leave no trace. I want to fade into air like a wisp of smoke.
What is this feeling I have every year at this time? Every year I feel like I can't make it to the end of April. Every year I do. Every year I'm sure this is the year, this year I'll make it, this year I will succeed, this year I will be a success. And each end of April I meet with failure. "Hello, May, how do you do?"
I want to strike this set and tear down the scenery, stop being the character playing the part and get back to being the actor. But that just means preparing for another role with no certainty it will be any more bearable.
And still this feeling that pervades me to the core. Another year of the inevitable riding it out does not look attractive from this side of April.
Just for the record. /end rant.
I feel better now.

current soundtrack - Built to Spill (Perfect From Now On)

chuckle, chuckle:
Over a year ago HR decided to put "suggestion boxes" on each of the floors. They were extremely stupid, they were basically a forum for the "powers that be" to announce why the status quo would be maintained. The HR person who instigated this has since been canned. No one, however, has taken the initiative to remove the suggestion box on this floor, and it has since remained sitting on top of a filing cabinet, ignored, neglected, alone, abandoned, useless. *sigh*

Several weeks ago, Eric and I were bored and we took one of the blue "suggestion" index cards and typed, "Please remove suggestion box" or something like that, and put it in the box. The suggestion box, with this one suggestion in it, has since remained sitting on top of that filing cabinet, ignored, neglected, alone, abandoned, and useless.

So, I'm sitting here, and I hear someone just outside my cube. I crane my neck to see who it is and it's Mailine. Mailine's an attorney, and she's a very good one and I like and respect her a lot, but she does come across as being very straight-laced and by the book, and a bit uptight by nature, but not so uptight that she doesn't see the humor in the absurd.

I ask her, "Are you lost?", and she explains, a little flustered, how she noticed that there was a suggestion in the suggestion box and it's been there for weeks, and no one has come to collect it!
Incredulous, I ask, "You noticed there was a suggestion in the suggestion box?!", but of course if anyone were to notice, it would be Mailine. And only Mailine. Not even someone from HR would have noticed (they haven't).

She says, "I know what I'm going to do, I'm going to send the suggestion to HR through intra-office mail". I go back to what I was doing and she proceeds to remove the suggestion from said box. As she's heading back to her office, she pauses in front of my cube and I turn around and she's reading the suggestion with a smile on her face and says, "oh my god".

I go, very innocently mind you, "what?". She laughs and says, "the suggestion . . ." and walks off.

I crack myself up.

received via e-mail: The following are supposedly accounts of actual exchanges between airline pilots and control towers from around the world:
funnier if you're from the area

2) A DC-10 had an exceedingly long roll out after landing with his approach speed a little high. San Jose Tower: “American 751 heavy, turn right at the end of the runway, if able. If not able, take the Guadelupe exit off Highway 101 and make a right at the light to return to the airport.”

Joycee factoid of the day: Called in sick and is probably in Tahoe with Elizabeth. Not really a factoid, more like a guesstoid.