| A Mind Meandaring |
| Random thoughts and musings |
| note: The above is what we like to call an incoherent ramble, and thus should make very little sense to anyone who has a complete load of bricks and tight screws....so it makes perfect sense to me. |
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| Do You like apples? Yeah me too |
| Heartbroken that you may have missed one of my rantings? First of all, why? Secondly, Check here for super old or here for kinda old or new old |
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| June 1, 2004 And so I scratch my head Last night I spent a completely useless two hours watching the special "The One that Got Away", the lastest bit of "reality" fodder. I'll be honest, I've never been much of a fan of the whole "reality" craze, I'll admit to watching "the Real World" in the early years, and I do have a mild obsession with both "The Apprentice" and "Queer Eye", but aside from that I think the whole thing is overkill. The premise of last night's show brought together one guy and seven women whom he had either dated or had close relationships with in the past, forcing him to choose one to form a relationship with, or perhaps a second relationship with. So here's the thing that makes me wonder about this show and all those others, "The Bachelor/ette", "Who Wants to Marry My Dad?", "For Love or Money", ad naseum; how can anyone in their right mind make important life decisions based on a television show? Don't people think for themselves anymore? Seriously, am I the only one that finds it frightening that so many people clamor to be on these shows, exchanging free will and the authority to make their own life choices for notoriety and just the thought of being on television? I can't even fathom it, why would you do that? Maybe I'm too independent and stubborn, but I can't imagine what could make someone submit so entirely to the control of a director, a network, and a group of producers? Attempting to begin and pursue a relationship with someone you don't know because these people say so, and fighting and competing with others for the "love" of said stranger, or searching for a relationship amidst a group of strangers deemed appropriate for you by the powers that be, with their main selection criteria no doubt being telegenics. It's ludicrous. And it's not just a loss of authority over your own choices, there's also the possibility of losing control of your image and public perception. Maybe it's with just cause, or maybe it's arbitrary, but there's always someone cast as the bitch, the golddigger, the emotional basketcase, or the villain, it's principles of media theory, good entertainment has obstacles, challenges, emotion, whether or not they're "real" or constructed makes no difference. It just makes me sad, because you know that there is the occasional person that goes on these shows, not hoping to break into Hollywood, but wholeheartedly invested in the claims of the show. That's the saddest thing, knowing that watching these people get their hearts broken is meant to be entertaining. The show that traffics most in this style is "The Swan", preying on the insecurities and poor self-images of the women, proclaiming their intense emotion and self-loathing entertaining. This show degrades and humiliates women for not fitting into some ideal and unrealistic mold, and simultaneously uses their desparation and sincerity as a form of sick and mocking entertainment for the equally imperfect masses. It's disgusting. Disgusting and sad. Sad that people can so willingly submit themselves to being used and manipulated in such ways. Sad that everytime you turn around the networks have come up with some new way to exploit people. Sad that money and fame outweigh self respect. The contestants that are the most blantant about their reasons for participating, who vocalize their Hollywood ambitions or quest for a rich husband are often the most criticized, but it would seem that they're the smartest. At least they're using the system as the system uses them, it may be shameless and opportunistic, but at least their eyes are open, at least they understand the extent to which they're being used. The networks are out for ratings and sponsorship, they don't get their jollies by playing matchmaker, bestowing cosmetic surgery on "ugly ducklings" doesn't give them the warm fuzzies, it's about the bottomline. As long as the ratings are high, they don't care if it ends in an engagement or a cat fight, unless of course they can capitalize on televising the wedding too. It's madness I tell you. Crazy, Crazy, Crazy. Here's my piece of advice to you, it may seem like common sense, but nowadays you never know: Don't let a television show dictate your important life decisions. If you meet someone on the set of a reality television show, and go on a date or two just the two of you, two camermen and the sound guy, know each other for about a month, during which time you've probably never actually been alone together, then decide to get married because it's between getting engaged to this one or another one, and this one seems nicer, or is a better kisser, or they won the coin toss, or whatever...you know I hate to be overly analytical, and I am a tremendously optimistic person, but I gotta say, it's probably not going to work out. I don't want to crush your hopes and dreams, but do you even know their last name? I Didn't think so. |
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| June 5, 2004 A One-Sided Conversation Week ten on the horizon, two ten pages papers due Thursday, one on Monday, so naturally I'm practicing the fine art of anti-productiveness. Been sitting here in the dark, drinking the tea, and reading over the past year's entries, very interesting. It's been another interesting year, at least from where I sit, I don't know about you. Frankly, I always find it strange when people say they read this, it can be so random at times, and so emotion soaked at others. I know that it's meant to be my journey of self discovery, or some such cliche, but I'm not always sure what anyone else gets out of reading it. It's been an interesting few years, dramatic and turbulent at times, and usually I've turned to this little place to try to sort it all out, bad and good. And as I've read through it all tonight, laughing, a tear or two, I can't help but wonder what you think when you read it. How crazy, random, and melodramatic it all must seem, completely without reason or importance in the grand scheme of things. I can only imagine the impression that it creates of me, and what it leads you to think. But frankly I don't give a damn. So I get lost and confused, I laugh, I bitch, I cry, I tell random stories for no apparent reason, I muddle my way through as I try to figure it all out. But so do you. The odd thing about this whole thing is you can know when I'm happy or sad or all riled up, you can even find out the hows and whys without ever actually talking to or being with me. You can know the random things, like when I'm sitting in my car and all my favorite radio stations go to commercial, I flip over to AM, and when the car fills with the familiar sounds of old standards I feel like I'm living in an old movie, and I drive on "with a wink and a smile." You can know that two weeks to go and still nothing on the horizon and I'm not worried or scared, and honestly crossing the stage on that day that the last four years have been leading up to doesn't seem all that important in light of everything that's come before and everything that goes with the end of an era. If you pay attention you can pretty much figure it all out without ever actually seeing or truly knowing me. Strange this virtual age, it's like a one-sided conversation. It seems a little unfair, but I guess that's the choice we've made--or the choice that boredom has made for us. Pushy little beast that boredom. |
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| June 6, 2004 Mr. Right Since I turned 21 my mom has mentioned several times that she was married by the time she was my age, on my most recent birthday she happened to mention that when she was 22, she was pregant with me. Talking on the phone yesterday with Allison about high school friends getting married, and others having kids, she asks me when's it going to be me. Today at the mall, between gossiping about this and that, and pressing our noses against the jewelry store window, Suje asks the same thing. So apparently the general consensus is that I should get married, even though to me it seems to be quite unlikely to happen in the forseeable future. You know I got a lot of stuff to do, I don't really have time to be out there looking for the perfect guy and picking out china patterns. With that in mind, here's what I propose, I'll do my thing, and you all, my friends and faithful viewers can do the looking. That ought to bring the timeline enough under ten years for you, right? Ok, so here's the guy you're looking for: - The two most important qualities a guy can have are a good heart and a good mind - He needs to be smart and funny - He's family-oriented - Open-minded and somewhat of a liberal thinker, but conservative enough to get my parents approval and not freak me out - Is patient and kind, but has a strong will and a backbone, I can't respect someone who doesn't stand up for themselves or speak their mind, or is someone I can walk right over - Will fight with me and for me - Wears a suit more often than not- there's nothing sexier than a man in a suit, except maybe firemen ;) - Doesn't smoke, and doesn't drink to excess - Knows the difference between being a guy and being a man - Is taller than me, preferrably at least three inches - Challenges me - Is confident, but not cocky - Isn't afraid of emotion, his own or others - Makes me laugh - Isn't afraid to try new things, and encourages me to do so also - Is good to my friends - I've always been partial to the brunettes, but we don't discriminate here - Believes in a higher power, but isn't a zealot - Does his best to not be judgmental - Does his best, in all things - Is a grown up, but still has fun like a little kid - Accent and/or dimples are always a plus - Will take care of me, and won't be threatened by my need to take care of him - Is handy and fixes things - Believes in "Just Because" - Asks for directions, and admits when he needs help - Isn't intimidated by my dad and brothers, at least not after awhile - Puts the seat down - Isn't perfect, perfect is boring - Is a romantic, a giant sappy romantic - Understands me, complicated and contradictory though I may be - Makes me a better person So I got a little carried away, but now that you're well informed, you can go forth and find the perfect guy for me. And quit asking me when I'm going to get married, for the love of St. Pete, I'm only 22. Enough of this diversion, back to the papers! |
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| June 15, 2004-2am Just back from my final program of the year, possibly final program ever, crazy. Got this funny IM from my best friend, "I once had a dream I lived in this strange little town called Hemet and became friends with some girl who wore glasses. Then a short man (maybe a dwarf or midget) gave her a chocolate turkey which melted in her backpack...... weird huh?" Weird because it's true...mostly. It's been so long since I thought about that, that was like a hundred years ago. So long story short, we are from a strange litte town called Hemet, she was friends with some girl who wore glasses, me...and there was a short man who gave me a hallow chocolate turkey, apparently he was in love with me, or what passes for love in fifth grade. Ok, short story longer...fifth grade, this kid decides he's in love with me, and with the aid of my mother and another friend concocts an elaborate plan to woo me, as it were. So there's passing of gifts and notes, which all "mysteriously" end up at my house, on my pillow, somewhere in my room, my backpack, etc. Even though I told both my mother and my friend that I didn't like this guy and didn't like receiving gifts from him, it continued...oh, the deception. Also, by this point I had started to hit my growth spurt and was about 5'5", while the guy had yet to reach 5'. My mom thought the whole thing was so damn cute, you can bet she saw the business end of my irish temper (inherited from her of course) after that little episode. Thus began my distaste for conspiracies and plots (not contrived by me), as well as guys who can't be straightforward and entice your friends and mother into a web of lies, deceit and chocolate turkeys. Looking back on it now, I suppose it was kind of cute (when it wasn't completely irritating), even if the fifth grade me was having none of it. In fact, I wouldn't mind that kind of thing today, I think it's sweet, as long as it's not creepy, and there's no conspiracy...or fowl shaped chocolates. As for that guy I hear he's a cop now, and probably still a good bit shorter than I am. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * And now for something completely different...... I'm done!! No more papers!! No more finals!! Just me and the future, baby!! Note: to those who marvel at the fact that I'm not the slightest bit worried or freaked out--I'm a lot more optimistic than you give me credit for people...it's a bum rap I tell ya! |
| July 10, 2003 So all of a sudden it's a month later, funny how that happens. Let's see, what's happened between then and now...? Finals week... I had no finals...next? Graduation Day... Up until the day I picked up my cap and gown, and got a little giddy, I was feeling a little blase about that whole graduation thing. It seemed a little anticlimactic after four years of less than hard work and a whole mess of other stuff, just one final thing on the 'ol UCI to do list. I figured I was past the whole ceremonial, pomp and circumstance shebang, but once I slipped on that cap and gown it was a whole 'nother story. Having trouble finding anyone to share in my excitement, I decided to take off the cap and gown and wait until the actual day. On the day, still excited, minus the packing, and I only got misty twice during the ceremony, so that was something...Cookie's ceremony doesn't count...I'm such a girl. Move Out... A load home during finals week, my brothers packing everything into the NanaVan on Graduation morning, and after my ceremony and Cookstie's, one last load and saying bye to TessaHo. Aside from the fact that I had four years of stuff to move, it wasn't a hard move, I wasn't all that sentimental about leaving AV. By midnight graduation night, I was home. Hemet... |
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| August 18, 2004 The Toothpaste Condom Still undecided if this should continue, or if there's even anything worth saying anymore...been steadily balancing busy with bored for the last month, which doesn't leave much time for random adventures or any adventures at all. But while I ponder the future of this old site, I will leave you with something that has been brewing in the back of that slightly off place we call my mind.... Back when I lived in luxury in the land of satellite TV, I kept seeing the same commercial, and now that I live in limbo, without cable or internet, that commercial still comes to mind fairly often. It's the one where they're singing and dancing on the subway, excited about this toothpaste/brush finger sleeve thing. Maybe it's the way my mind works, but it puts me in mind of something else entirely....maybe it's the whole "rip, slip" concept, with accompanying hand motions. Or, maybe I just need to get out more. |
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| August 23, 2004 This entry has no point. My area code changed to 951. I am in my office at 8 o'clock at night for no apparent reason, and I still have no decorations on the wall. It's been a month and the walls of my place are empty as well. I have no car, no tv, no internet access, but it's really not that bad, I can entertain myself. My shadow puppets have really improved. They might be better if I had a lamp, but the nightlight on the glade plug-in in the bathroom, the one with the extra outlet, works pretty well, it casts nice soft figures on the shower curtain. And really what more could you ask for in life? Who needs transportation, hundreds of channels, immediate access to world news and friendly gossip, or Chili's boneless buffalo chicken salad, when you've got shadow puppets dancing lithely on a striped vinyl shower curtain with the scent of the rainforest filling the room, all thanks to a special little contraption that doesn't block my outlets. It's like a little miracle. Is there anything better? |
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| September 4, 2004 Last night, as happens now and then, I went out to dinner with Ray. After one of the stops we made, as I hit the keylock and we piled in, he turned to me and said, "that's another good thing about your new car...the keyless entry, I don't have to stand by while you feel the need to unlock my door first, I died a little each time." Then, I don't recall which one of us said it first, but the word "emasculating" entered the picture. I was fairly taken aback by this because: 1. I don't see it as emasculating, that certainly wasn't my intent. I see it as a common courtesy, guys open doors for me, why can't I do the same? And 2. Of all the guys I know, Ray's probably the most secure in his masculinity, which leads me to wonder how many fragile male egos I've unknowingly bruised while trying to be thoughtful. But to hell with that, it's the 21st century, if I want to be thoughtful and egalitarian, then I will, egos be damned. Which is just what I decided later that night as I loosened the top on a jar before handing it to him, partly to be helpful, but mostly to push his fragile little buttons, because that's what friendship is all about after all. Put your machismo on alert boys. ;) |
| October 6, 2004 Yesterday I had a lunch meeting at a restaurant that I never really go to. I usually avoid this place because it's usually busy, the food's nothing special, and it's way too over-priced for a place where you order at a counter. At any rate, we went, we ordered, we waited, and waited and waited. When my order came out, it was wrong, so I waited some more. Finally I had to go back to work for another meeting, so we went up to the aforementioned counter and asked when and if my order was ready could I have it to go. Eventually, there was food, and to apologize they gave me a $20 gift certificate. Now, despite the fact that it's not somewhere I would go given the choice, and the poor service, and whole overpriced thing, I have to go back. Pretty sneaky, this whole gift certificate thing, it's like free money, but not. Very clever. |
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| October 12, 2004 It's a strange thing to face your demons head on, in the front seat of a bus full of 50 people you're responsible for, winding its way up dangerous mountain roads in the dark. Strange to be terrified of a drive. The last time I was in Big Bear was four years ago for my Grandfather's wedding, the last time I was on that highway was nearly eight years ago, on the day before my Grandmother's funeral, watching my uncle put up a white cross at the site of the accident. That was all I could think about as I sat on the bus, my knees to my chest, watching out the huge windshield as the bus narrowly missed the mountain by an inch or two with each curve of the road. On Saturday night, after all our official retreat activities were over, I went to visit my Grandfather. The house looked completely different, they'd painted it, landscaped the yards, planted a garden, added an exterior staircase to the second floor patio. Inside as well, nothing was the same. As I looked around at the house where all her things had once been, it occured to me that at that moment the only thing there of hers was me. Talking to my Grandfather, watching him play songs he'd written on the piano that had never been there before, looking at the pictures of the classic cars he's taken up buying and selling, I realized he was happy. Thinking about how devastated he'd been after she was gone, I was glad to see him happy, but it broke my heart just the same to know that he is happy without her. Luckily I was allergic to whatever wood they were burning, so the watery eyes, runny nose, and wheezy voice brought on by the allergy hid the fact that I'd been crying since the moment I stepped inside the door. I never imagined that it would be that hard, that after all these years the hurt would still be so raw. Maybe I should have gone up there a long time ago, maybe it would hurt less now if I had. But I think it would have only been much harder then. Loss is a strange thing, I don't think you can ever get over the sense that something has been taken from you. It's a selfish emotion, grief. It clings to you, reminding you at odd moments of the things that you've lost, and the moments that you'll never have. Sometimes driving back late from Hemet, instead of taking the desolate backroads, I take the longer, safer route through more populated areas, passing along the way the cemetery where two of my grandparents are buried. My Grandfather Clark died of a heart attack the February before my 2nd birthday, my younger brother was born the next day. And although I only know him through the memory of others, I still get tears in mine eyes when I drive past the cemetery or when my older cousins talk about him, I can't help feeling sad about the things that I never had the chance to do or say, guilty that I can't remember the man I'm told I idolized. I can't help but feel ridiculous and weak for still feeling this way after all this time. Feel likes a traitorous afront to all my posturing of strength and my ability to take care of myself. But when it comes down to it, nobody's perfect, least of all me, and if sometimes I cry, or want to scream, or find myself trapped on a bus, freaked out, and struggling for composure, it's not about giving into weakness or not being strong enough to handle the hurt that will not doubt always be around, it's about taking reassurance in the fact that there's still love. I suppose grief is more than a selfish longing for what is lost or never will be, it's more an enduring reminder of our capacity to remember and to love, that no matter why or for how long the grief lasts or however life changes, the love for those people will always remain untouched, no matter how many other people you bring into your heart. And no matter the pain and grief associated with it, it's never a weakness to love. |
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| October 13, 2004 Congratulations to whomever visited this page on October 12, in the 6pm hour, you are our 1500th viewer!!! For such a stupendous achievement, you've won dinner at an over-priced Italian restaurant where you order at counter, not to exceed twenty dollars! Congratulations from the website that rewards psuedo-obsessive checking-in. Please see the management for your prize. This offer void if we haven't spoken in a month, better luck next time. |
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| October 15, 2004 The Ice Queen A couple of weeks ago, I was talking with a friend, about what...I don't remember, but I remember her saying something to the effect of, "...and you're not all that comfortable with physical contact to begin with." It seemed such an odd thing to say, and she said it so matter-of-factly, like it was common knowledge.....the sky is blue, China has a developing economy, and oh yeah, Kristen doesn't like to be touched. Worrisome. Today someone asked me, "so how do you feel about hugs?", in a manner that suggested it's apparently obvious to everyone that I'm not comfortable with physical contact, apparently there's a sign somewhere, or maybe it's on my business cards, who knows. What bothers me more is that I had to think about it. In my normal (apparently cold hearted) analytical way, I determined that I have strict criteria, I'm only comfortable with certain kinds of hugs from certain kinds of people. So not only am I frigid, I'm prejudicial as well...things just keeping looking better for me. But seriously, so I'm not comfortable being hugged by people I don't know that well, and I don't like that assault type hug, where it's like an ambush, people just come out of nowhere with all this enthusiam and they just grab you, that's not unreasonable. Call me puritanical, but I like to know it's coming, I like to be prepared, I like to have an understand of why that person is hugging me, and call me crazy, but I like to want to be hugged in the first place. And of course, I like to have enough time to put on my protective gear.... I can see why people would get the impression that I don't like being touched...but it's not that I don't like being hugged or that I'm not an affectionate person, it's more that I'm not all that accustomed to it, it's not something that I really expect. To a certain extent it's about whether or not I'm comfortable with that person, but it has more to do with me not being comfortable with myself. It's not a huge secret that I've lived most of my life with a quiet loathing of myself and my body. For the longest time I hid myself away, I didn't like to draw attention to myself, and as a result the only people I ever really interacted with or was comfortable around were my parents and my brothers. All of which was of course oh so healthy, and made me in turn suspicious, scared of, and uncomfortable around people, especially people who felt the need to breach my personal space without the necessary approval. You can grow up, have a job, make car payments, actually learn to speak in the presence of others, but I guess it takes longer to be truly comfortable with yourself, to grow accustomed to and not be self-concious about having people in your personal space, and to accept the fact that they might actually want to be there. All of which either confirms that fact that I'm profoundly screwed up or is really depressing...of course in cases like these it's usually both. You should think of something nice to offset that...babies, puppies, big screen tv...ahhhh...so nice. |
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| November 9, 2004 Monthly Dose of Randomness So I've spent my limited free time in the last few weeks watching the entire "Alias" collection, and I'm struck by two things. One, whoever writes that show has some serious issues with women. The show has been on for three seasons, and in that time there have been at least five storylines where women have married or become intimately involved with a male character/CIA agent, only to turn out to be traitorous enemy agents stealing government secrets with pillow talk and feminine wiles. It really makes you wonder how badly some women worked over that writer, it most have been a heinous betrayal because that guy has some serious trust issues when it comes to women. Still, a part of me, the cynical part, wonders whether or not the devisiveness of the other female characters is an intentional plot device meant to counteract the strength of the female lead. The portrayal of women as two-faced, unscrupulous, and ultimately treacherous definitely overshadows and devalues the position of the central female character. Her strength and integrity is belied by the betrayal of every other female on the show, so much so that it completely negates whatever pro-feminist banner it's supposed to be waving. Which makes me wonder if there was ever a banner to begin with, or if it's more the case of male production team creates a show with a hot spy chick who kicks a lot of ass, and there are other women, but it doesn't matter if they're good or evil, as long as they're hot and they fight each other a lot. Maybe this show was created by teenage guys with overactive fantasy lives, that would explain all the hair colors and costume changes. Whatever the reason it's one step forward, two steps back for feminism...damn the man. So that was One...Two, all this much too analytical thinking gave me a yen for my film classes, and I had an itch to write a paper about gender issues and the devaluing of women on shows with female leads (taking it all the way back to Lucy-that domineering Ricky was always breaking her spirit and demoralizing her...the bastard). Then of course I cringed and remembered that I'm so glad I don't have classes anymore, it's so good. On a completely different note- I got my name plate for my office today, no longer the red-headed step child, I'm finally legitimate (for the time being)! I was pointing it out to people randomly throughout the day, what can I say it was very exciting, even more exciting than brightly colored post-it notes, if that's even possible. |
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| January 9, 2005 2005? When did that happen? Weren't we just out buying gas powered generators and enough granola bars to survive the Y2K apocalaypse? Crazy, we're just about halfway through the aughts, and what aughts they were. Nine days in, 2005 is looking pretty good as well. I still have a job, which means I still have a place to live, as well as the money to make the payments on my car, my sweet baby that I would bring out of this pounding rain if only I could fit it through the damn door. I now have cable, which simple as it seems, excites me to no end. I spent the earliest moments of the new year in one of my favorite places and the happiest place on earth, with two of my oldest friends, who in six months time I'll brave dress, heels, and my fear of public speeaking for to raise a toast in honor of their wedding. In March I'll make my way to Ireland, and finally answer the call I've heard in my soul since I've been old enough to listen. I've been getting a lot of attention these days, and there's been a guy or two that's caught my pretty green eye...hot irish guys, here I come...just kidding, maybe. It's rained all weekend, which is of course my weather of choice, nothing like two days of snuggling up with deliciously pointless books, getting caught up in the same movies I've seen a hundred times, and occasionally dancing around the house in my pajamas. Life is good. The rain continues to come down in steady sheets, tap dancing on my roof, and as I watch it ply its gentle assault on the parking lot I call my backyard, I can't help but smile. It makes me happy, always has, no doubt due in part to it lending complete acceptibility to a cloistered weekend of a little guilty pleasure reading and twirling across the kitchen tiles with a sense of rhythm that is uniquely my own. Still, it's more than that, to me rain has always been about cleansing, a new beginning. And what better way to start a new year, especially a year that already holds such promise? I've come to think of rain as a tangible expression of hope; it cleanses, clearing away the destruction and pain, encourages growth, and even after the rain is gone, the hope is carried on in the beauty that remains. Wow, that's a whole lot of idealism coming from me, I should head off to bed before my cherised embittered, cynical soul turns to dust in the face of all this sunshine, thus throwing the delicate balance of good and evil into hopeless turmoil, and setting the world on a course of destruction that will be generations in the recovering... ah, now that's more like it. Happy 2005 everybody! |