| I'm just a blog machine- and I won't blog for nobody but you- I'm just a blog machine- h'n k'n fiend |
[Mar. 14th, 2005|06:33 pm] |
My mom's always right. She told me to never worry about money. Not saying it's okay to be irresponsible, but to realize that money always comes and goes and sometimes you don't have control over why. You have to ride the tide and take the changes as they come- and never let money control who you are. My mom also believes heavily in guardian angels. She's not religious, but very very spiritual. She told me in her most recent letter that throughout her life she's had a great deal of low points, but as bad as it got she always came out of it okay and usually with a lesson learned. Although I would prefer to think of this as a tribute to her character, she fully believes that she has help from one seriously hard-working angel (and she should give it a raise). One way or another, her fundamental views are true. Things have been terrible recently for me, but as bad as it is, there's always some hope. It's never an impossible situation, and I've always managed to make it out okay somehow. Sometimes I forget that I have friends, sometimes I let the problems get to me so much that I lose sight of what I have. Self-pity = bad.
Matt, I love you man. Seriously. Best friend a guy could ever hope to have. AND TOO NICE FOR YOUR OWN GOOD (lengthy beating about the head and neck with a bag of red Autobot decoys)
Lauren, stop being awesome. (I bask in the futility of the request)
My poor dad. My poor suffering dad. My dad and I have little to nothing in common. We look similar, share some musical tastes, enjoy long periods of silence, fresh air, grilled things. I really don't know my dad. Andrew and I were talking about our fathers, there seems to be this kind of Asian-dad stigma; you only hear about things your dad did when he was younger from other people. I've tried to talk to my dad about college and high school, what it was like for him growing up in the 50's and 60's (verbatim: it sucked), what he did during Vietnam. He doesn't open up or go any further than he must. And how many deep philosophical conversations have we had? Two maybe? I can't blame him though, we've never related to each other very well. He always wanted me to turn out like him, to share his values, and I had to go and turn out exactly like my mother. Anti-authority free-thinking liberal drama artist pseudo-hippie. He's always resented that and I don't think we'll ever figure each other out as well as we want. But despite our differences, he's tolerated me, put up with me, supported me, and I am forever indebted to him for letting me go my own way. He never forced me to become what he wanted, he let me do my own thing. Sometimes it amazes me. I know it hurts him to see that I'm not working a consistent 9 to 5, I didn't get a college degree and I'm being this unpredictable freak flying by the seat of his pants. But lo, my dad remains the perfect example of that solid reliable rock that everyone needs in the family. I know I can always go home if all else fails. I may never truly connect with my father, but I love him and he's one of the most important people in my life.
One shocking thing about my dad- growing up he was always the figure of authority, the hard-working 9 to 5 head of the family, generally impassive and unemotional. And one day in high school I poke through his collection of records I've been listening to my whole life and I realize that my dad has fucking awesome taste in music. Rick James' Street Songs, James Brown Live and Sex Machine, The J.B.'s (FUCKING J.B.'s LP FOR GOD'S SAKE! Who else on earth has this?!), Bootsy Collins, Isaac Hayes, Ohio Players, Earth Wind & Fire, the Superfly AND Shaft soundtracks, Santana. A couple years later I get heavy into jazz, and once again realize that my dad was way ahead of me. I find albums he's had for ages that I never listened to as a kid. Pure classics, I mean he has Jazz Samba by Stan Getz and Charlie Byrd (I can't think of many other records as beautiful), tons of Cal Tjader, Antonio Carlos Jobim, all the artists that I discovered on my own and fell in love with. My dad was on top of this shit when it was happening, the lucky bastard. All my life I perceived my dad as this big square and then I realize he's given me these glorious musical genes. Still, he puzzles me. Music I think he'll love, he'll usually seem uninterested or indifferent. But that's just the way he is, I never know if he's looking it up later. He's a cipher, wrapped in a mystery, smothered in secret sauce.
I love my dad, but I always feel like apologizing for being so opposite of what he wanted in a son. He's done so much for me by letting me go. I don't think I'll ever quite get rid of this inherent guilt. Not that any of this is bad, it's one of them funny relationships that make life interesting.
My sister's blog is funny. She wields a sharp wit like a straightsword and masterfully dispenses sarcasm. I think more people should poke fun at themselves, it helps keep the mind grounded.
Okay, in my collective experience, I seem to be the opposite of the male roommate stereotype. I like having a clean bathroom and kitchen. What is it that's so hard about changing the FUCKING TOILET PAPER ROLL?? It's 10 SECONDS OF MINIMAL EFFORT! BAFFLING! Is it so terribly difficult a concept to replace the plastic bag in the trash can instead of letting the pile escalate and stagnate?? JESUS H KIMBALL NANCY CHRIST! How on EARTH does one get this much toothpaste in the sink anyway?
I recently went back to the original apartment I stayed in when I moved to L.A., and man that bathroom's evolved into the pure embodiment of a toxic waste landfill. I think there were things growing in the streaks in the toilet. I seriously don't think you should let the bathroom deteriorate considering it's where you open your orifices with great frequency.
Lastly- Pick up the latest Rolling Stone with the tribute to Hunter S. Thompson. 30 pages on the man, articles & interviews & testimonials about an amazing personality truly worth remembering. Great read. |
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