Obsessions and Nostalgia (in a bottle)

After the Fear Factor post I went on a trail in my mind, trying to focus on what other fun “top 10” lists I could do that would breakdown my character even more.

When boredom strikes, there are usually random magazines in my room that I sort through and find articles I read months (or maybe years) ago and yet feel like I had not read them. One of the issues of Res magazine had a piece about 8-bit graphic games, and making the iconic characters from the original Nintendo video games into magnets or something, I can’t quite remember. I just started thinking about my Nintendo and when I was seven years old. That’s when it struck! I’ll do something regarding nostalgia.

More elaboration was done and I decided to pick things that I’ve picked up from various parts of my past, whether it was early childhood, high school, or even college. The key part is that these subjects were fun when they were first introduced to me and are still fun when I revisit them. A few things wouldn’t make it like my Gecko t-shirts or my collection of Boxcar Children books (although I tend to find myself hanging out with a bunch of orphans and trying to figure out local mysteries, like that damn sandbox!).

WARNING: The following will reveal how much of a real dork I am.

10. Ghostbusters: There were many mediums that covered Ghostbusters; there was the infamous movie directed by Ivan Reitman, and the sequel; the animated series that went on for a few years that landed spots on Saturday mornings, and weekday afternoons; there were many action figures that were released as well. Watching the movie, as a kid, is great because it’s pure entertainment: four guys with cool guns taking on ghosts and a giant marshmallow figure (for those who read about foam could imagine my fear and disgust when Stay Puffed blew up); what’s cooler about the movie is when you get older you start realizing that the movie is actually funny, and stays funny even ten years later.

The cartoon and toys played more as a childhood thing. To this day, I still argue for them whenever a conversation strikes up about what was cool when we were kids. Most guys will go on about how it either was Transformers or G.I.-Joe. I watched neither and stick with my guns and fire them with Ghostbusters and how the show and action figures were way cooler!

9. "Night on Bald Mountain": The Walt Disney classic Fantasia was an essential piece of cinema growing up. There was just so much going on in this film. However, there was one segment that pulled all my attention to it, and that was Night on Bald Mountain. Once you see this piece, you realize that Fantasia is full of a lot of fluff and glam. I mean, dancing hippos and broomsticks carrying water are cool only to a certain extent. Bald Mountain was such a breath of fresh air. The sequence is so not Disney! It’s incredibly horrific, and I liked it! The whole story focuses on this large demonic being awakening itself at nightfall and unleashes all the ghosts and demons from their original territory. They all stream through the presented town and are having a ball. Come the arrival of dawn and the bells of the local church, the demons and ghosts know their curfew has come. They all go away. If I could find a way to make that whole sequence as my screensaver, I would be a truly happy man.

8. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow: This little American fable was introduced to me at a very young age due to two reasons: the Disney classic “The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad” and Shelly Duvall’s television series “Tall Tales and Legends.” My mom had recorded the Disney one and the Duvall episode where they did the Sleepy Hollow story with Ed Begley, Jr. playing Ichabod Crane. I obsessed over these things. The Disney production is a classic too, with Bing Crosby doing the narration and songs for the piece. The songs were amazing:

“With a hip-hip and a clippity-clop
He's out lookin' for a top to chop
So don't stop to figure out a plan
You can't reason with a headless man”

The concept of the headless horseman was absolutely intriguing (and a bit frightful). In our front yard, my brothers and I would play with the other neighborhood kids and I would always want to be the headless horseman (no matter what game it was we played). At that time I was in full frame with my speech impediment. My family still teases about the way I pronounced things back then, and when I would be the headless horseman, I would declare, “Yuk! I am da hed-men hord-men!” Cute, isn’t it?

The great thing about Sleepy Hollow was back in 1999 or 2000, Tim Burton busted out with the supernatural piece Sleepy Hollow with Johnny Depp. It was so cool; he made the great fable into a slasher flick with all the Tim Burton trademarks. Superb!

7. The Iron Giant: I didn’t become aware of this one until my days working at the video store after college. I feel this is a very underrated family film. It’s directed by Brad Bird who was the mastermind behind The Incredibles. When working at the video store, we could only play either the Hollywood Video promo tape that lasted four hours or a family movie, so I usually tried finding family movies that were tolerable, and with this flick I found a keeper.

Later on I was at Target using a gift card I received for Christmas and they had Iron Giant on DVD for $7.99 and I thought, “what the hell, I’ll buy it.” The film came to great use a while back when I was living in my apartment on River Street. It was a Saturday night and Kyle was doing date night with his main squeeze, so I started going through the phone list to see who was around, everyone I called was either not home or had plans already. I started drinking by myself and got depressed; I did one of those “I’m going to die alone” moments as I held my Bacardi rum bottle in my hand, taking swigs, and since I couldn’t find a good chaser, I decided to eat wheat thins to wash down my rum in-take. There I was on the couch, rum and wheat thins, moping like a little emo-kid, and that’s when it dawned on me: I should watch the Iron Giant! I popped that sucker in and it brought all kinds of layers of joy to me. That companionship the boy has his with his giant robot; I want a best friend giant robot. Well, doesn’t everyone?

6. Legend of Zelda: It was the Christmas of ’86 when our grandpa got my brothers and I a Nintendo Entertainment System. When you bought the system, it already came with the combo game of Mario and Duck Hunt, but it was up to you to go out and get the other games. The next Christmas, my grandparents bought the Legend of Zelda for me. This game was rad. The packaging alone was remarkable; it was the only (at the time) Nintendo game that came in a gold plated cartridge rather than the gray ones that all the others arrived in. The game was more complex than the typical shoot ‘em up type or jump on things and they’re dead games, there was strategy, thinking, a lot of trial and error. I don’t think at age seven I was supposed to be using my brain so much. This was the first role-playing game (RPG), which there are hundreds out today.

I really remember Zelda during my third grade year because that was my form of escapism as my parents were fighting and arguing in their bedroom (something that didn’t really happen), which led to their divorce. So Zelda was there as I was tuning out my current reality.

5. The Trojan War: I realize this may seem to be a weird one. I was in high school, and I decided to learn everything there was about the Trojan War. My mother owned a copy of the Iliad of Homer and a bunch of plays by Sophocles, Aeschylus, and Euripides, so I plowed through those. I wound up at the Sac State library reading literary theories and criticisms about the Trojan War literature. I just didn’t know where I was going with it. I made a binder full of maps, key players (like Achilles, Briseis, Agamemnon, Hector), summaries of what happened to the characters before and after the war. I remember my girlfriend at the time just didn’t grasp what I was doing.

“Why are you obsessing over some stupid fairy tale?”

“Blasphemy! That’s not true, Nancy Drew!” I would reply back.

I kept up with the Trojan War to the end of high school. When I moved to Santa Cruz, I had misplaced that binder, and I still don’t know what I did with it but I have all my Greek classics on my bookshelf. A couple of years ago, Wolfgang Peterson made the action film Troy, which said in the beginning that it was based on the Iliad. Well, all I can say is that is far from the truth.

4. Super Mario Bros.: For people within my age bracket, this may be on all of their lists. This was a staple for many households, and even though this game is probably one of the most simple and basic video games out there, it still holds a lot of amusement. You go to any house where someone still owns a Nintendo and there, in plain sight, is Super Mario Bros. I guarantee you, anybody will be, “Oh my god! You have Mario, oh, let’s play!” That person will go on and describe their childhood experience and describe how exciting it was the first time they beat it, and what tricks they learned over the years and how that game became even more easy for them to beat. We’ve all heard the story, and you know you were one of those types who did that. I know I was one. When I was living in Capitola with my friend Christy, she owned a Nintendo with Mario. Since I wasn’t making much money at that time, there wasn’t a whole lot I could do, so I found myself in the living room playing Mario.

Besides, everyone knows the theme song and all the supplemental songs like the underground song and the water song. Good stuff.

3. Batman: I have no idea where to begin with Batman. I could start back in the childhood days, the same time when the Nintendo came present. The Family channel (before it was bought out by Fox and ABC) had the old 1960s Batman show with Adam West syndicated on the network, and I think it was on everyday. It was summer time and that’s all I ended up watching when I wasn’t playing with friends or swimming. At that time, I had no concept on how cheesy the show was with all the bad gimmicks and bad acting but it was great for a seven year old.

The summer of 1989 Tim Burton releases Batman the movie with Michael Keaton and Jack Nicholson. Our parents took us to the drive-in and we watched this epic piece of cinema. I remember for my birthday and Christmas, all I got was Batman memorabilia: action figures, jigsaw puzzles, t-shirts, trading cards, it never ended. My first comic book I was ever exposed to was Detective Comics #602, my aunt bought me that right after the movie was released; she had seen my obsession develop (and I still own that issue).

After the first film was released, Batman Returns arrived a few years later, then the animated series, which was how I spent my weekday afternoons, and then down the road were Batman Forever and Batman & Robin. Everyone knows those two films are god-awful. However, two summers ago Christopher Nolan directed Batman Begins and made my childhood happiness come about again.

2. David Lynch: I knew people in middle school that would go on how Kurt Cobain was god. I thought that was stupid, and swore I would never go down that route. However, right after high school when I was in college, I was exposed to the works of David Lynch, and I remember at that specific time, I was near declaration of a new god. I don’t think I could’ve gone through a conversation without mentioning Mr. Lynch’s name. I’m surprised I didn’t lose any of my friends.

I had only known of the names of his movies, nothing else. I had seen the Elephant Man years ago but didn’t realize it was a Lynch film. The summer after my freshmen year, I rented Blue Velvet and bought the pilot to Twin Peaks. Entering my second year of college, Mulholland Drive was making the rounds in theaters; I knew I had to see it. I did… by myself, but I don’t care.

I eventually saw all of his films. The end of my junior year, I tried applying for the student-directed-seminar, which is an exit requirement option. I could teach a class and make that the ticket for graduation. My class was a focus on Lost Highway and the concept of interpretation. I made a reader that had about two dozen articles and critical essays on the film alone, the styles of David Lynch, and descriptions on the idea of interpretation. I created essay prompts and an overall layout of what the syllabus would look like. It got denied, though. Somebody had a taught a class three quarters before me about the study of adaptation and used his version of Dune as the focus.

1. James Bond: Talk about true legend! I started my Bond fix when I was in sixth grade; I was at my grandparents’ house and on the television was the Living Daylights (the first Timothy Dalton one). I became intrigued and started paying attention more to the world of James Bond. I remember vaguely when I was really young there was the cartoon of James Bond Jr. but I didn’t give it the time or day.

By the time middle school came, I had already seen all the Bond flicks up to that point. There were sixteen made and I had them all memorized by when they were released. I knew that six starred Sean Connery, one with George Lazenby, seven with Roger Moore, and two with Timothy Dalton.

After I had the movies mastered, an uncle on my dad’s side told me that there were books too. It was like learning that the world wasn’t flat and there was so much more out there to discover. James Bond was originally created by Ian Fleming who wrote twelve novels, two short story collections, and an anthology of fiction and non-fiction, which had one Bond short story in it. By my freshmen year of high school, I owned all of them. In middle school, MGM released the newest Bond film (an almost five year absence sine the last one), it was Goldeneye. It had a new Bond, this time portrayed by Pierce Brosnan. From that point, I made sure I saw every Bond film in the theater.

In high school, I kept up with the Brosnan films, and then read the other Bond books that came after Fleming’s death: one by author Kingsley Amis, fourteen by John Gardner, and six by Raymond Benson. As of now, I can tell you all the pros and cons of each author’s styles, what the top three are for each author (aside from Amis, who only has one). With the films, I can tell you the pros and cons of each actor and what the best films are under each actors’ collection.

To make things even more great was the release of Casino Royale, which came out last November. MGM decided to reinvent the franchise, and it was marvelous. I still appreciate the other films, but I am curious how the new setup will go. The books are on hiatus as the publishers are looking for a new writer.

You can throw Bond at me anytime and I guarantee I will catch it.

Fear Factor (but without all those bugs and NBC)

Somewhere a radio was playing. The DJ was rambling about some contest he was offering to his listeners. While describing the rules and regulations, the background noise was the tune to the wonderful Sound of Music track “A Few of My Favorite Things.” As I wandered away from that radio, I thought more about what are my favorite things. Of course, my first instinct was, “I should make a post about this!” But that slowly disintegrated.

Later on I decided to think of the antithesis of that list. “A Few of My Least Favorite Things,” maybe? After more contemplation and thoughts evolving into other ideas, finally, it came… my top worst fears (as suppose to my favorite fears: gosh, I really love the fear of being burned alive, don’t you just feel protected having all that fire around you?). Here are the top ten (cliché, I realize) worst fears for my dear self.

10. The theme music to Unsolved Mysteries: I still have that song in my head and the show was cancelled over a decade ago. During elementary school, I remember new episodes premiered on Sunday evenings. That eerie tune would start and the opening credits were reveal words like “lost and never found” and “kidnapped.” Robert Stack always came out in some suit and trench coat on the steps of a random mysterious gothic building introducing this week’s mystery. The mysteries ranged from bank robberies, kidnapped children, alien abductions, to murder cases. If the theme was applied to some PBS children’s show, I think it would deliver a whole different sensation to me but with the mystery element attached to it, good job Unsolved Mysteries, you know how to creep out your audience.

9. Aliens: I’m talking little grey bald naked big eye anal probe aliens. Coinciding with Unsolved Mysteries, I distinctly remember the alien abduction episodes. This shit crept me out. Just the whole concept of this unexplainable situation and how people from all over have some horrific story. The ones about a couple driving on an isolated farm country road and they see a bright light or something crossing the street in front of them (I’m actually getting goosebumps as I write this), that stuff always gave me the chills. I remember in sixth grade I saw Fire in the Sky, and the scene where the main character has the flash back of being on the space ship will haunt me for the rest of my life. I still find myself looking at the sky.

8. Zombies: I realize that zombies are fictional. My problem was after seeing the 2004 remake of Dawn of the Dead. My friends still tease me about this but my deal was that, lets say zombies are real, would I survive? After seeing that movie, I questioned every location I was in and would imagine a parade of zombies pouring into the given vicinity. Where were my exits? Would I be able to outrun them? What disadvantages do I have on me right now? I saw Dawn of the Dead on a Saturday in early March; I think it wasn’t until April sometime is when I finally calmed down. I was going to San Francisco with my friends Amy and John. We were on BART and Amy saw me just sitting there and asked me what I was thinking?
“If zombies were on this train right now, would I survive?”
Her disgusted reply was, “Are you fucking serious?!”

7. Foam: It’s disgusting and I don’t trust it. What is it? Is it a solid? A liquid? I think it’s a colloid, which that itself doesn’t seem pleasurable. When a dog eats or drinks, it tends to develop a ring of foam around the mouth, my first instinct is to grab a napkin and wipe it off. Marshmallows are the containers of foam, just melt one and see what happens. I remember my mom making breakfast shakes when we younger and after everything had been thrown in the blender, there would be all the foam and bubbles at top. I would grab mine and start pouring the top surface into the sink. I’m sure it all tasted the same, but I couldn’t handle seeing it. Foam is just icky stuff that shouldn’t be looked at or studied in any way.

6. Gas Masks: What is it about a gas mask that makes it creepy? I don’t know if it’s the lack of any human facial features or what. The mask makes a human seem more demonic; those goggles that hide the eyes, the air tube that removes the mouth and nose from your view. I still haven’t quite got it down but I will have a conclusion on what it is about the gas mask.

5. Bridges: These are some intimidating structures. Whether I walk or drive over one, I feel like I am losing some sense of control. The idea that we are on this flat narrow surface that is holding us from water still doesn’t give me a good sense of security. I’ve seen the footage of the bridge where it’s windy as hell and it’s swaying back and forth and there are cars on it. I do not want to be a part of that. The worst is the footage of the bay bridge from the 1989 earthquake where a section of the bridge just came undone and the car on top just falls into the bay. Freakin’ scary.

4. Attractive Women: Yep, I said it. But I’m talking extremely cover girl attractive because I feel I don’t see these type of women that often in reality. They’re everywhere: on billboards, commercials, magazine covers. Since we live in a patriarchal sexist society, we therefore will be exposed to these sorts of things. For some reason, when an attractive woman comes into the real, I shut down. This sounds corny and lame, but I can’t even look that woman in the eye. There is an intimidation factor that brings out my general lack of confidence and overall insecurities. I am at my worst; all my flaws start running through my mind and I just want to go somewhere and hide.

3. Doubt: This is a general human quality, in which many will say that we all need. But I feel that doubt plagues my train of thought way too much. Doubt is not the same type of fear as darkness or the boogeyman, but doubt does something to me. Of course, I can feed it into the attractive women rant, but it goes into other categories as well. I suffered from low-test scores when it came to those standardized tests in school, part of those results came from doubt, I would second guess all my answers. I could never hold any strength on my first instincts. Even today, at work I can never submit something without thinking if I screwed up on something, or maybe that’s wrong due to this or that. Doubt is always there polluting my train of thought and reason.

2. Crowded Rooms: If you want to see me go strange, throw me in a mall during Christmas time. Cold sweat, little ticks, shaky hands, highly irritable, it’s all bad. I’m at my worst. When I’m on a bus, and once it starts to get crowded I start to figure out ahead of time if I can get out soon without having to bombard into other people or should wait until the bus starts to get less busy (whether or not I have missed my stop). Something about the idea of not being able to control my space bothers me. Some people originally thought it was claustrophobia but I knew it wasn’t that because I was fine in a small closet or room. It’s being enclosed with people around me. I’ve been told that’s more like social anxiety or agoraphobia. Either one, it still kills me and to this day I will do my best to avoid any crowded areas, even a grocery aisle; I will wander around until that cereal aisle is clear, even if it’s been twenty minutes.

1. Violation (of any kind): I know this may seem really broad, especially for being the number one fear. I will explain. Back when I was in sixth grade, my mom and brothers and I were at the mall. We were gone for most of the afternoon and when we were heading home it was in that twilight time of the evening; my mom was so fascinated by the sky, it was pink and orange, the clouds were doing all kinds of shapes. She was a big fan of just driving aimlessly; this would drive us crazy when we were younger. Eventually the twilight colors faded as nightfall arrived and we headed home. When we arrived, I remember racing to the front door and seeing that it was already open. I thought to myself how weird that was since mom was behind me and she had the keys. I peaked inside and it was still dark. Why was the door open and all dark inside? Mom saw what was up and told me to stand back. We all walked in together and the first thing my mom did was call for our dog Max. He eventually popped out of some random closet, he looked incredibly scared. We turned on the lights and saw that our television and VCR were gone. Some more inspections and my mom’s camera was gone, and at the time my younger brother and I were in little league so we had candy bars to sell; our thieves took the money we raised from the candy bars. As my mom called the police and my grandpa, I remember thinking I had to go to the bathroom; I was sitting on the toilet and nothing was happening. My stomach was turning and I was experiencing all kinds of eternal pain. This sense of violation, this burglarizing was killing me. I had never experienced any such feeling before; knowing that some stranger invaded our domestic space without our knowing. This would continue later on; my old Valiant was broken into a few times, again, the thought of someone else in your personal settings, violating them is pure pain.
As I got older, I thought of more concepts of violation, and the one that really turns me over is rape. I know that as a heterosexual male, I have a 99% chance of never being raped, but I can still share the same hatred and fear of it and can still do my part to help prevent it.
I know that rape and burglarizing are on opposite ends of the spectrum but the idea of some outside force to barge in and take over your personal space, your comfort zone, and destroy that safety net is the worst feeling to encounter.

Spell Dog Backwards

Due to my obsession with digital art and music culture, I try to find periodicals and other resources that speak about these concerning topics. It was probably back in 2003 when I found the magazine Res. I bought an issue because it had Radiohead on the cover (many people already know my given obsession on this God given band); this was when Hail to the Thief had been released.

As I browsed through the issue it had so many wondrous articles regarding up-and-rising music video directors, avant-garde artists, interviews with comic book writers, reviews on indie musicians and art-house films. It may sound snobby to some people, but it covered many things that I did not find in the issues of Entertainment Weekly and Premiere.

The magazine is bi-monthly (this means every two months; I have many friends who argue that that means twice in a month), and as of now the magazine is re-creating itself so it’s on holiday. I save every issue and this evening I was revisiting some articles. In one of the issues, I found some papers stuffed in it and they were copies of a treasure map! No, not quite. I would have called this entry “National Treasure” if that were the case.

The papers were notes, scripts, and sketches of a story I started about a year and a half ago, I think. It started as a song I wanted to write (and no, I don’t usually write songs), that had the words “You left your shadow at my house.” It didn’t really go anywhere, and I then explored other realms. I focused in on my protagonist, who was a college graduate and was leading the slacker life, worked two part-time jobs: one at the local library and the other at a New Leaf market rip-off. The story was to concentrate on this individual and his daily surroundings. You would see his interaction with his work colleagues and his friends in this small town. The town was fun to create. I created the main indie theater, the Calliope, named after the muse of writers and poets. There was the local favorite bar called Heaven, “a place where nothing happens.” Talking Heads anyone? The art-house video rental store, the Mis-en-Scene, which film lovers will get. I had created a small world for our character (the town was called San Humberto if you were wondering).

As the story progresses, our protagonist finds himself in a relationship (the significance of this is that he’s been flying solo for many years) and we see his changes and uncovering of feelings and reactions he didn’t know he had. I never finished this due to laziness and my lack of knowledge on certain themes. However, in my notes, I came across a scene I had wrote where he decides to dogsit for his coworker who is off doing interviews for graduate schools. He gets drunk by himself as he is with the dog and then taps into a dream world where he is talking to, no other than, that same dog.

“Well, what’s the deal? You gonna give me some of that rum?” Mikey (the dog) asked with irritation.

“Oh…sorry man. I didn’t realize you were the drinking type. Or the talking type,” the protagonist said with pure curiosity.

“Us dogs have been talking since the dawn of time. You humans just decided not to listen.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what your problem is. I mean once you humans got cocky with the whole idea of a civilization, we lost all contact with you. Our goal was to work with you, but you turned your back on us.”

“This isn’t making much sense.”

“Humans developed an institution where a child is born into and basically learns all the wrong things. You could have been like us, born into this world and know all the secrets of the universe. On the contrary, you’re born into this world, and for about a few months, you have the universe at your fingertips, you know it all, and then this manmade thing called a verbal language and a formalized structure of education is put in front of you and you lose all concepts of what the life around you means. You see, us dogs don’t have this problem.”

“So, you think that you’re smarter than us?”

“We know we’re smarter than you.”

“Then how come you’re all just a bunch of pets?”

“That’s how you’ve decided to perceive us. Your ignorance has clouded your vision and judgment. A lot is going on in this world besides just what you humans are doing. You know that ants have found a way to divide by zero? And what do you have to offer? Oh, you found a way to record television and skip over the commercials.”

“Okay, hot shot, what do you have to offer?”

“First off, let it be known that we were the ones to bring up the concept of global warming. You humans really fucked that one up! This is why we are phrased as man’s best friend, we need to keep you in check.”

“Well, besides catching all of humankind’s mistakes, what do you have to offer? Something original.”

“I know what it means to exist. I know how to make life and death the same thing. I know what the future entails because it’s the same as the past.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that we took on the knowledge that you were not ready to take because you lacked the responsibility. It was shown right there in front of your eyes; paradise was given to you but you chose what was behind door number two.”

“Can you tell me those things you know?”

“The answers have always been shown to you; all you have to do is look into a dog’s eyes.”

“Wait, I thought that you couldn’t look into a dog’s eyes because that’s where it hides all its guilt.”

“See, that is what’s wrong with you all! You create these bullshit fables so you can still hide from the truth.”

“Alright, can I look into your eyes?”

“Why? What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know… life, the universe, everything.”

“Original.”

“Can I look?”

“Sure, just give me some of that rum when you’re done,” our protagonist leaned forward towards Mikey, he made sure he did not blink as he focused in on the dog’s eyes. Mikey tilted his head slightly to the left as he stared back. Their eyes were locked and secrets were about to be revealed when Mikey chimed in with, “Dong!”

“What?”

“Ding! Dong!” the dog spoke again.

Suddenly reality was put back in order, the protagonist found himself on the couch still and saw there was somebody at the door. As he got up, he noticed that he spilt his bottle of rum on the floor and Mikey was having at it. He opened the door and noticed his coworker’s friend, Regan.

“Regan? What’s up?”

“Hey, I was seeing if Steph was home. You okay?”

“Yeah, a bit confused, that dog was about to tell me the secrets of the universe but you rang the doorbell.”

“Sorry man. I can come back later if you want.”

“No, come on in.”

The story went off into some other direction. The protagonist never had a name because I never settled on one.

This conversation always amused me. It was one of those things I thought about; never take your surroundings for granted. I remember when my dog, Max, was alive. There were times when I would be reading, playing a videogame or talking to one of my brothers or a friend, and there was Max, staring blankly at me. What did he know that I didn’t? Was he judging me? What did I do wrong?

I say to everyone to go and really appreciate your loved canine friends. Remember that they see and hear the things we choose not to observe or take in.

As for the cat people out there, sorry. If this was Brave New World, cats would be the Epsilon class. The cat in my house proves this everyday. I know it could not handle the secrets of the universe.

You Against Me and Everyone We Know

The arena of punk music is unfamiliar territory for myself. I feel there are too many critics out there that will argue with you about what true punk music really is. No matter who it is, they all think they’re hardcore about their punk appreciation, whether it is the Hot Topic manufactured Good Charlotte listener, or the faithful Alkaline Trio fan who will listen to them even if they “sold out,” or the rabid Sex Pistols only kind of person.

There seem to be many types, however, I’m naïve to it all, and therefore take a neutral stance in the punk scene. If I like it then I’ll become a fan but I won’t identify with any kind of label, it being a “pop punk” fan or “true hardcore fan” or whatever.

My housemate Eric follows the punk scene in different outlets; he owns Alkaline Trio, Rise Against, the Sex Pistols, Thrice, Tsunami Bomb, Flogging Molly, Social Distortion, and many others. One band in particular is Against Me! Yes, with the exclamation mark. The band has been around since the early 2000s and apparently the band is one of the few modern punk bands that have not gone “radio friendly.” They’re still rough. Their music is derived out of current politics, with such songs as “Condoleezza.”

Against Me! was making the rounds on their current tour and Santa Cruz was on their map for specified destinations. The Catalyst was the target, which is a very popular venue for shows in this town. I have had my share with this place by seeing such bands as the Breeders, They Might Be Giants, the Velvet Teen, Death Cab for Cutie, Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, and some others that I’m sure I’m missing.

When tickets went on sale, Eric wasn’t able to make contact with his punk oriented friends and therefore bought me a ticket. Knowing that I am not a connoisseur on the punk genre, he said that he’d just get me liquored up so I can appreciate it, and I said deal!

The show was Friday night and we took our time going to the show. We weren’t familiar with the opening band so the idea was to get there shortly before Against Me! started and get some beer. While getting ready, I realized that I lack the qualifications to be at a punk show. I’ve seen punk fans. I lacked the piercings, studs, dyed hair, Mohawks, tight jeans, patches, whatever. I’m pretty much a square in the punk territory. However, I didn’t care.

The arrival took place and we went upstairs to where the main Catalyst bar was. Once beer was bought, we stood around and judged our surroundings. The Catalyst is an interesting bar in the sense that it’s definitely a local bar and the college students or “slugs” are not welcomed. Eric and I managed to slip through the cracks because we look mature. The scene is full of men who can literally beat the crap out of me with three of their knuckles, and many women who fall for that kind of thing.

After much staring and silent laughter, we migrated to the venue area and noticed the stage was empty. We stood near the back of the main crowd on the floor; within the next three minutes, the lights dimmed and out came Against Me! Such timing.

The band poured right into their music without much talking in between songs. A lot of energy was coming from the stage and a lot was coming from the crowd as well. The whole concept of the mosh pit still boggles me. I just don’t know why you would want to jump around, push and be pushed, and be acceptable to wounds. At one point in the show, a short girl came walking out of the crowd with a massive amount of blood gushing out of her nose and lip. Eric whispers, “Oh, it can’t be a true punk show unless somebody bleeds.”

As the show continued, I had this woman next to me keep commenting about the performance. “Isn’t this awesome?!” she would rhetorically ask in pure excitement. Uh…yes, yes it does, I mentally responded back. She looked like Rachel Leigh Cook, but don’t worry, this isn’t my “obsession over some celebrity that I can never have” moment. Wait for the Natalie Portman post. The woman just happened to look like her, and besides, I knew Rachel Leigh Cook’s brother when I was in college, and he looks like her, so all beauty faded from there.

The stage time was only about fifty minutes long. I guess that’s the catch with a punk show that there is only so much fuel the band can live off of. Then again, there is only so much fuel the crowd can live off of too; the people in the mosh pit tended to rotate in and out. Overall, I was pleased that I went. Punk music is definitely a genre I don’t focus on too much, but the performance I appreciated. Something about the energy that the band delivered made it fun. I didn’t really understand much of what was been said by the singer but what was being done I could take in.

Our walk home was a bit of a conflict. It was cold out but I was still warm and sweaty from the show. I was enjoying the conversation with Eric but my hearing was shot so I couldn’t hear what he was saying (so how was I enjoying the conversation, one may ask, if I couldn’t hear him… I read lips, one of the many hidden talents I have). We came home, consumed some more beer, talked about politics and girls, and then went to bed on a happy note.

Losing Overall Sustainability to Tune-in (LOST)

The later portion of the year 2004 was a strange time for myself. I had graduated from college, so that alone was a weird state of affairs. I was basically working and had nothing else going on in my life. Hollywood Video was pretty much fueling my energy (yet sucking it out at the same time), and I had the sleaziest boss who made the working environment extremely difficult. I was making $8 an hour and working only twenty hours a week, so the paychecks were small, and I couldn’t even claim the credit that I was living off of paycheck to paycheck because I was usually in debt and one whole paycheck would go to rent and then I would have $11 for the next two weeks.

My living arrangement was a bit surreal; the two-bedroom apartment I moved into seemed decent at first and then the community slowly revealed its true colors once I settled in. The four-plex I lived in was full of the stereotypical Santa Cruz locals who don’t do anything in this community besides party every night and complain about the college students. They developed a liking to come by my place because they wanted to talk to my housemate Christy due to the fact that she had a pair of breasts.

Of course, aside from the slacker neighbors, there was my next-door transgender neighbor. He/she alone will get a blog entry, I guarantee it.

On top of all the living and working arrangements, it was an election year. This was the most cutthroat I had seen politics. Kerry vs. Bush. I wished I had lived in a different region to get a more broadened look on the elections since this town pretty much advocated for Kerry. I wanted to see more people “on the other side of the aisle” so I could at least debate with them about something.

While all this was going on, something had spawned on television. It wasn’t a new reality show, or a spin-off of CSI or Law and Order. It was a mixed genre show called Lost. I was at my friend, Darren’s house and he tuned in at 9pm when the show was starting and gave me the lowdown about what this show was all about. When one describes the premise, the person listening can only be more curious. Darren went on about a plane crash, polar bears, some invisible monster, a man who was in a wheel chair and then could suddenly walk, and much much more. I started picking up on the show, finding reruns and tuning into the new episodes. I became addicted to a television show.

The first season ended; that summer the season was released on DVD and then the next fall, season 2 began. Like clockwork, I was there in front of the screen checking in. However, as the second season progressed, I found myself in a small state of frustration. The show just kept revealing more and more mysteries and not resolving the previous ones. It was starting to become a bit ridiculous and sloppy. I felt there was a lack of responsibility going on, as if the writers were just doing this to simply be weird and unpredictable. I imagined the writers in a room with a box full of random words written on small pieces of paper; they pull a few out and those words would be plot points for the next couple of episodes.

“Alright guys, we got South Dakota, pocket knife, Captain Marvel, and Wild Boar. Lets see what we can do with these for the next two episodes.”

By the time season two ended, there were many things left unexplained. That summer I declared I was not going to watch season three. I lied.

Season three started in October (I think), and at that point, the world of Lost had gotten bigger. There were all kinds of multimedia experiences one can take part in. There were books written by characters within the show that gave insight on many of the “mythos” of the program, there was a video game, and many websites that were based on organizations and characters.

Fall came and the show had started. Each Wednesday arrived and there I was, on the couch watching the show and not feeling any fulfillment once the show ended. All I know is that I got my fix for the week.

The show then decided to do something different; instead of wasting everyone’s time with reruns, they started the season with seven new episodes all in a row and then went on hiatus for two months (or maybe longer) and then start back up again with sixteen episodes (all new) back to back. So, now I am back in routine, at the front of my television screen watching each episode, wasting my time. No answers have been explained, new mysteries pop up, and my guaranteed let down never fails.

I talk to friends and colleagues who say they just rented the first season of Lost on DVD and are in full intrigue. I then find myself giving them a lecture about why it’s important not to watch Lost. I feel I am some motivational speaker about why one shouldn’t do drugs. I’ll give my past experience about doing drugs and what kind of life that led into, and how addiction is hard to overcome. Just substitute drugs with watching Lost.

Trunk of Darkness

Howdy folks! I apologize for the absence from the world of Proud Gemini. I could give you the usual list of reasons, which other writers tend to give, on why I haven’t written in a few days: work has been busy, such great weather outside, writer’s block, etc.

The real reason is that I had been kidnapped and was in the trunk of a car for the past four days. It was dark, very dark. I forgot what I looked like actually. My kidnappers were kind enough to supply me with something to consume to keep my metabolism going. While in the trunk, they fed a small hose that went through the back seat. Out of the hose was red flavored Kool-Aid. It was a bittersweet sensation; I got absolutely disgusted with the liquid but yet I kept coming back for more since it reminded me of being eight years old again. However, now I suffer from permanently stained pink teeth and diabetes.

My kidnappers let me go yesterday due to some misunderstanding. There was a case of mistaken identity. Last weekend, a blogger named Egotistical Taurus wrote a rant about how Muppet lovers are gay (his words). Well, the fansite for Muppet Lovers were very upset about Egotistical Taurus’s comments and decided to pursue action. Obviously they showed their ignorance on astrological signs and adjectives and went the next one up and found Proud Gemini.

Finally, yesterday morning, one of the kidnappers had come across my site after googling Semiotics and Sonic Youth’s “Teenage Riot.” Connections were made and my true identity became a revelation to them. They let me go, bought me dinner and paid for a haircut.

As for Egotistical Taurus, well, all I know is that his site is now this.

A lot of Guinness, a lot of slumber, and a lot of questions

Happy belated St. Patrick’s Day everybody! Hopefully everyone enjoyed some Jameson, Guinness, corn beef and cabbage. My Saturday night did not quite pan out as I planned. One of my friends, who had been communicating with me during the week about meeting up, at last minute could not come out. I threw some text messages and phone calls out and received no reply. The household had already made plans, so Saturday night I was flying solo.

This wasn’t a bad thing; I know many people who enjoy some solo time. Besides, in a way, I celebrated St. Patrick’s on Friday evening. Eric’s friends Ben and Ondrej came to our place from over the hill. It’s the beginning of March Madness so the three of them plus many other people I know are in some bidding game. A store run was made and plenty of Guinness and Bass Ale were purchased. Many Black & Tans were consumed and an excruciating game of Quarters was played. It all seemed a bit immature but fun nonetheless. To top it al off, we ended the night watching Borat under pure intoxication, which may be the only way to watch that film.

Going to bed drunk receives mixed reviews from my end. Sometimes I sleep as if I was dead where I close my eyes and then suddenly I wake up and nine hours have passed without any realization of it. Then there are nights where the subconscious is polluted with alcohol, which makes my imagination go crazy (and therefore the strangest dreams arise). Friday night’s slumber became one of those dream nights.

Unfortunately, due to the amount of time that has passed, my dreams are a bit more fragmented from what I remember. Now there are only distinct images and sequences. I want to say that all these images are from one long dream but I cannot make any connections. There was a man with fair skin and true red hair; his eyes had many wrinkles underneath them; he was a great singer, and yet he lacked a nose. His face featured all the normal traits but it was completely flat and covered with skin for where a nose should have been.

In another segment there was a young girl, probably in her mid-teens. Again, all normal features for a young Caucasian girl but she lacked a mouth; just skin covering up where there would be one (for those who saw the movie poster to Silent Hill can draw a similarity). The thing that made her distinct is that she had mental powers, which would relay her communication to other people.

The last piece that I really remember was a chase scene; I was bound to follow someone on a motorcycle. For some reason, a colleague of mine, Kathleen, who is the director of development for Student Affairs, was giving me advice of which way the cyclist was going. I was not on a motorcycle but I could run extremely fast; I followed this person through tunnels and off of highway ramps. I managed to tackle him and ask him where he came from. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper that said “2086.”

These are the main parts of my dream that I can clearly remember. I visited the dream moods website to see if any of these pieces would have any significance. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to find the distinct things like “lack of mouth” or “mental powers.” Here are the following definitions of what I was able to look at:

Nose
To see your own nose in your dream, signifies a conscious effort to achieve whatever endeavor you chose to undertake. The nose represents energy, intuition, and wisdom. Alternatively, the nose symbolizes curiosity. You dream may suggest your need to learn more about a situation at hand.

Seeing someone with the lack of a nose means?

Singing
To hear someone sing in your dream, signifies emotional and spiritual fulfillment. You are changing your mood and experiencing a more positive outlook in life.

Hearing someone (without a nose) sing shows that I am changing my ways and becoming more positive, but since there’s a lack of a nose, there is a lack of energy and wisdom. Will I be taking the lazy and ignorant route to become happier?

Mouth
To see a mouth in your dream, signifies your need to express yourself or talk about an issue that's bothering you. On the other hand, perhaps you have said too much and you need to keep your mouth shut.

So, I should take the opposite of that since I saw somebody without a mouth. But even within this definition, it gives two contradicting answers. This also makes me think of my being self-conscious about my speech skills; I’ve received complaints on how I don’t talk enough, that I’m too quiet, but then I’ve received complaints that I talk too fast and that people can’t understand me (which makes me choose the path of silence to save any further embarrassment).

Motorcycle
To see or ride a motorcycle in your dream, symbolizes your desire for freedom and need for adventure. You may be trying to escape from some situation or some other responsibility in your waking life. A motorcycle is also symbolic of raw sexuality.

My thoughts are going in different directions based on this description; yes, I lead a boring life sometimes, work is going in different places right now and I am taking on some new and random responsibilities, and for raw sexuality, I will let my friends create a conclusion for that one.

Chase
To dream that you are chasing someone, signifies that you are attempting to overcome a difficult goal or task. You may also be expressing some aggressive feelings toward others.

This may relate to the motorcycle definition that I am trying to escape from some situation or some other responsibility; chasing someone could be me trying to tackle this opposition. Plus, having a coworker like Kathleen may mean something (especially, since she is the newest person added to the development team at work).

Future
To dream that you are in the future, signifies your hopes or your fears of how things will turn out depending on the scenario.

Seeing 2086 could relate to many things: a pass-code, an address, or even the year, hence the future definition. I looked up 2086 on Wikipedia and it didn’t give me much besides that the year will be the 100th anniversary of the Chernobyl incident and the space shuttle Challenger explosion. In 2086, if I’m still alive, I will be 104. That number did not have too much significance: it’s the atomic number for Rutherfordium, a radioactive element that has a half-life span of 13 hours. In regular geometry, 104 is the smallest number of unit line segments that can exist in a plane with four of them touching at every vertex.

To my readers (the few that I have), if you have any insight please feel free to share your thoughts on what has been presented.

Who knows, maybe all of this is just plain silly. As my natural science friends would say, “Maybe a motorcycle in a dream just means you had a motorcycle in your dream.”

Real Talk

I'm sure everyone does it, but I tend to do this thing where I will be spacing off, thinking about something complex (well, at least I'd like to think it would be complex) and then I suddenly get pulled back into my current surroundings and just happen to tune in to some random conversation nearby. Like clockwork, the part of the conversation is always some unique line or phrase that makes my right eyebrow go up. What the hell were they just talking about?

Over the years, I've managed to remember infamous quotes from random strangers, acquaintances, and friends. I'm sure I'll revisit this posting and add more down the road. Below are ones that have stood out for me over the course of the past few years.

"Man, remember when we used to kill people?"
-Angry bald Latino man asking his fellow companion this question as my friend John and I are walking down Pacific Ave at 11:00pm.

"Rectum? Damn near killed him!"
-My good college friend Brandon and the punchline to a joke he could not remember.

"I am not satisfied. Peter?"
-My friend/housemate Eric finishes a meal and is still desiring something more, he says this and then points to his genitalia.

"Dude, President Bush is totally emo!"
-One college student explains to his fellow friend on a bus ride home.

"Wait, you're Republican and your daughter is a lesbian? Wow, you must really hate life."
-My student caller Katie and a parent prospect on the other end of the phone.

"Goddamn lunch mutants!"
-One of the many flavorful street citizens of Pacific Avenue.

"I'm sure humanity will go extinct relatively soon, but as long as I'm around for 2061, that's all I care about."
-Another student caller, Ashley, states, to which I ask why.
"Because England will have been around for 1000 years."
-oh, of course.

"Alright, so you have the Catholics, and there's the path that the Protestants took. But where do the Mormons fall?"
-A student in my US history class asks this to the teacher about a flow chart he created.
"Straight to Hell."
-My US history teacher replies with a stone cold face.

"Well, I was never good at history."
-The response my pseudo-stepmom Tammy gave to my dad when he asked her who won the American Civil War.

"Dad says you spoil us."
-My pseudo stepsister Christine says this to my pseudo stepmom Tammy after a visit from her dad's (Tammy's ex-husband) house.

"I don't spoil you. Well, the only way I spoil you is by giving you the love that you deserve. If that means you want to see a movie, I'll take you to that movie; if you want that dress at the mall, I'll get you that dress."

-Tammy comes back with the true definition of being spoiled.

"I really recommend making love while David Byrne is being played."
-My old coworker Rena giving me words of advice I have yet to use.

Look! It's El Perro Del Mar!

Last week I encountered a new obstacle in my life: a black Camaro. This is yet another car that parks in front of the sorority house next door to me. However, instead of parking in front of their house, it decided to park right behind my driveway where my car was. This was Friday morning. I knocked on the sorority house door and no answer; I acted cool about it and went on with the rest of my day (I took the bus to work). When I told Eric about it, he was livid and described the amount of hell he would have raised if he was parked in the driveway.

The weekend was black Camaro free, but keep in mind that Eric had parked in the driveway. Sunday night I parked there and, sure enough, Monday morning, there was the black Camaro. It wasn't parked right behind my car but at an awkward spot that did not let me maneuver out of the driveway. Again, I knocked on the door and no answer (I don't know if they are still asleep or what) so I wrote a note for the car that basically described that I can't pull out due to the position of the car. I started thinking that this Camaro was a physical representation of the antithesis of Peter: this car will not let me transport myself to where I need to be in a vehicle sense. Then I thought to myself of what other possible representations would manifest to make my day not complete.

On the bus ride to work I thought some more about what if I encounter some kind of series of unfortunate events where I wasn't able to fulfill my evening designation: seeing El Perro Del Mar in San Francisco. I thought that maybe my student supervisor for the call center wouldn't show up for the shift, some unknown illness would dawn upon me, and other various worse case scenarios. Walking into my office there was an email from Rebecca (who was my companion for the evening) and the subject line said "Duuuuuude" and I immediately became pessimisitc thinking "Uh oh, what happened that made her say Duuuuuuuude." But not the case, it was related to a voice message I left her (and her thinking I was bailing out on her).

As the day went on I felt relieved; Shawna and Stacey supplied me with great directions on the best way to get to San Francisco. Rebecca and I were out of Santa Cruz by 5:20 pm.

The car ride was fun and there wasn't really any traffic going up. The conversations were your typical Peter/Rebecca ones: what is the difference between matter and anti-matter? And what is dark matter anyway? (it's just like matter but with a good tan) And of course, if Prussia was still an existing country, what kind of economy would it have within the current European Union?

The show was at the Great American Music Hall, which was quite an impressive venue. The tickets we bought were for dinner as well. Our arrival was ahead of schedule so we went and got a beer at a nearby tacqueria and split nachos. Arriving back to the Music Hall, we found our table at the front, literally a couple of feet away from the stage (this was due to buying dinner, you get a reserved table).

Before El Perro Del Mar's performance, there were two other musicians: Thao Nguyen and Rosie Thomas. I am not quite sure how to place their style of music. Was it folk-rock or alt-country? Both were very calm music, each song had a lot of personal storytelling in them. Both setups were the singers and a male companion with a guitar. The music was not overwhelming (thank God since we were right there at the main stage!). Thao Nguyen was entertaining between songs, she mocked VH1's Storytellers, and commented on the fact that she was wearing a Hane's undershirt at the Great American Music Hall. And I'll say it, I thought she was highly attractive. There, done.
Rosie Thomas was interesting, her singing voice was absolutely amazing! It reminded me of something essential, if that's the right word; her vocals had something legendary about them. The humorous part of it all was her voice when she wasn't singing. You know when you watch a cartoon or movie where, for what ever reason, a character is shrinking and its voice is changing into that high-pitch tone? Well, that is what reminded me when Rosie Thomas spoke between songs. Every time she ended a song, she said, "Thanks very much" in that voice; I just kept grinning. She ended her performance with a cover of R.E.M.'s "To the One I Love," which was amazing.

Going back a little bit; dinner was served to us, like I said. There were only three items to choose from: Ravioli, Skirt Steak, and Chicken Breast. Rebecca went with steak and I did the chicken. Now, although having front row seats was amazing, it was slightly intimidating since we could see the singers very clearly and, therefore, they could see us very clearly. Something about cutting away at my chicken while a song was going on seemed odd. Rebecca, at one point, asked me if I was self-conscious, and I quickly agreed and she felt the same. In result, we got to-go boxes and enjoyed our wine instead.

El Perro Del Mar was preparing on stage, and I felt a slight jolt in my stomach due to the singer's presence. I was getting really excited about the soon to be performance.

Here is the 411 on El Perro Del Mar. The singer is Sarah Assbring (yes, that is her last name) and she is from Sweden. The story I read about her is that at a certain point in her life, she was at the very end of it all; maybe suicidal or just extremely depressed. She had encountered a lot of things in her life. She found herself in Spain and was on a beach one day. While viewing the beach, she saw a dog running wild along the ocean currents. This brought complete happiness to Sarah, and she found this to be a way of getting out of her current state. She took the name El Perro Del Mar (Dog of the sea, or seadog). This led to her music career. In late 2005, her album was released, but only in Europe. My friend Josh somehow downloaded it and burned me a copy back in February of 2006. It was frustrating knowing that her music was not readily accessible in America, but I felt slightly special since I had a little secret gem that many other people did not know about. I made a mix CD for Rebecca over the summer, and on it was a track by EPDM. She mentioned her interest in getting the album; I found another fan.

Fast forward to Christmas time; her album finally was released in America and almost every critic gave it great reviews (I felt slightly smug, thinking "I could have told you that 10 months ago"). In February 2007 I read that she is on tour in North America (first tour on this side of the world) and on March 12 she will be in San Francisco. Some time later Rebecca received an email from me asking about her interest in this.

Fast forward to last night. El Perro Del Mar is on stage. We saw that there was Sarah and three gentlemen as her backup band (all very Swedish looking). When the music started, it was just Sarah at the microphone with her guitar, her bandmates were not on stage yet. She opened with the song "Sad." Her voice, I feel, is very original; it's a bit haunting, and at some times, a little rough. There are some points where her voice sounds like she is extremely close to a breakdown. After Sad was played, the rest of the band came on stage and they broke into the track "Candy."

As more of the songs were played, I was incredibly impressed by her vocals and overall presence on stage. Her songs are catchy due to their simplicity, but their is much complexity behind the words. When she was singing the song "Loneliness," I felt that I wasn't hearing words coming out but instead, memories were pouring out of her body. Such lyrics as "This loneliness ain't pretty no more/This loneliness has taken the place of a friend" seemed so much more real to me when watching her sing those words. It was heartbreaking.

Most of the album was played (minus "Here Comes This Feeling," "It's All Good," and "Shake it Off"). There was a song I did not recognize, not sure if it was a new song or a cover; something about a boy and a girl. When they came back for their encore, they ended with a cover of the Velvet Underground's "I Found a Reason," which seemed fitting.
The evening came to an end and it wasn't even 11pm yet (well, ten more minutes and it would have been). We drove back to Santa Cruz ranting about how great of a performance we witnessed, commenting on one of the band member's hair and how I should try to make mine like his and how the band overall was really shy. The drive home concluded with more unique conversations like "why is the universe so esoteric?" and "is Saving Private Ryan essentially a remake of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory?" Plus, the exit to highway 17 was closed; that made things weird for a moment.

For those reading this and are not familiar with El Perro Del Mar, here is the official site and here is the myspace page where you can sample some of their songs.

Next: I need to look into the songs that El Perro Del Mar did with Jens Lekman, and why does my cat keep knocking over my little cactus plant?

Where do those doors lead?

Saturday was a good day. I had nothing really planned. When the weekend was approaching, I felt like I was going to be really busy. A couple of weeks earlier, I had received a message from my old friend/housemate Christy (who currently resides in Montana) that she was going to be in this region the weekend of the 9-11, and then last week my old friend Victor (who resides in Virginia) calls me up and says he plans on being in Santa Cruz this weekend as well. On top of all that, my friend Amy was turning 25 on Saturday and was having a barbeque at her place in the east bay area.

Christy wasn't going to be in Santa Cruz until Sunday (I will be seeing her later tonight), and Victor could only do a Friday night visit. So, that left Saturday open for Peter time, and with that time, I decided to drive up to Rodeo, where Amy resides and make a surprise cameo at her birthday get-together. It was fun, I finally met some of her friends that she keeps bragging about so it was good to put faces to the names.

I left last night so I could be back in Santa Cruz (basically so I could sleep in my own bed); this morning I was getting my day going and looked out the window that is in our living room, which is upstairs. The window looks out to the house behind us, and since we don't have curtains (I know, it's lame), we can see into every window of that house (including the living room, kitchen, and random upstair rooms). The sighting that makes us even look out into this house is the various doors that are lined up against the windows and the various walls. These are doors, not actually entries into other rooms, but the wooden sheets that fill up a doorway. They are everywhere, even in the upstair bedrooms there are various doors. I feel that there are more doors than there are doorways.

These neighbors just moved in within the last month. The people before them were college students. Since back then we did not have curtains, we could look into their setup as well. In their living room, they had a giant gnome on their wall. It was ginormous! It was a bit disturbing, especially when you're walking by the window and you glance out and there is this giant mythological being gazing at you. Mystical voyeurism I would call it.



I let my imagination run wild with this one; the house that is behind ours is a gateway to another world. The college students found a doorway that let out a gnome (a big one, some called it papa-smurf). When they moved, they let it free. I heard from other people that the students gave the gnome a choice: that he could go back through that doorway and live in the gnome world or run freely in our world. He chose the ladder; this gnome is pursuing his bachelors like he always wanted.

As for the current situation, the new neighbors have come across many of these doorways and have unhinged all the doors. Who knows what worlds they have discovered. To be honest, I don't actually ever see the new neighbors, I think they have left this world and are wandering aimlessly in these new realms, uncovering many secrets that humanity forgot about.

Happy Birthday, Emma!

To my dearest niece,

So, you have struck the big two years old, eh? It is weird to me knowing that you have experienced two years of autonomous existence on this planet. I still remember the prologue to your creation. Your father moved from California to South Korea to take a teaching job. Your mother decided a short while after his move that she should leave her place in Paris, France and move to South Korea as well. I will spare you the details, but it was quite a shock receiving a phone call from your other uncle saying that we're going to be uncles. I'll admit, I was in denial because I was thinking "who's going to be a father?" I wasn't ready to accept that a Stults helped reproduce a life, let alone, your dad being that Stults to do it.

I remember thinking that your upbringing would be a tad alternative compared to some of the other kids your age; American dad, French mom, both speaking to you in their own tongues, and to be raised in Seoul, Korea. Quite the international neice I would have.

However, that all changed. Your mother left South Korea due to some differences she had with the surroundings, and the good man that your father is, left shortly after that and moved to Paris to be with your mom.

While you were blossoming, I was quite excited about your arrival. I bragged about you to all my friends and I hadn't even met you yet. However, some relatives decided to take a more conservartive old-school Catholic mentality, and decided to not discuss you since your parents weren't married. I remember reading a certain annual letter that came out around Christmas time that mentioned your father's accomplishments in Korea but nothing about your soon to be role in all of our lives. In January your parents wed in Paris and suddenly everything was all better. I was happy for them either way.

I remember in the first week of March, I had a Thursday and Friday off (this was rare when working at the video store, my days off usually were more spread apart). So I decided to drive up to Sacramento and see your other uncle. It was kind of a last minute decision and I was a little worried since I never drove long distance in the car I had at the time (ah, the Plymouth Valiant, I would have taken you for a ride in that but I got rid of it. I'll show you pictures of it later on when you're older). I left on that Wednesday night and met up with Uncle Brett. The next morning we're watching TV and the phone rings and it's your dad telling us the news we had been waiting for the last nine months: you have entered our lives. Your existence was true.

Now, that you're well on your way creating your own personality, I am curious of what kind of path you will be taking for yourself. Will you prefer French or English? I say go with the French, it just sounds better. And maybe you won't get a certain Stults gene that will make you go to speech therapy for god knows how many years (and even afterwards, people still don't understand you). Maybe being brought up in Paris won't be that bad; you're in the heart of fashion and trends. Aside from that, so much of Western history is at your fingertips.

As your uncle, I am going to provide you with some tips for the future. When you start the whole reading process, take advantage of reading comic books. According to your father, France is accepting on reading comic books, but keep in mind, that doesn't matter; both of your uncles have been reading them since grade school. They get better, seriously. Since you're in France, you should read works by Jean Giraud, who goes by the pseudonym Moebius. Azarch, The Incal, and Le Monde d'Edena are good ones. Let me know what you think when you're done.

Plus, take advantage of cinema while you can. The French pretty much created the concept of appreciating film. Film Noir- coined by the French. The periodical, Cahiers du Cinema wrote many articles like the Film Auteur, which is how we get to appreciate certain filmmakers like Robert Altman or Stanley Kubrick. And you cannot forget French New Wave, so many films today have been inspired by this movement. Films you should watch from this: Breathless, 400 Blows, La Jetee and Last Year at Marienbrad.

Some other tips for you:
The following are words that do not exist in the English language:

Imaginate (One can imagine and one can have an imagination, but one cannot imaginate)

Injurement (no matter how confident you sound saying this word, your peers will know that you mean to say injuries, but they are nice and will not embarrass you)

Dural (basically, that noun you were describing was suppose to be durable)

When taking a class on US government, do not ask a question about whether at some point in American history has the government ever try to change the constitution or ratify any part of it because your government teacher will ask you what part of a constitutional ammendment do you not understand.

Listen to Radiohead, do your best to keep that up. I will be supplying you with mixed CDs to keep your music interests in full peak. In them you will come across some excellent music by Death Cab for Cutie, Neutral Milk Hotel, R.E.M., the Knife, Bjork, and many more. You may scratch your head about these, but I assure you, they will bring bliss to your ears.

You've got more birthdays to come, so more advice will be supplied to you but don't forget what has already been said.

With all my love,
Happy Birthday!
Uncle Peter

White Noise

I found myself in a moment of looking for something to do. In result of that, I decided to sort through the books on my shelf and figure out how I wanted to reorganize them. Do I sort them by author's last name, or simply by the title? Maybe I'll go with the shape of the book: largest to smallest. How about segmenting them by genre, and within each genre, putting them in alpha order by author's last name? Nonetheless, I did not finish my intended goal because I was caught off guard by the book White Noise. The book is written by Don DeLillo and was published in the mid 80s. I had to read it for Politics and Media, some class I took over the summer to get my social science credit taken care of while in college. The book definitely made an impact, seeing how it's one of the few that I didn't sell back at some given point.

The content of the book is a bit complex; it covers many topics and there isn't really a straight forward narrative. It focuses on a specific family, which is kind of a postmodern Brady Bunch. The father has children from various marriages and the same for the wife. So, none of the siblings carry any full blood between each other. Themes within the story are mainly about the fear of death, hysteria, and what role authority plays in society.

Below is probably my favorite piece of dialogue in the book. It's between the father and his son, who he is driving him to school:

"It's going to rain tonight," the boy said.

"It's raining right now," I said.

"The radio said tonight."

"Look at the windshield," I said. "Is that rain or isn't it?"

"I'm only telling you what they said."

"Just because it's on the radio doesn't mean we have to suspend belief in the evidence of our senses."

"Our senses? Our senses are wrong a lot more often than they're right. This has been proved in the laboratory. Don't you know about all those theorems that say nothing is what it seems? There's no past, present or future outside our own mind. The so-called laws of motion are a big hoax. Even sound can trick the mind. Just because you don't hear a sound doesn't mean it's not out there. Dogs can hear it. Other animals. And I'm sure there are sounds even dogs can't hear. But they exist in the air, in waves. Maybe they never stop. High, high, high-pitched. Coming from somewhere."

"Is it raining," I said, "or isn't it?"

"I wouldn't want to have to say."

"What if someone held a gun to your head?"

"Who, you?"

"Someone. A man in a trenchcoat and smoky glasses. He holds a gun to your head and says, 'Is it raining or isn't it? All you have to do is tell the truth and I'll put away my gun and take the next flight out of here."

"What truth does he want? Does he want the truth of someone traveling at almost the speed of light in another galaxy? Does he want the truth of someone in orbit around a neutron star? Maybe if these people could see us through a telescope we might look like we were two feet two inches tall and it might be raining yesterday instead of today."

"He's holding the gun to your head. He wants your truth."

"What good is my truth? My truth means nothing. What if this guy wuth the gun comes from a planet in a whole different solar system? What we call rain he calls soap. What we calls apples he calls rain. So what am I supposed to tell him?"

"His name is Frank J. Smalley and he comes from St. Louis."

"He wants to know if it's raining now, at this very minute?"

"Here and now. That's right."

"Is there such a thing as now? 'Now' comes and goes as soon as you say it. How can I say it's raining now if your so-called 'now' becomes 'then' as soon as I say it?"

"You said there was no past, present, or future."

"Only in our verbs. That's the only place we find it."

"Rain is a noun. Is there rain here, in this precise locality, at whatever time within the next two minutes that you choose to respond to the question?"

"If you want to talk about this precise locality while you're in a vehicle that's obviously moving, then I think that's the trouble with this discussion."

"Just give me an answer, okay?"

"The best I could do is make a guess."

"Either it's raining or it isn't," I said.

"Exactly. That's my whole point. You'd be guessing. Six of one, half dozen of the other."

"But you see it's raining."

"You see the sun moving across the sky. But is the sun moving across the sky or is the earth turning?"

"I don't accept the analogy."

"You're so sure that's rain. How do you know it's not sulfuric acid from factories across the river? How do you know it's not fallout from a war in China? You want an answer here and now. Can you prove, here and now, that this stuff is rain? How do I know that what you call rain is really rain? What is rain anyway?"

"It's the stuff that falls from the sky and gets you what is called wet."

"I'm not wet. Are you wet?"

"All right," I said. "Very good."

"No, seriously, are you wet?"

"First-rate," I told him, "a victory for uncertainty, randomness and chaos. Science's finest hour."

"Be sarcastic."

The conversation continues more into some other topics and then the father starts to describe what the boy's mother was like. Everytime I read this passage, I crack up and then start thinking. Although the boy comes across as annoying, and at first, slightly ridiculous, he somehow makes some mind-scratching points.

Of course, the point about the sun moving across the sky; any astronomer will tell you that it is the earth turning. However, many centuries ago, astronomers would have told you that the earth is the center of the universe. And it wasn't until a few centuries later that they decided the world was not flat. So, where will we be a few centuries from now?

Overall, that slice of dialogue makes me not take everything so seriously. When I get ready for work in the morning, I won't let the bad weather bother me. Besides, what is rain anyway?