for your enjoyment. but mainly for my boredom.

understanding.

2011-02-21T00:56:00.000-08:00

i'm not mad at her. i'm mad at myself.

all the signs i missed. all the mistakes i made.

how eager and overwhelmingly full of yearning and love i am, while lacking the savvy to control them.

i've been so quiet for so long; so hesitant in my affection that now it seems any contact and any promise of it is enough to reduce me to shrapnel, carelessly strewn over whomsoever mistakenly pulled the ring.

i don't know how to love properly.

i didn't used to think there was such a method.

i used to wear my heart on my sleeve with pride.

the fact that i could love so much, so easily, was both agonizing and binding to the sole purpose of my being.

i love so much sometimes i can't stand it.

at any sign of pain in another - any living thing - no matter how unfamiliar, that pain becomes my own and i want to rip my heart out of my chest.

let it pour out with the tears that fall at solitude's first chance.

in some way, i think, i hope that by loving this way, aching this way, i help put them at ease - that it all quietly becomes diluted, and they're relieved.

i remind myself that no matter how compassionate i may feel, i'm experiencing just a shadow of the circumstances' truest form.

but my own pain remains my own.

i keep it in my chest, feel it grow, beg for release.

but i keep it there.

i don't know why i do it.

maybe to protect others.

maybe to protect myself.

from what?

so i can love others, but no one can love me?

i'm a voyeur.

a predator.

i admire, but am ashamed to be looked at.

i prefer to savor things, people, but refuse to be touched.

too close and i pull back.

with Angela.

with family

friends.

no one can get too close.

even with [a certain someone], with all this talk of bitterness because i tried to open up to her, i know i was at fault.

i didn't really try.

not really.

i'm afraid of myself.

of what i'm capable of being, doing.

finding out what i'm incapable of being, doing.

it's why my writing's suffering, why my music and swimming stopped improving.

i'm afraid of myself.

she tried to talk about buildings.

i replied stupidly. vaguely.

even when i knew that all i think about is buildings.

secret compartments filled with hundreds of thousands of stories and thoughts i've never heard, will never hear.

entire lives, histories, undoubtedly knowing of pain and joy i've never appreciated, might never meet.

you said buildings amaze you because they were made by men; hands crafted those walls, drafted those plans.

made.

they amaze me because, after creating them, men also filled them with stories.

left marks that followers may never notice, but bear a signature; a sign of entire lives that existed there, just for a second.

a relic.

i know all about buildings.

that's all i wanted to say.

but i was scared.

scared of sounding contrived, unworthy.

of sharing thoughts i've never shared before.

i should have with you.

you would've understood.

you shivered in the night, even though you were under the covers.

without thinking, i went and grabbed another blanket, slipped it over you.

this, coupled with how you moved to my side while i was away, hesitated as i awkwardly hung halfway off the mattress, now i know that you wanted me to hold you.

touch you.

be together.

but i wasn't thinking.

or i was thinking too much.

i was too afraid to be that close.

because somehow i've convinced myself that no one would or should want to be that close to me.

i want to love, but i don't know how.

not explicitly.

my words always get lost.

my actions always restrained.

i only know how to admire.

i admire you.

i'm sorry.

spoon dream.

2011-02-21T00:34:00.000-08:00

drunk. pardon me. an old journal entry. in my quest for catharsis and final release, i've decided to put this out there in a more permanent, however personal, space. get it out.

We're in my car at night, driving along the PCH. After several prolonged moments of hesitation, I finally reach over and take your hand. To my surprise, you return the favor, lace our fingers, place them in your lap. Your other hand caresses mine, and the warmth spreads all over.

I smile.

You smile.

Lean in and kiss me on the cheek.

Neck.

At a red light I turn to you. We kiss.

A car honks.

Several times.

Finally, we come to and start driving again.

My hand is still on your thigh, holding.

Not too firm, just enough to savor it.

But you take it and move it closer.

Up.

You start kissing my neck again.

I can barely focus on the road.

My hand moves.

Freely.

Up.

Down.

Soaking in every inch it can.

Even closer.

You sigh.

It warms my neck.

I sigh, too.

And now your hand is touching me.

I almost veer off the road and you laugh, lightly.

I feel it. It echoes.

You whisper, "Pull over."

There's light traffic and no shoulder; I have to wait for the next beach-front parking lot.

As soon as I push the gear to Park, we're kissing again.

Touching again.

All over.

You start moving over to my side.

Gradually, at first, finally pouring yourself into me.

and then you climb, gripping onto my shoulders, the back of my neck.

Everywhere.

Suddenly, you're on top.

Clumsily, I find my seat lever and lean back.

But I want to be on top.

To pour myself into you.

I straighten.

You hold me closer.

I accidentally press you into the horn, which goes off.

We laugh.

"This is a little cramped," you say. I agree.

I tell you, however anxiously, that the backseat collapses; not meaning to be presumptuous.

You smile, peck me on the cheek, and carefully cross back over.

Hastily, I get out of the car and throw the backdoor open, throwing the backseat down and climbing inside.

I rearrange things; I wasn't expecting a backseat visitor.

You laugh again, join me, put me at ease.

We meet in the middle again.

Move again.

Freer.

I feel all of you.

I give you all of me.

I want you so much, even that millimeter of fabric between us is suffocating. Restricting.

We remove every barrier, piece by piece.

Every sensation grabs me; I can feel every molecule in my body, restless.

I become overwhelmed.

By how much I want to feel you, how much I'm feeling, how much I want to give to you.

I shake.

You think I'm cold.

You hold me even closer, tighter.

Every time I feel your breath, I'm reminded of how alive you are, how grateful I am for the Big Bang that made you, brought you to me. Here, now.

I almost don't want to finish.

I could be happy feeling like this forever.

Feeling you like this.

But I know that if we don't, I might explode.

And we'd be missing the joy in every beginning.

So when you exhale one last sigh, grip me tightly and release, we finish.

I stay on top a little longer, feeling safe in your arms, between your legs, everything together.

Your eyes are closed as I kiss your neck, ear, everything within reach.

I rest my head on your chest for a few moments, feeling your heart. The rise and fall.

I kiss your stomach.

Caress everything so delicately, afraid of disturbing even the smallest atom of your perfect design.

I carefully move to the side - I'm not sure if you're asleep.

I rest an arm across your belly, the other supports your head.

You open your eyes, look at me, smile.

I kiss your smile, it kisses back.

We're naked, no blanket in sight, but I'm warm.

You turn over so we're spooning.

Your head rests right on my shoulder, you lace your fingers with mine and hold my hand on your stomach, my other arm you hold across your chest.

I breathe you in.

And we talk.

Everything I've never told anyone before, and the same goes for you.

I share thoughts I normally would've been too ashamed to confess.

We sleep awhile.

It's raining.

reading.

2010-12-24T20:31:00.000-08:00

it's winter break, meaning i have way too much free time on my hands.

going out of my mind.

resolved to branch out and start reading for fun again.

starting with German lit.

i'm really falling in love with Rainer Maria Rilke, and i thought i'd share some of my favorite bits:

Entering

Whoever you may be: step into the evening.
Step out of the room where everything is known.
Whoever you are,
your house is the last before the far-off.
With your eyes, which are almost too tired
to free themselves from the familiar,
you slowly take one black tree and set it against the sky: slender, alone.
And you have made a world.
It is big
and like a word, still ripening in silence.
And though your mind would fabricate its meaning,
your eyes tenderly let go of what they see.

Lifting My Eyes

Lifting my eyes from the book, from the
tightly sequenced lines
to the full and perfect night:
Oh how like the stars my buried feelings
break free,
as if a bouquet of wildflowers
had come untied:

The upswing of the light ones, the bowing sway of the heavy ones
and the delicate ones' timid curve.
Everywhere joy in relation and nowhere
grasping;
world in abundance and earth enough.

it looks as though that time-honored tradition of accidentally and melodramatically reading books that go along with whatever post-adolescent/adolescent experiences i'm going through.

all i want to do is set out and write well.

too see and create.

give back.

set out, run away.

be me.

the only thing that's stopping me, i know, is myself.

i need to finally grow up and prepare myself for doing the things that make me happy.

i don't ask for much.

2010-12-11T20:50:00.001-08:00

i wake up first.

i'm standing under the running shower head, soaking in the night before.

the door creaks open and you quietly close it again.

gently pull the curtain back and stand behind me.

you put your arms around my waist and press yourself into my back.

kiss my neck.

and we just stand there for a little while.

the night hasn't ended yet.

i turn to face you, kiss you.

i touch your face and your body.

"I'm blind without my glasses," i say, "I can't see you, but you feel beautiful."

i become a little embarrassed by this confession, but you put your hands behind my head, stroke my hair with your long fingers, and pull me into another kiss.

not too long.

just right.

and we stand there, holding each other.

fessing up.

2010-12-07T10:50:00.000-08:00

i don't want to become my mother, a fearsome, broken vessel with only the shards of regret held together by anger and resentment to build her frame.

she wanted to be an artist.

to run away and become the person she always wanted to be.

but she was denied these things.

for so long, her entire being was crafted for her, forged in tradition by her parents' hands.

she went on to finally - so she thought - find escape.

but the world she came to was just as cruel and withholding as the one she left.

she had to trade her passion in for pragmatism.

raise her girls to succeed in the lives she knew and feared they would grow to hate as much as she did hers.

pass on the legacies of duty and practicality.

train them to be as realistic and prepared as she was forced to become.

but she failed.

underneath all those talks of what was right and real and attainable were whispers of an unforgotten, unforgettably passionate and angry past.

we heard the whispers.

soaked them up like sponges, more than we could ever do with the shrill call of reality.

we became passionate, too.

angry with the system that broke our mother and took her in.

i want to be an artist.

i want to say the things my mother never got to paint.

i want to prove to her and to all the nay sayers that the most real and most practical thing we can do is to have passion and to act on it.

to be the selves we were always meant to be.

to outweigh the anger with happiness and love and sincerity.

to stop breaking ourselves and to create and commit to the selves that hide, secretly, underneath all of the fear and doubt.

i don't want to be my mother as she is.

i want to be me and provide some ounce of comfort to the woman with night terrors.

i want to turn her nightmares into dreams and dreams into reality.

i want to give that secret self of hers a sense of solace.

and a voice.

going back.

2010-12-07T10:28:00.000-08:00

the older i get, the more people i meet, the more i find out how much i've been missing out on.

i find myself reading and rereading old childhood gems that went ignored in my mother's effort to fashion 3 grown-up women out of her own regrets: a method that inadvertently let me forget to grow.

so now when i read Rowling or Silverstein or Juster, i'm learning more - or about the same - from them as i have from my fledgling adulthood or the presumptuously Big World i was once convinced had all the answers to all the questions i could ever have.

but the truth is, i'm coming to find that i haven't been asking the right questions or the most honest ones.

or any, even.

for so long my truest voice has gone unheared and unused, drowned out by that wful din of other voices - borrowed voices - that for too long spoke for me.

so now i'm constructing my own Neverland: walls built high to keep it untainted and unchecked and my own.

to guard the foundations of unconditional love and generosity and curiosity and hope and courage and the unyielding promise for change and growth that can come by taking the time to enjoy the simple pleasures of quiet nights or flapping sails or leaves that brown in fall.

all these things get lost in translation, between the jump from brief childhood innocence to supposed budding and predtermined adulthood.

all too often i see that missing glint in the eyes of passersby, jaded friends and family who, having long since passed that age of wonder, have lost that purity and strength of heart that got them here in the first place.

i wouldn't say that i'm a bad person, or an idealistic one, and i'd like to think that i'm kind and gentle, but i would also add that i'm unwise and unlearned, and the more i see those faded or absent sparks, the more i want to find out where they went.

have i lost m ine?

can you lose something you're not sure you ever had?

i'm on a quest now for my own Rhyme and Reason, to discover my own glint and help return those missing to the eyes of their desperate and rightful owners.

the fact of the matter is, though, i'm not a child.

a full recovery of what's been missing is now intermingled with the grown-up experiences - few as they are - that i've been able to collect.

so now, interspersed with mentions of spellbooks and giving trees and trusty watchdogs are cigarettes, red cups, and faulty relationships.

the point here - the upside to all of this - is that i'm learning on my own.

i'm growing.

changing.

finding and using my own voice to say things like, "No," or, "I'll give it a try."

in attempting to fashion my own person - my own beginnings, because this really is my beginning - with the pages of presumably childish fare, and the erratic events and experiences that are forging my adulthood, i am building something new, fine, and, to an extent, pure.

i'm creating me.

it gets better.

2010-12-07T10:08:00.001-08:00

i wrote this as something of a treatment/narration for a short video idea that was inspired by Dan Savage's "It Gets Better" project.

it's set to Broken Social Scene's "Pitter Patter Goes My Heart" and is intended to play over a montage of various animated sequences as well as snippets of live-action shots.

Pitter patter goes my heart when I get too close now.

Closer than I've ever been.

Because this distance between me and her, you and me, is the smallest I've ever let it be.

It's been broken before.

Once, twice.

Probably more than I even know.

It was born broken, I supposed, because it loved the wrong things, the wrong people, too much.

So it couldn't love me.

But there was never really hate in it, as much as I used to think.

Just too much bad love that no one - not even me - could understand.

It was full of longing.

Longing to belong to someone else or to beat for the right kind of person.

To sustain the kind of love other people thought was right.

Told me was right.

I didn't want this heart to be my own.

I was ugly and weak, and my heart strained under the weight of two bodies: one that was mine and one that was for others.

And it was dying, because the things that could make it happy and full and whole were denied.

And I had to save myself somehow.

Close that gap between you and me, it and others.

To get rid of the strain and let it beat.

I told someone.

And she loved me in that way that sisters do, and every time she said, "There's nothing wrong with you," my heart became fuller and more open and strong.

There was nothing wrong with me.

I wasn't broken, it wasn't broken, and there was nothing wrong with me.

There is nothing wrong with you.

Because you are beautiful because you are you, and there is nothing more beautiful than that love you have to give and that wholeness and strength you have in your heart that's waiting to break through.

And the people it touches - friends, family, lovers - will love it, too, and there'll be so many people sharing that love with the world and with you.

It gets better because you are stronger.

Because you know better than to let the people who're determined to discourage you to hurt you, because you know to hold out for the ones who surprise and love you.

Because you have faith in yourself and you have faith in others and you know that without either of those things you'd be lost and incomplete.

Because love is love and love is right, no matter where it goes and who it's for, and you deserve all of its beauty.

You are beautiful.

The world is beautiful.

It gets better.

i have clumsy hands.

2010-11-30T10:57:00.001-08:00

i've been neglecting this post in favor of Notes to Self, but recently i discovered a few non-comedy mini-journal entries that i felt impelled - in accordance with the promise i made to myself, of sharing all of my writing - to post here instead.

the following is an example of Drunk Vickie's poor penmanship and penchant for the poetics (and slightly more emo ramblings).

or some poor excuse for them.

i'm no writer and i'm saptastic to a fault:

I have clumsy hands. They stiffen at my sides when I'm about, keeping to myself. They twitch, itch to reach out and touch things their limbs - attached to my guilt, which seems to constantly outweigh curiosity - forbid them to touch.

The knuckles crack and bend in ways they shouldn't, interjecting when my voice has nothing to contribute.

They stutter when I write, become inky with accidentally blotted mistakes that run across the rest of my words in smudges and smears.

Sometimes they don't feel like hands at all: dumbbells that hold me back, making me all the more aware of the awkwardness of my entire body.

Or they're weightless and with minds of their own, belligerently swinging or pointing or poking, my innards squirming with instantaneous regret and humiliation.

Sometimes they're monsters.

Famished, insatiable.

They ache with hunger pangs, coveting contact.

To pick at and pull out my voice, pulling strand after strand of words lost, phrases confused, thoughts disfigured.

Throbbing - my heart pumping into them the want and beating voice that gets my attention - so I have no choice but to comply.

To go on lamenting the fact that I have nothing and no one else with which, whom, to nourish them.

They rejoice in my drunkenness - the loosened hold of my guilt that allows them to inarticulately speak for me, show affection my lips and chords are otherwise too cowardly to express.

Grab things and create the illusion of a temporary ownership.

Connection.

And then they become too eager.

Earnest.

The bottle cap to their full and shaken yearning finally explodes and they live up to their infantile and clumsy reputation by flying like shrapnel any which way all over their victim.

Soon after, another bottle moves down the conveyor belt, top open, awaiting jilted temptations and silenced protestations and affirmations. What with the likely dismal consequences of the previous pop, this new bottle is packed with a revitalized fervor.

Capped again.

Shaken again.

Embarrassed again.

Next.

They seem to fight back: regret belonging to the rest of this, want to be attached to someone more deserving of their curiosity and need to make. They're a large dog, fed up with my measured steps and dragging me along.

They rush, I try to keep up, trip over myself, and land on my face.

They wish they were a carpenter's hands, harmonizing machinery with craftsmanship.

Scarring with experience and satisfying caresses of their tools and their handiwork.

Building calluses from repetitious but worthwhile labors: hard work that both builds and satiates their appetite.

Their newly hardened touch will make for firmer grips, affectionate and practical.

They tell the world they're learned, they create.

They have the strength to give as well as to take.

As they are now, one would think they were spoiled: soft with naivete; long, the better to touch you with. The thinness and knobbiness and length are an illusion.

The kinds of things that suggest delicacy and prowess: strangers to these parts.

Their form is misleading, lying to passersby.

Present themselves as something more deliberate than they are.

If they are in any way delicate, it must actually be because of the inhibitions trying to keep the capped earnestness at bay.

Everything touched is a relic.

But I don't hate my hands: the feelings aren't mutual. At times, they may not feel like my own, but they feel.

Sometimes they're the only concrete proof of my self.

That I am here.

The fact that they pine, so painfully, is, in a strange way, heartening.

Desire is passion, passion is sometimes agony.

But if this pain livens us - makes us more aware of our humanity by spilling itself, warm and red, into every facet of our lives - then it's essential and honest and beautiful.

They do make mistakes.

I have regrets.

But I also have a new sense of vigor - to run and try my best to catch up.

To be a breadwinner.

To create and give back.

Maybe someday my tapered nature will be reconciled with the overzealous neediness of my hands.

Someday, they'll touch something wonderful.

Something wonderful will come from my touch.

starting a fresh page! and blogging on it.

2010-03-23T16:39:00.000-07:00

over time, this blog has become something of a diary.

but, as of late, i've decided to start a brand new one that only includes comedy bits.

i need to practice.

word.

http://notestoselfbah.blogspot.com

and you can/should join the facebook fanpage, under Notes to Self.

where'd the title come from?

i have 0 common sense, meaning that, all sorts of things that have and will happen in my most recent life, need to be shared.

in other words, as i embarrass myself, or have embarrassing thoughts, you guys will have access to them.

i'll try to keep up with this one, too, to talk about more personal stuff, but Notes to Self will be my way of practicing my comedy writing.

all in all, i've decided to start taking my dreams of writing comedy a little more seriously.

so hop to it! chop chop!

and please give me some feedback!

long time, no see. When Vickie Met Billy...and When Billy Met Dane...

2010-03-11T11:32:00.000-08:00

i'm just like Billy Crystal.

at least, that's what my dad says.

some girls are princesses, sweethearts, mermaids, even.

but me?

i'm Billy Crystal.

he meant it in a good way, he assured me, and i don't really doubt this: if there's one thing my dad and i have in common, it's our inability to hold an anything but awkward conversation.

another would be our tendency to inarticulately pay strange compliments because of our debilitating and irreversible senses of humor and romantics.

the other would be our obnoxious laughs.

but i digress.

really, i don't think of the Billy Crystal thing as negative.

and lord knows that when my mother tried to dress me up as a Disney princess when i was little, i refused.

but i wonder if being like Billy Crystal, especially nowadays, is all that positive, either.

in his prime, Crystal was amazing.

along the lines of George Carlin and Richard Pryor and Lenny Bruce.

they're all still considered some of the "greats" of all-time, and no one doubts their creativity and astuteness.

but nowadays, who can really relate to any of these comedians?

when i saw the movie Funny People for the first time, all i could think was, I could never make it as a comedienne. I hate penis jokes, and I definitely don't appreciate making fun of other people or the word "fuck" half this much.

could i ever really make it as a "nice" comedian?

or even a thoughtful one?

the more and more i think about it, the less sure i am of pursuing my "dream job."

i know i'd like to write good, clean, but inspiring comedy.

i know that, in a dream world, where i'm not ridden by the fear and the insecurities, i'd like to get up on stage and perform my comedy.

but i really don't know how willing modern audiences would be to accept my old brand of jokes and commentary.

we're in an age where gross-out, shock-value comedy seems to be taking centre-stage.

comedians are getting more and more vulgar.

and louder.

and i really don't think i can pull either of those things off.

i can't Dane Cook my way through a joke, and yell it as loudly as possible to trick people into laughing.

and i can't pull a Sarah Silverman and make a totally perverse or over-the-top story cute, just by pulling a cute face.

and i'm not hott, so i don't have that going for me.

i'm not suave.

or confident.

and all of the things that might've been my "schtick" have already been done:

1. lesbian;
2. Asian mom;
3. Latino family;
4. awkwardness.

bah.

the only "nice" comedians i can think of can be counted on one hand:

1. Eddie Izzard;
2. Dmitri Martin;
3. Tina Fey;
4. Amy Poehler;
5. Ellen.

still, though.

i'm not saying that ALL mean or modern comedians have no merits.

Chris Rock is one, along with Margaret Cho (who, even though she's now mostly political, still has her moments).

but the fact remains that i just don't think i can pull that kind of work off.

what options are out there for me, then?

what can i really do?

do i sell out and try to break my way into that kind of humor?

what hope is there for someone who doesn't want to trash-talk Britney Spears or rant about vaginas for thirty minutes?

what can someone who's totally awkward and shy and just wants to talk about her awkward and shy experiences really accomplish in this new comedy industry?

why has comedy gone down this track?

all's i know's is, i'm at a loss.

without comedy, i have no idea what i'd do with my life.

and, more than that, i don't know how i'd be able to really get out there and reach people.

what if my comedy/humor is my own, and no one else would really appreciate it?

what am i supposed to do with my life?

my dad told me that i'm just like Billy Crystal.

because i'm self-deprecating and awkward and harmless.

but is that good enough these days?

popular?

in middle school they taught us that, "Just because it's popular doesn't mean that it's right."

but in an industry that's all about visibility and popularity, what can i do to really succeed?

anyways.

i'll try to be more consistent with my postings.

so 'til next time!

mine.

2009-11-23T10:03:00.000-08:00

i'm spoiled. this isn't a news, and it definitely isn't earth-shattering, but lately i've been learning, in fuller detail, the extent to which i secretly wish the entire universe revolved around me. it's never easy to come to the realization, as a youngest sibling - the baby - that maybe all of those assertions made by child psychologists (and eldest siblings) are right.

for years we deny any possibility of our selfishness, neediness, dependency on everyone else in the family, in favor of rougher, tougher light.

we aren't pampered and soft, we say, and we certainly aren't self-absorbed or offered special allowances.

but we totally were.

are.

at least, i was and am.

looking back, i know that none of the Toro girls managed to survive childhood with our parents completely unscathed.

there were consistencies in all of our upbringings: the shouting, the insecurities, the high bars. if anything, we were brought up to fill in those voids that went unchecked in our mother's own childhood.

and if there's one thing about unfilled voids, it's that some things just don't fit, and try as you might, you can never really force them to without ripping pieces apart.

but i don't pretend to completely relate to the strife my sisters endured.

true, i'm still wildly insecure about a number of really arbitrary and minute things: i still experience severe anxiety episodes and my trichotillomania was never completely cured. but i still fared way better than my sisters did.

i had the benefit of being the youngest. the privilege. the kind of thing that you never realize when you're growing up and going through the motions of dumbshitty adolescence. the kind of thing that, in all your spoiledness, neediness, self-absorption, you take for granted.

the eldest Toro girl was the experiment, really. our parents, very young and very clueless and idealistic and desperate, didn't know what they were doing. and, on top of all of this, they were out of place. always out of place, as they were always on the move.

finally, our mother managed to escape Korea, but it was only to find a place that was anything but welcoming or accommodating to one-half of a mixed-race, young, immigrant couple.

and she floundered.

and our father didn't know how to cope: the denial of his own ethnic background, and any implications of his own potential Otherness, which he thought he'd pulled off for the entirety of his youth, was finally facing him head-on. suddenly, he was Different.

at least, more Different than he was prior to his hurried marriage.

so they were naive, and unprepared for much else besides the wedding night.

so much so that our mother's very first pregnancy ended in an abortion.

the second pregnancy came only very shortly afterward, though, and little time prepared for almost no improvement in their situation.

and Olivia was born.

and they weren't ready.

and Olivia suffered.

more deeply than anyone could ever imagine.

and when Annie came along, a couple of years later, they were financially in a slightly better place, and they had a little more experience.

and there were newer issues.

new pains.

slightly different pains.

and Annie suffered, too.

and Olivia and Annie, together, were put through another kind if hell, though i suppose it was slightly more tolerable than the last.

but nothing could completely erase the anguish our mother was hiding from everyone: the kind that managed to manifest itself in the quieter corners of every Toro's life.

she wouldn't scream about the language barrier she was forced to confront, daily, and she didn't hit for the emptiness she felt because of unrealized dreams; instead, she would make a raucous over the smaller things, in ways that were beyond a child's comprehension.

almost four years later, when things were a little more stable, i came along.

i was quiet from birth, which was lucky.

i never asked for much, and i rarely cried - staying silent was something that seemed to pay off for the earlier years.

nobody questioned it.

with all the business that came with moving and settling down, over and over again, the only real concerns had to do with the things that could stay consistently managed: not so much on people and friends, but more on our music, swimming, and academics.

if we managed to keep the three essentials under control, then all of the other superfluous things would fall into place, too.

but i was spoiled.

really, i had to deal with much of the same restrictions as my sisters for the first decade or so, but things changed.

even i noticed.

who knows what might've incited the shift: it could've been the call from an elementary school teacher who was worried because i hadn't spoken a word to anyone in six months, or the clear increase in trichotillomania.

in the end, i tend to think it had more to do with the fact that, finally, i got the chance to stay and grow up, at least partially, in one place.

as Olivia and Annie both only had a few years left before college, it wasn't a new experience for them: they spent as much time in Virginia as they had everywhere else we've lived.

so we settled down a bit.

the same expectations were there, but i had a new sense of being grounded.

i had a place i could escape to, even when things got bad.

and my parents had fewer worries to occupy them.

with a steadier hand, they could hone in on other aspects of my life that had previously gone unnoticed.

i got to make a more permanent group of friends, and i felt safe.

slowly but surely, i opened up to people and let myself get close.

granted, i still had certain insecurities that more or less stemmed from fear of my own mother, on top of other things, but i had a home.

and my parents had a home, too.

and, being the only kid left in this home, i reaped the benefits.

and nowadays, after leaving for college, i'm coming to terms with other ways in which i'm spoiled.

my mother was robbed of her dreams.

my father dealt with much of the same, but, given his gender and locality, was afforded more freedom and ultimately found what he was looking for.

so they never stifled my own dreams.

sure, there were subtle hints dropped here and there, for my own good, i suppose, but now i'm at my dream school, and i'm out, and i'm happy.

my pipe dream of being a comedy writer - which is probably shared by billions - still isn't unrealistic.

i'm an investment, they told me, and they're just waiting for the return.

and i'm happy.

it took awhile to get here, and it wasn't easy, but i'm here.

and i'm happy.

hoofah!

2009-11-02T22:17:00.000-08:00

yes, hoofah.

why?

it's been ages since my last post.

how long?

a number that's much higher than i'm able to count t0.

how come?

so many things to do.

and learning, learning, learning:

1. i'm gonna do it. comedy, i mean. yes. writing. i'm shit at it, but i'm less shitty at it than i am at other things.

like math.

or taking care of old people.

2. i'm wildly immature. it's true. and i'm hoping the fact that i'm more aware of this will help me to finally grow up.

all there is to do now is get over my fear of growing up.

fearofoldnessphobia.

which, incidentally, is tied to my fear of Depends.

3. on top of the whole immaturity thing, i need to work out my relationship issues.

honestly, i don't know what the heck is wrong with me.

so many wonderful people - all of whom are clearly out of my league - come into my life and i end up panicking and letting them slip away, or not letting things develop in the first place.

i don't know what's wrong with me.

i think it has something to do with the fact that i'm pretty sure that someday they'll realize they're too good for me and'll end up leaving me anyway.

and sometimes i think i'm too picky.

i'm still ridiculously inexperienced and therefore naive and too expectant of first love experiences.

or any kind of love experience.

i'm always subconsciously looking for that initial spark, and if it's not there then i immediately give up.

and this is no good because sometimes i wonder if i just don't let myself feel that spark.

anywho, i've got issues to work out.

maybe being more assertive'll force me out of my own head.

4. i think my comedy schtick'll have something to do with my cluelessness. lately i've been trying to think of ways to write a routine or sketch of some kind that's laden with innuendo that's doubly hilarious because the actual speaker is unaware of it all.

work in progress.

tough.

but it's the kind of tough that i think i'll actually enjoy.

5. i miss swimming. i really do. sometimes i still wonder if it's too late to make something out of it. i never thought i'd miss morning practices and dryland and competition, but i do. i need to get back into it.

6. i also miss music. tomorrow i'm going to cut my nails and suck it up and practice. maybe. when everyone's out of the house or i manage to sneak into the USC music halls like i did during my freshman and sophomore years.

7. i've been swearing a lot lately. i need to stop. i might invest in a swear jar, and at the end of every week i'll take the jar out on the town and give its contents to the first hobo i meet.

though, this is even more incentive to increase my swearing.

...i've never actually understood the purpose and effectiveness of swear jars.

anywho, that's where i'm at at the moment. well, there and underneath a massive pile of homework i'm ignoring right now.

which i should probably get to.

k, bye.

Jennifer's Body

2009-09-25T00:45:00.000-07:00

i saw Jennifer's Body last night.

i was told to go in without expectations.

it wasn't difficult, as i was secretly worried because i'd read quite a few negative reviews of the film.

my own reaction? epic.

why can't movies like this be advertised and produced more often?

All Woman Movies.

the kind where, in feminist speak, women take back their name and write (and attempt to re-draft) their own identity.

seriously.

this movie starred and was written and directed by nothing but women.

and it had a positive message about relationships and body image.

it's the kind of movie that gives me hope. the industry is finally expanding, and it's finally becoming cool to be different, in a way.

who knows what started it, but now, sometimes, PC is becoming as marketable as sex.

"good girls" like Taylor Swift and awkward but lovable dorks like Michael Cera are taking the entertainment industry by storm.

it's a sad fact that individuality is becoming commodified, but, at the same time, you gotta love the fact that movies like Jennifer's Body are finally seeing the light of day.

it's all inevitable, really, what with things like YouTube that give people the power to choose and craft their own work and have a ready and willing audience.

and blogging paves the way for good writers, like Cody, to develop their own voice and build a fan base and get their work published and produced - unique voices laden with original thoughts and humor that previously went unheard.

granted, i can see why someone might give the movie a negative review.

people've started to pick on Cody's chosen vernacular and therefore completely disregard the real meat of what her characters say and how they behave.

i suppose they think Cody's trying too hard to be clever and hip, when, really, it's all just a discourse about the inherent absurdity of adolescence.

no, we might not be THAT ridiculous at that age, but there's no harm in poking fun and laughing at ourselves or our pasts.

and, honestly, sometimes Cody really isn't that far off, anyhow.

also, sugarcoating the pill's been a part of the film industry since practically its inception - it's Cody's way of saying, "This is serious stuff - real emotions - but let's not forget that there can be some humor and fun in this, too."

it's pitch-perfect.

Cody's fascination with the female body is also really interesting and awesome.

with Juno, the main character, a teenage girl in the throes of hormones and young love, copes with emotional needs with the most intimate physical action.

the result? 9 months of endless bodily changes that directly corresponds to profound emotional and mental growth.

more than that, the way Juno always subtly and not-so-subtly dealt with her own insecurities - especially those tied to her own image/body (i.e. when she adjusts her hipster skirt before seeing Mark and Paulie, and the way her classmates react to her body as she walks down the hall in school) - was always so spot-on that there were times when i might've gotten a little weepy and nostalgic.

in her latest flick, Cody again emphasizes the importance of Body in girl culture and ideology.

the way Jennifer purges after she eats a boy, and it is later revealed that she uses laxatives to stay skinny, all point to this Hott Girl's secret insecurities - the kind that most high school Hott Girls probably feel and are completely aware of.

the title itself is a big reminder to the audience about what the film is actually about.

this girl who has this body - that she knows to use like a weapon - and needs boys to strengthen it.

she needs boys, literally, to revitalize her body: a metaphor for the real reason why girls strive and starve stay skinny and attractive (that is, it isn't for their own health).

it's why Jennifer's biggest prize is Chip, who's the one boy in school who, even with all of her efforts to be the most desirable girl in school, prefers her best friend Needy.

(but this all also presents a really interesting dilemma because it can be read a different way: the fact that when she manages to successfully lure her prey into her trap by using her sexuality only to tell Colin that she needs him to be terrified so that she can consume him might suggest that Jennifer is, in fact, some form of an extremist feminist maneater (pun intended!).

though, maybe not quite a feminist.

maybe one of those faux-feminists, like Samantha on Sex and the City, who's actually a female chauvinist pig.)

and then comes Needy, the archetypal best friend character who idolizes the hott girl but remains in the shadows of everyone's minds when Jennifer enters the room.

her name is loosely veiled symbolism in the beginning, but, in the end, becomes ironic.

she's the one with the steady boyfriend even though she wears glasses and dorky clothes.

she only becomes self-conscious about her looks when Jennifer's involved.

and she never needs to alter her own self-representation in order to be happy or snag a boyfriend.

unlike so many other teen movies nowadays, where the positive message allegedly lies in the fact that any girl can be beautiful, or that girls can and should reflect their inner beauty in their outer beauty, Chip, like Paulie Bleaker, accepts his girl just the way she is.

even when she's wearing what's supposed to be a totally heinous prom dress.

and it's this security that drives Jennifer over the edge and motivates her to go after Chip.

she needs to know that she somehow holds some kind of power of Needy - that Chip prefers her just because she's invested so much time and energy and starvation into being hott.

but, bless him, Chip refuses.

granted, he ultimately dies for it, but it's a hero's death at least.

::sigh::

someday, Tina Fey and Diablo Cody will merge to form one super human who will forever alter the female image.

and, well, kick ass.

...someday.

Lucky Penny - a poem.

2009-09-21T10:19:00.000-07:00

my one clear talent: self-deprecation.

am i ashamed?

meh, maybe a little.

but, honestly, no one fucks up like i do.

case in point: my car accident (on duty) on Saturday night that ended my month-long career as a USC Campus Cruiser - which makes this the second job i've managed to lose in a matter of a couple of months.

awesome.

all in all, i'd been having a pretty effed up couple of weeks, often resorting to old coping methods that have never let me down (but only because i deny the negative effects of large quantities of junk food, sleeping an obscene number of hours, avoiding all responsibilities at all costs, and laughing aloud when, really, i was crying on the inside).

yes, everything was under control.

(as it's been awhile, i probably owe you a short recap of my awesome couple of weeks:

1. got a 30% on a reading pop quiz in my Lit. class because i read the wrong pages.

yes.

a 30.

that just about ties with my lowest ever grade, which was a geography quiz in the 6th grade.

i vowed never to get that low ever again.

i lied.

2 - 3. i got the flu, which developed into a sinus infection.

missed classes (including improv) for several days straight.

4. again, i got into a car accident that was entirely my fault and i consequently lost my job.

5. my old paranoia has returned as i'm almost fairly certain i wasn't born to lead.

6. plans to clean my room fell through as, yet again, my depression managed to incapacitate me.

7-9. more personal reasons.

sorry.

too personal.)

from here, i suspect that you're probably thinking 2 things:
1. "But, Vickie, all of these things are your own doing! You're a dumbshit! Get yourself together!"

and you're probably right.

all my fault.

but is it all REALLY my fault if i was born without much needed common sense and resilience?

wah wah wah annoying self-pity wah wah.

my apologies.

2. "Chin up! Be optimistic! Stop your crazy biznatching and whining!"

also right.

and to this, i bring up The Lucky Penny.

i've never been one to invest my sometimes wanting sack of optimism in a small, nearly worthless piece of copper; but today, in an effort to snap myself out of my annoyingly down state, i've decided to turn to age-old superstition and allow my entire happiness to depend on just 1 cent.

yes, all i ask for is 1 cent of happiness and luck.

1 cent.

not too much.

and if all goes well, i might move on to more sense.

er, cents.

i might end up making my own.

yes, today when i was delivering a letter cross-campus for the office Bigot who i love to work for, and i saw that tiniest of shimmers on the ground some 10 feet in front of me, my heart skipped a little.

hoping no one else had made this discovery, i quickened my pace a bit and prayed that Lincoln would be looking up at me.

and he was.

secretly more excited than i should have been, i picked it up.

i could feel the winds of change around me.

the start of a lucky streak, at last.

finally, hope.

all of my hope and luck in this miniscule, seemingly meaningless piece of copper.

the One Penny.

i almost punched the air in triumph before i remembered that i was in public.

i even composed a poem to show my appreciation:

Lucky Penny
Lucky penny, lucky penny
Oh how you give me hope.
Your little shimmer on the ground
Pushed from my mind to tope.

I picked you up, in a hurry
To secure a little luck;
Because as of late, to be frank,
I've been a little fucked.

Lucky penny, lucky penny
Your head and tail so true,
"In God we trust," in you I trust,
I'll turn to gold from blue.

is this the proper length of a poem?

whatever.

i don't care.

it comes from the heart, and that's all that matters.

yes.

today is a new day.

thank you, Lucky Penny.

i think i'll name you Phillip.

ideas! ideas! ideas! and PMS.

2009-08-31T11:47:00.000-07:00

had the worst day at improv last night.

just couldn't get out of my head.

the worst part of it? my PMS/period is over, so there's no scapegoat.

(and i'm sure you wanted to know that. seriously, though. as much as women hate PMS and Mother Nature's unfailing drive to torment women and remind them of their womanhood and the real purpose of their unused, spinster eggs, PMS is always a great excuse for unabashedly serving people their just desserts.

but don't openly assume that we're PMSing, either.

that's about the only thing about women that i've come to fully understand and respect.)

that and my PMS might be going by a different name now.

and, until "PMS" grows a pair [ovaries, cojones - whichever you prefer] and finally decides to confront me (or, at least, take it), i'm just going to have to accept too-large quantities of chocolate as a regular part of my diet, Alanis, Janis, Patti, Joni, and other angry/moody/loud women as the current soundtrack for my life, and considering writing a sequel to Poor Poor Jimmie.

however, i digress.

the main point of this post is to outline new resolutions i've made for myself.

it's not exhaustive:

1. tell that one person that i'm sorry i panicked and backed out so randomly and quietly. start over. maybe by groveling.

2. be more unapologetic about my antics and [less weird] neuroses.

3. no more self-deprecation [unless it's in the service of comedy].

4. stop thinking so much. seriously. it's annoying.

5. be more frugal. that poster of Chunk doing the Truffle Shuffle really wasn't all that necessary.

6. okay. maybe it was.

7. i'm laughing just thinking about it.

8. stop thinking about PMS and don't let him get to you. definitely not worth it.

9. write, write, write. but don't try so hard.

10. be proactive.

it's already shaping up to be a really great year, i think.

plenty of stuff to keep me busy and happy.

and making money's always nice.

and new friends.

new interests.

newer and healthier habits.

good stuff.

feeling inspired.

oh-so inspired.

proof?

here are some story ideas i've been coming up with.

(but don't steal them. don't forget that i'm currently in a permanent state of PMS.):

1. shy, awkward girl meets equally shy, awkward boy.

go out on first shy, awkward outing.

bond in ways that would make Jack and Rose jealous.

(like my dad, i only like that movie for the special effects.)

but, to no fault of their own, they're both gay.

haha, God - nice one.

so they're gaybies together; both trying to find their niches in this big, gay world.

one les-bro, one fruit-fly.

but always mistaken for a couple.

they help each other out in finding a date to a big, gay prom (or something of the sort) and hilarity ensues.

their names might sound something like Lyle and Nicky.

(still to be decided.)

2. protagonist comes out as trans F to M in college, after finally escaping that conservative, rural town and the rule of his equally conservative and somewhat backward parents.

they excommunicate him for several years, during his transition period.

in the meantime, he struggles as a starving artist/performer type.

when he returns home to prep for his dad's final days, at the urge of his mother - who might be suffering from some degenerative disease or other and needs his help as both of his older, more successful sisters are far too overwhelmed to do so - after a 4 year silence, he's forced to confront the skeletons in his closet.

one night, inundated by the prospects of facing all of those skeletons at once, he goes out to a bar by himself.

there, he runs into another skeleton: his childhood best friend and secret love of his life, who he promised himself he'd never speak to or think about again.

as he's changed his name and, obviously, his appearance, his ex-best friend - who's attempting to escape her friends' belligerence - doesn't recognize him.

at a loss for words at her sudden appearance, but eager, nonetheless, to somehow be close to her, he sits and listens as she explains to him that she feels like she's known him before, but is also currently participating in a personal social experiment where she attempts to build significant relationships through beliefs and behaviors rather than personal histories.

she's inexplicably drawn to him and asks if they can meet again.

he considers telling her the complete truth - about how they really already knew one another - but, when he finally opens his mouth to do so, she cuts him off and reminds him of her social experiment.

he doesn't resist.

they meet, and keep meeting.

fall in love.

they never have sex - especially after one particularly painful and awkward near-sexual encounter in her apartment.

she somehow learns the truth (still have to figure this part out) and panics.

i still need to work out the ending.

as depressing as this one sounds, i've already jotted down a number of really potentially hilarious scenes that can balance it out.

namely, through the protagonist's mother.

3. this one's an idea for a TV show, inspired by the Tim Fite song, "Big Mistake."

the protagonist, a young-ish woman who was recently involved in a drunk driving accident, isn't dead.

but isn't completely alive, either.

she's in the in-between. a coma.

but she's not "inactive."

instead, her "spirit" (or something or other) is put into another body.

she's inserted into a different life where she has full access to her family, loved ones, and "enemies/acquaintances" - but they can't recognize her.

instead, she befriends others who are like herself, as they all manage to find one another in the in-between.

their task?

to correct (or at least acknowledge) the one big mistake they made in their lives thus far, so they can come to.

but if they fail - because there is an antagonist (who else, besides Death himself/herself?) who is hell-bent (wordplay!) on foiling their plans - they "move on."

a comedy.

and that's all i've got for now, but i really think it's more than enough.

gotta get to working.

also, any feedback would be great! anywho.

this is an odd and sudden way to end a blog.

(90 some odd) days of summer: holy jeebus. wtf was i thinking?

2009-08-24T11:12:00.001-07:00

i'm petty.

and immature.

and self-absorbed and chock full of self-pity.

clearly.

sometimes i wonder if these are irreversible.

i can hear myself say ridiculous, less-than-kosher things during regular conversation and immediately feel the oftentimes negative juju that emanates from my unfortunate listeners.

i can't even use certain words properly.

like kosher.

sometimes i can stop myself before anything truly harmful can dribble out of my impulsive pie-hole that all too often goes unchecked.

other times, i'm forced to make due with the bull shit that manages to escape and profusely apologize to my listeners (and myself, inwardly) for the things i unintentionally force them to listen to.

when i tell stories, i sound something like a broken record player.

always the same ones, over and over again.

i hear myself tell them, beg myself to stop, but end up spewing out less-than-favorable comments and jokes and stories anyhow.

it's hopeless, really.

and i'm not the cute kind of neurotic, where i wear too fluffy slippers as everyday shoes, or brush my teeth 1o times before meeting someone, or take pictures of random leaves in the street.

i'm the kind that doesn't get properly angry at appropriate times so that i can manage it well and deal with whatever's going on.

instead, i bottle up the feelings i get from deserving moments and blow up for the most random, small events that should and would normally go unnoticed by any really sane person.

but i'm learning.

and i think this past summer (which, as of today, is officially over) was a really great time to recuperate and process all of the new things i've experienced, thought, felt, and witnessed.

turning 20, which, really, apart from finally putting an end to the teen years and, theoretically, all of that angst and self-absorption, doesn't do much besides getting you thinking.

any average teenager (or, at least, any teenager like myself) managed to sit through a good 6 or 7 years of her life wallowing in self-pity.

"Wahhh, I'm petty and immature. Wahhhh."

but we don't really do anything about it.

we were as annoying as we were masochistic.

there's something so alluring about suffering when you're that age. especially for our generation, where people actually compete over how much emotional baggage they carry, and, therefore, how much more of "life" they've seen.

how much more "real" and "hard" and "interesting" they are.

it isn't really until you hit that 20 mark that you look back and think, "holy Jeebus, wtf was i thinking?"

holy Jeebus.

wtf was i thinking?

it's about flippin' time, too, that i come around.

i mean, i'd be lying if i said that this summer didn't sting a little bit, with all of that new knowledge.

i'd hate to think that i'd lost a friend in the process, but, at the same time, i wonder if it was really worth it?

so dependent, was i, on the openness of other people that i did everything i could to cling to every friendship i ever made.

and one slipped through the cracks.

i blamed myself for it - that is, my pettiness and immaturity - and resolved to mend the broken ties and start over.

i told myself that i understood why this person wanted to "un-friend" me and remove me from their life altogether.

how worthwhile am i, really?

worthy?

valuable?

the fact that i seemed so expendable, because of all of my vices and flaws, really made sense to me.

but in the process of being unceremoniously booted out of someone's life i managed to meet and make some new friends.

the kind of friends i thanked my lucky stars for.

i couldn't believe that they'd want to spend even just a few minutes with me, day in and day out.

after all, i was petty and immature and overly self-deprecating and altogether, indubitably, irritating.

but they put up with me, and i was too grateful (particularly after that previous close friendship seemed to be on the rocks) to question my all too rare good fortune.

and i turned 20.

and got to thinking.

somehow, these new people - one or two, or several in particular - seemed to see something valuable and worthwhile in me.

at least, enough to actually wanna hang out with me and [drunkenly] tell me that i'm his best friend.

maybe, i thought, incredulously, there's just a little inkling of something to me.

and, for the first time in my life, i resolved to find out exactly what it could be.

i was inspired, i suppose (sappily enough), to finally go about and find and do the things i've always been afraid to try.

i signed up for an improv class (which extended to 2 additional improv classes) and found, surprisingly enough, that i didn't just enjoy it, but i might actually want to pursue it.

i applied for leadership positions in organizations that really mean a lot to me.

i started writing more and, more than that, letting other people read and critique my work.

i came up with so many ideas for stories and projects.

i started telling more painful stories and talking about darker aspects of myself that, before this wave of inspiration found me, went untapped and buried way deep down.

all in all, i was finally and completely opening up to people.

because maybe, just maybe, these parts of myself were worthy of an audience.

and if not, they'd reject me.

but they didn't.

and i found that my experiment - which i fully expected to fail - was a success.

and i loved my new friends and new community and overall new life.

the improbable goals that i set for myself, though still a reach, at least seem worth a shot.

but even when i found all of this happiness, there was still a piece of me that felt slightly hurt.

i still couldn't get over the possible loss of a friend.

so i revisited the events that led our friendship astray, as i was finally armed with the insight and self-worth that would undoubtedly let me see things a little clearer.

and i found that the severe guilt that i'd experienced for a prolonged period of time - and that i did everything my power to remedy, to no real reciprocation because, clearly, i was the only one at fault - had changed.

i didn't feel completely guilty about everything that happened.

it was just hurt.

like coming out of a bad break-up and finally seeing all of the harsh reality that was so obscured by what i thought was real love.

and this isn't to say that i doubt that he and i were close and really cared for each other.

i still care about him very much - wholly and sincerely.

but what hurts was how easily he was willing to remove me from his life after something of a really petty issue.

at least, an issue that seems very petty now, after being the one thing that managed to absolutely consume all of my thoughts and worries.

another source of self-doubt and self-deprecation.

the ease with which he clicked that tiny "delete" button on facebook was a death sentence in his eyes.

i wasn't worthy.

the only way i can interpret this action, following just one email message explaining the first time he did this (because, yes, he did it twice) is that i was the expendable friend.

i revolved around him.

served his needs.

and failed him.

so he got rid of me.

because it was just that easy.

because i had no other value.

and if you're reading this, and you know who you are, i'm done apologizing for what happened because, honestly, i don't think i ever really needed to feel guilty about it in the first place.

what i will apologize for is how quickly this friendship seemed to fall apart because, again, i still care about you very much, and i wish that we can fix things and start over.

but i'm not going to compromise my own self-worth for it.

it has to go both ways.

i'm not saying that things could ever go back to the way they were, as we seem to be pretty different people now, but i'd hate to go on feeling that anxiety that hits me every time you walk into a room.

it's unfortunate that an untrue rumor was the one needle that broke the camel's back, or however that saying goes.

and it's unfortunate that, rather than coming to me to talk about it, you chose to, yet again, remove me from your life because you think that i'm unworthy.

but i really hope that things change for the better because, really, i finally feel like i have.

that is, changed for the better.

a 90 day vacation hardly seems like sufficient time to make big changes, but, at this point, nothing really surprises me anymore.

i'm so grateful those heinous teenage years that were so chock full of self-absorption and untended angst and self-pity are over with and i can finally identify these problems with myself and my relationships and mend them as best i can.

if there's one thing i want to promise myself for the coming school year, it's that i make more of an effort to be unapologetic.

just be pure, unadulterated Vickie.

scary.

i don't know who i should feel more sorry for (my friends, or unsuspecting strangers), but i'm okay with making mistakes and learning from them now.

it was a good summer.

and i'm happy.

geeking out: part 2

2009-07-31T00:32:00.000-07:00

4. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
the action is great, as is the mystery. the graveyard scene, in particular, was really great.

most of all, apart from bringing Voldemort "back to life," it's the first time death is faced head-on - which finishes the task the third book set in motion (that is, of making the series darker, and using the swiftness and finality of death as important themes).

death begins to play a more active role in shaping Harry's character, as well as the rest of his story. he's forced to grow up a little faster than some of his friends and starts to accept his fate.

the themes of fear and darkness that are introduced in PoA are further dissected. that being said, Rowling makes it a point to address death head-on - unlike many a children book i've read.

"love as the conqueror of evil" is reiterated and put to the test: the Priori Incantatem scene always makes me a little weepy.

and the characters, as they deal with adolescence and impending adulthood, all start to show a lot more depth and definition.

5. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
i actually kind of hated a lot of this book the very first time i read it.

Harry's teenage angst was taken to a whole new level and his woes and self-absorption - both of which are typical to most teenagers - just about drove me up the wall.

honestly, who is THAT whiny?

looking back, though, and rereading it from a slightly more mature point of view, i find that the book does have a lot of value.

when i first read it i was around 15 or 16 and downright denied any notion of my own dealings with being so whiny and annoying. i was definitely a little self-righteous.

so now, when i go back and read the fifth installment, i really appreciate Rowling's deep understanding of that particular stage in life. she really hits the nail on the head, and you really begin to sympathize with Harry - even though Hermione totally stole the show.

in that same vein, again, Hermione kicks ass. i knew from the previous four books that i had a crush on her, but after reading the fifth one i knew it was true love.

she was always the best kind of role model. the quiet type who occasionally opens up a major can of whoop ass.

while most alleged teenage girl role models open up maybe a small can of diet whoop ass, Hermione takes no prisoners.

whenever she stands up to Umbridge in such subtle yet awesome ways - like the scene where she tells Umbridge that she's read the entire book - i wish there were more women like her out there, and that i had half her courage and no-BS attitude.

moreover, i suppose the most obvious purpose of the book is to introduce this idea of imminent doom, where no one is safe.

the characters are becoming adults, and are at the forefront of a new rebellion. they all start to reach deep down inside themselves to discover the things they really care about and who they really are.

it's really a great segway into the rest of the series.

6. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
much like the fifth book, this one took another read to grow on me.

the first time around, i couldn't help but get the feeling that it worked something like a really dramatic line graph type thing (note that i'm no math whiz), where there was a definite incline in terms of romance, happiness, and humor - right before Dumbledore's death, which caused the line to plummet.

it just goes to show, i suppose, that death strikes anyone at anytime. moreover, in showing the way Harry attempts to chase down Dumbledore's assassins, Rowling leaves no doubt in anyone's mind that Harry, though magical, is still very much human.

and when the line between love and hate is blurred - that is, when something we love dearly is suddenly and unceremoniously taken away and we immediately turn that overwhelming sense of love into hatred towards the thing that caused that pain - no one is completely impervious to the lure of revenge.

this is also the book where Snape is finally taking a forefront. he was always one of my favorite characters, starting with PoA, but this sequel really cemented those feelings.

he's really the deepest character of the series (that is, next to Harry and Dumbledore, as we find out later) and emphasizes Rowling's feelings about both the innerturmoil of everyone who faces love and loss and the inherent good in everyone.

how, even if we veer away from the right path from time to time, we can always come back if we're willing to remember and use our knowledge of love, and the suffering that sometimes (oftentimes) stems from it.

also, when everyone was debating Snape's loyalty, i got to say, "I told ya so."

it's never wrong to have faith in people.

and it's never naive.

WWJD is a lot like WWDD.

7. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
holy Jeebus. so good. probably my second favorite, right behind the third installment.

the trio are finally adults, but nonetheless vulnerable to the follies and temptations and feelings of ordinary muggles.

Snape's death, and the final chapters that describe Harry's walk towards his own end, are enough to make me grateful to have been part of this series for so long.

Snape becomes a symbol of the effects and power of love, and the capacity in anyone to change for the better.

he's human, but that doesn't just mean that he's inherently evil or prone to temptation.

i mean, we are, but that doesn't mean that we can't recognize our wrongdoing and redeem ourselves.

Snape's redemption is one of the greatest highlights of the entire series.

there's good in everyone, and everyone deserves second, third, fourth chances.

i can't even properly or justly describe the power that scene has on me whenever i read it.

all of Rowling's themes - of love, hate, death, fear/inner demons, humanity - come together completely, and Harry faces the greatest challenge of his life.

but it's not necessarily defeating Voldemort that lingers as the overarching, impending trial of the book.

really, it's all about using those things that Dumbledore taught him - that is, less about the memories and the horcruxes, and more about the importance of love, hate, fearing fear above all else, and trusting the good in everyone (including, and especially, oneself) - in becoming the person he was always meant to be.

and the person he was meant to be? not the vanquisher of Voldemort and evil, but the symbol of hope in humanity - that is, the symbol for the undying presence and power of love in the face of death and despair.

here was this boy we saw grow into a man; a boy who faced more hardships than anyone ever really should, and was given more responsibility and weight and power than people of his age should be made to bear.

this boy who had every opportunity and reason to lose faith in the world and all of its trials and the people who inhabit it.

this boy who had every right to refuse the burdens he was left with.

but he didn't.

so the courage Rowling takes apart and examines so thoroughly throughout the series has less to do with the Daring and Noble kind.

it's not about jumping into the fray and destroying evil.

it's more about fighting yourself - as you tend to be your own worst enemy.

all in all, these books aren't light children fare.

and i'm not saying that the books should be held on such a high pedestal as The Bible.

all i'm saying is that we could all learn a thing or two from Harry and his friends.

okay.

open nerdiness: done.

geeking out: part 1

2009-07-23T10:08:00.001-07:00

i'm a Harry Potter nerd.

this isn't news.

...just a plain fact i'm sure anyone who knows me can attest to.

technically, i grew up with him: the first time i read the very first book i was just about to enter 6th grade (at age 11), and the final book came out just after i graduated from high school.

perfect.

the sad part of all of this is that, once the final book came out, Harry Potter releases became rarer events, and mugglenet.com's news flow was vastly reduced.

i know because i checked.

if i could answer the ice-breaking question of, "What's your favorite holiday?" with, "The final weeks leading up to a Harry Potter release," i totally would.

they're so exciting and fraught with tension and you're given free license to be as openly nerdy as you wish.

for a few short weeks you're reminded that you're not the only weenie on the face of the planet.

or the biggest.

(people who dress up give me the heebie jeebies.)

but more than that, it gives me an excuse to follow through with an age-old ritual of mine: re-reading the books that lead up to either the newest book release, or the newest film adaptation.

and i'm given the opportunity to relive all of the special moments that made me fall in love with each of the books in the first place.

it always irks me when people write the books off as lighter fare, or exclusively children's fiction, or nerdy fantasy (or a bible for Satanic witchcraft).

as i got to grow up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the books took on a totally different meaning; often capturing the very essence, not only of growing up, but what it means to grow up, and what it means to be, well, a muggle.

as, again, i'm still geeking out over the release of the sixth film, i decided to devote a post to the books that have, oddly enough, formed much of the foundations of my view on life:

1. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's [Philosopher's] Stone

the writing for this one - style-wise, at least - isn't particularly special. the pacing for the beginning of the book is a little uneven, and often jerks around to capture somewhat miniscule - but magical and entertaining - aspects of the magical universe, and glossing over potentially significant events and tilts.

i picked the book up reluctantly, after a friend of mine urged me to put down my typical historical fiction and try something new and, in their words, "awwesoommmee."

i was under the impression that it was, as other people said, a kid's book.

and, again, the beginning part - though it managed to grab a little bit of my attention - didn't do much to impress.

but i remember the exact moment/passage that made me fall in love with the series forever.

the chapter about The Mirror of Erised, even to this day, manages to touch me more than a great deal of other books i've read.

here was this young wizard who was blessed with all of the gifts and vices of the typical mythical hero: he was an orphan who was brought up in a place to which he didn't belong; he unknowingly possessed other-worldly power; he knew nothing of his past until cues eventually came along to direct him; he was given a task that he alone had to complete; he was a reluctant hero who accepted his destiny and ultimately reigned victorious.

he could do magic, and finally existed in a world where magic was not only spectacle, but also commonplace (which, really, added to the real "wonder" of Rowling's universe).

more importantly, he could do magic, and had been through overwhelming strife the likes of which no one should have to suffer, and all he wanted was something as human and as real and as simple (to grasp, at least) as love. unconditional love.

it was the Erised scene, i think, that really set the tone and theme for the entire series.

and that made me, admittedly, a little misty-eyed.

and, again, made me fall in love.

2. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

if i had to choose a book to be omitted from the series - as much as i love all of the books - it would have to be this one.

which is strange for me to admit, as, shortly after reading it, it was one of my favorite books for a little while.

not that it didn't have its merits.

if the first book set the overall theme (of the power of love in the balance of good and evil), the second book managed to really ground Rowling's humor as a running tone and style in the series.

moreover, it worked to put in a few more subtle hints and strengthen the relationships of the characters with one another.

only in its second year, the characters have already started to grow and evolve.

and the story begins to really begin its discussion about death, and therefore starts to get darker.

reading this one, mainly because of the Chamber scene, made me feel a little grown up, because you get the sense of impending doom and danger, and the feeling that it might be a little too grown-up for kids.

3. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

when people ask, “yeah, but…which one’s your favorite?” this is the usually the one i start to talk about.

many of the people i’ve talked to claim that this is one of their lesser favorite ones, and that only the last three or four of the series are really worth noting, because the story finally starts to take shape.

but i disagree.

the third book is where we finally see Harry begin to battle his inner demon, at no better a time than when he hits the typical age of raging hormones, angst, loneliness, and fear.

it’s a much darker, more significant turn than its predecessors.

there isn’t as much action – Voldemort’s presence is made only by mention, and he seems to be more or less absent from the deepest themes of the book - but, to me at least, it was always much scarier and much more suspenseful than the first two.

inner demons and fear (of fear, itself) can be just as chilling as basilisks and death.

boggarts, simply enough, represent our worst fears, and force us to depend on our sense of humor – or our ability to see the light in everything – to conquer those fears.

the dementors, really, are more than just creepy hooded things with bad skin (honestly, we see enough of those at Hot Topic); their power lies in the idea that they bring about the very things we deeply fear, regret, and repress, just so we can manage from day to day.

they force us to relive the very dark parts of ourselves that normally go unnoticed, hidden away or staunched by our need for hope and our capacity for love.

the Patronus Charm is unique to the person who conjures it because we each rely on different sources of hope, happiness, and love: just as the power of the dementor varies with each person because each of us holds different fears and traumas.

so this one, i think, resonates so deeply because it’s so much more personal. you learn, through Harry, not to fear single entities of being (that is, Voldemort).

you learn that there are scarier things, within yourself, that often go overlooked or left alone and ignored.

you really appreciate how much Rowling understands (and must remember) the shittiness of the growing up process, and all of the mixed emotions and fears that go along with it.

the magic is still fantastic, but the feelings and overall theme are grounded in reality.

you really begin to connect with all of the characters, especially Harry, and, maybe, a little bit of yourself.

and that's the real magic of Harry Potter.

the power of fear that can only be overcome by love.

the books that always force me to look a little bit closer at myself and teach without really lecturing are the ones that i tend to favor.

lastly, this is the one where the tone of the series makes the final shift into darkness, where all of the pieces (with the Marauders and Snape and Lily) start to take shape and fall into place.

from here on out it's a real journey, and Harry really starts to mature.

and it came at a perfect time, and was perfectly captured.

career choices

2009-07-21T15:25:00.000-07:00

being half Asian, the list of career choices for my sisters and me, growing up, was limited.

what did our mother have in mind for us?

only what any good Korean mom hopes for (and forces upon) her children:

Doctor
Lawyer
Architect
Engineer
Millionaire's Wife
Doctor

that being said, most Korean moms try to feign unconditional support for independence and perseverance.

that is, up until the independent child becomes too independent and therefore also unruly and naive and, potentially, a failure in all aspects of life.

let's face it, most Asian babies are brought into the world for 2 reasons: the first, to maintain and further the Asian influence in the world; the second, to make enough money (by becoming a renowned doctor) so as to take care of the Asian parents when they're old and useless.

the others are accidents.

Mommy (that is, Mama Toro) is no exception.

when my sisters and i were growing up, our parents (Mommy, especially, as our dad was more or less a bit absent during our early years) instilled in us the very powerful and true ideas that, when we grow up, being females and ethnic minorities, we would have to overcome a great deal of strife in order to fulfill our dreams and goals.

and we should never let anything hold us back.

and we should do exactly what makes us successful in all senses of the word, particularly happiness, as she was robbed of the opportunities and encouragement to do so herself.

as amazing as that sounds, though (and as grateful as i am for that kind of upbringing), secretly our mother thought that any right-minded individual with that kind of encouragement would want to enter an Asian friendly career like the ones mentioned above.

who, with the right brains, talent, fortitude, and Asianness wouldn't want to be a doctor/architect/engineer/

lawyer/millionaire of some kind?

granted, Olivia was on the lawyer track for about 22 years of her life, much to Mommy's delight.

4.0+ since the womb, accepted into the most selective liberal arts college on scholarship (which was not a minority scholarship, as some suggested), accepted into every one of the top 5 law schools in the country, Olivia was never one to disappoint.

she only ever wanted to be a lawyer, or the first female president.

until she spent some time in law school and discovered that her passions lay more in the field of hands-on community service.

and she's happy now.

Annie's series of career choices was more eclectic. of the same intelligence and natural talent as Olivia, though without, perhaps, as strong an interest in academia, Annie's career choices never really followed a trend, although they did all more or less suit certain aspects of her character.

first, Annie, as an enforcer, wanted to be a cop.

then, probably in an attempt to better please our mother, she wanted to be a doctor.

then an architect.

then, when she got into a top university, Annie briefly showed interest in neurology, right before switching to International Studies.

now she happily teaches English in Japan.

but while my sisters spent brief stints in Mommy's good graces, looking back, i don't think i ever genuinely fit the mold.

my first career choice, at the age of 4, was cab driver, as i'd just seen the episode of the Muppet Babies where the babies go to the moon in a taxi.

which i suppose means that i actually wanted to be an astronaut.

that and, even then, i liked the idea of handling cash.

this dream lasted a good year or so.

that is, up until my family responded well to my earliest imitations of chickens and the like, and my parents, jokingly, told me that i should think about comedy.

jokingly, because i'm sure it wasn't what my mother had in mind.

especially as, during a big talk, i confessed to wanting to be "just like Ellen someday."

the next day, my mother gave me her old college math and science textbooks and educated me on the important contributions made by doctors and engineers the world over.

so i dabbled a little bit.

i fell in love with my LEGOs: the only unisex toys of which my mother ever really approved.

i even claimed that all i really wanted to do was be an aerospace engineer.

but it was all a lie.

particularly after comedy managed to get me out of a few scrapes and, as i realize now, helped me survive some of the worst years of my life.

i came home from school once, a little put out. my dad took notice and asked what was bothering me. i told him that kids liked to tease me about my walk, which resembled something of a waddle.

"Waddle?! One of the best comedians in history waddled!"

"Really?"

"Yeah! His name was Charlie Chaplin."

and as soon as the rented VHS of The Gold Rush started to play, with my dad anxiously awaiting my response in the background, i fell in love.

it was too late, then.

my heart was taken.

as i would discover and practice while growing up, finding the funny in everything is no mean feat.

...and oh-so necessary.

i suppose some people would laugh if i called comedy my "craft" or my "art."

many make the mistake of associating comedy with joke-telling or obnoxiously making an ass of oneself or of others.

but genuine, memorable comedy doesn't rely on simple gags or humiliation.

at least, it shouldn't.

but the kind that people latch onto, and the kind that really means something and lasts is grounded in sincerity and - cheesily enough - humanity.

one of the most important rules of comedy is that the funniest things are funny because they're true, and because they're true, chances are it's because so many people in the audience have experienced it themselves.

we like things that we can connect to, even if we can't understand how or why it means so much.

granted, i'm not gonna lie: i can get a good laugh out of a guy getting hit in the crotch or something.

but it doesn't resonate as much as, say, someone dealing with the throes of unrequited love - something i'm all too familiar with - and turning it into something lighthearted and easier to deal and cope with.

it takes a lot of astuteness to really pull off that kind of comedy - that is, the kind that can, literally, turn a frown upside-down.

it takes a great level of reasoning as well as optimism and perseverance to pull that off.

sometimes, it even requires a certain level of courage and awareness - of both one's surroundings and of oneself.

and, most importantly of all, it necessitates a deep understanding of people and looking beyond one's own self-absorbed bubble.

i don't flatter myself by assuming that i possess these qualities - any at all.

but i know that i strive to at least come close someday.

and that's the kind of comedy i want to write and do.

the kind that inspires hope as well as laughter.

the kind that people connect to and remember whenever the going gets tough.

and i think that all of that can be just as important in our world - especially with the current climate - as curing diseases or owning an estate.

laughter's the best medicine, anyhow.

hyphenate

2009-07-06T19:21:00.000-07:00

I've never really felt more Korean than Dominican, just as I've never felt more Dominican than Korean, or more American than either Korean or Dominican.

I can't recite the Korean anthem or recount important historical Dominican events.

I don't own a chogori or dance the merengue.

The only Korean I know I learned because of my mother's road rage, and I only learned Spanish when my family moved around because of Army assignments.

But I can tell you about the stares I've gotten from random passersby.

The inevitable question of, "What are you?" that comes along more often than, "Who are you?"

I can tell you stories in the various accents I grew up around while poorly pronouncing the names of Korean and Dominican dishes.

If anything, it's been a long, confusing journey in terms of reaching an understanding about my background and our family's history: it's taken a long time to come to the conclusion that I'm an absolute hyphenate.

I'm not exclusively Korean and I'm not exclusively Dominican.

I can't even be exclusively American because, as a first generation immigrant on both sides of my family, I'm sure that my American experience is different from that of my typical neighbor.

I am, then - along with my sisters - more accurately, Korean-Dominican-American:

So there are moments, whenever I spend time with my grandparents, when I sometimes seize the opportunity to hear more about our past.

If there's one thing the Kims and the Toros share, it's their emphasis on the importance of storytelling.

And, as immigrants, who can blame them? It's the stories that keep our diversity and culture alive.

Stories, really, are all we - or my ancestors - have.

My Korean grandmother, in particular, has always had the best stories.

Once, when I was 16, and we were visiting my half-Korean cousins - with whom our grandmother lived - my aunt, mother, cousins, and grandmother and I were watching the epic Korean War film Tae Guk Gi, the old woman turned to me.

She told me that, when the war broke out, she was just my age.

There was chaos: families, including her own, were ripped apart; the North Koreans and Chinese were ruthless; she was young and lost, and there seemed to be little hope.

Her small farming village being vulnerable, and her family, which was uncommonly close-knit and progressive (as our great-grandfather went against all tradition and left all of his property in my grandmother's name, rather than the next male heir) she and her mother - who were undeniably close - were separated.

Grandma was marched along like a prisoner, facing abuse, death, and starvation.

She was young and alone.

She decided to escape.

One night, when it was dark and the guards were tired and inattentive, she decided to break ranks.

As she ran through the dark alleyways of the anonymous nearby city, she could hear the dogs barking not too far behind, and the voices of the guards and the gunshots they threatened her with.

When suddenly a random door in an alley was thrown open, and a welcoming hand took her in and hid her.

Come morning, she felt that she should leave, should another crowd of Red soldiers pass through, she couldn't endanger the people who helped her.

Not long after, she found a Colombian military camp.

She spent the remainder of the war learning Spanish and doing laundry, happily out of danger.

But she still missed her mother.

When she finally managed to return home, at the end of the war, she sprinted for her family's farm to look for her.

But she wasn't there.

So halmony* went into the village, searching high and low for our great-grandmother.

For hours she looked, fruitlessly.

Finally, she asked someone.

"Your mother?" the man asked, "Park?"

Halmony nodded, desperate, hoping there was a happy ending.

But the man's face fell, and he recounted the legend that became of her mother.

After great-grandmother finally managed to return to the village, the first thing she did was search for my grandmother.

For hours.

Days.

But, somehow, she wasn't back yet.

But she couldn't believe that my grandmother was dead, no matter what the others tried to tell her.

She knew, in her heart, that my grandmother was still alive.

She just had to wait.

So, every day, our great-grandmother would go and wait at the train station.

For hours.

Every day.

Never losing faith.

Nothing else in the world could stop her.

"...But, your mother," the man concluded, "after all that waiting...She died of a broken heart."

It's sad to me that our generation might not know stories like this.

That, instead of quiet triumphs in the face of a violent, close war, we face battles with one another, often forgetting where we came from: that, though our histories are different, we were brought here searching for much of the same ending.

We forget about stories like the one my grandmother had to tell: stories of love and closeness.

Legends are harder to come by nowadays, I suppose.

But I find a little solace in the fact that we can still try to continue the telling of these kinds of stories.

That these old stories can still be passed along so long as there are people who will listen and people who remember.

We just have to remember sometimes.

*halmony is the affectionate Korean word for "grandmother." not one member of the triad any more significant than another, as I've tried, and continue to try, to become better acquainted with the parts of me that brought my family histories here.

office musings

2009-06-30T16:02:00.000-07:00

right. so i work with a relatively old woman who, up until this point, has been on my good side.

for the most part, i'd sort of accepted her as a feisty old woman with a lot of spunk and character, but, today, i couldn't help but feel that she's more or less fallen out of my good graces.

why?

well, with nothing to do today, i was reading a Harry Potter book.

she came by and asked what i was reading, so i showed her the cover and told her.

"Ya know, I've never understood the appeal of that stuff haha I mean, my kids and my grandkids love them, and they told me that if I gave them a shot I'd like 'em, but whenever I see that stuff on TV all I can think of is witchcraft! Just witchcraft!"

and she went on a little more, finally delving into the fact that she thinks my generation is at risk because the morality of her own generation has gone out the window.

nobody gives religion as much credit as they should anymore, she says.

i was okay with this speech. Lord knows i've heard it a fair few times from old people, so i figured it was more or less expected.

but then she kept going on with a new topic.

"And ya know what else I don't get? These jails! I mean, so the men prisons are ALL men, right? And no women. And the women prisons are ALL women, and no men. So I'm thinking, why the heck are these places so stocked up with condoms? And why is this okay? No one thinks it's wrong. I mean, think about it, right? ALL men and ALL women? What else do you think is going on there? And NOBODY thinks it's wrong. And I'm asking, 'Why the HECK is MY tax money being taken by the government to BUY these condoms and SUPPORT that kind of thing.

I'm old-fashioned now - nobody gives me or people who think the same way as me as much credit anymore.

I believe in the old stuff, where I don't want my tax money to go to that kind of thing. Where I don't understand how 6th graders're getting pregnant and these parents nowadays're letting their kids just watch violent movies and play violent video games.

I mean, right? Thank GOD my kids're all grown up and raised already. It's terrifying to think that kids're gonna grow up with these kinds of things.

And to think that all those things're alright?

Marriage is for sex and having children and it's for a man and a woman.

I don't understand people who just have sex outside of marriage or have babies without getting married.

Right?

But if I say these things out loud, then I'M just judgmental, right?

It doesn't make sense."

you wanna know why you're considered judgmental, you old windbag?

because you fail to recognize the changing times. call the newer generation ignorant of old morals and values if you want, but you're just as guilty - if not moreso - of being ignorant of [necessary and inevitable] change.

i can understand wanting to let things stay the way they are, for the sake of stability, but hot damn, you'd think all those years under your belt'd be proportional to your alleged wisdom.

first off, Harry Potter is about more than witchcraft. if you read it and didn't judge a book by its cover, you might discover that that is chock full of the morals you and your beloved Bible so faithfully support and preach.

secondly, if you want the HIV epidemic to continue to spread, just because of your adamant objection to homosexuality and your need to hold onto a few extra dollars, go ahead: get that blood on your hands.

i think people of your age and mindset forget that there is one institution that has, arguably, been around longer than the Bible or any religious institution (that is, an institution that not only preceded Christianity, but also formed the foundation of it): love.

love is a big word, though. over time, it's been abused, misunderstood, and has evolved, incessantly, since its inception - whenever that may have been.

it encompasses a lot of things that we may often take for granted: human decency, compassion, loyalty, and faith.

the Bible isn't about the rights and wrongs of humanity, and, even though it outlines the many flaws of the human race, it doesn't hold said race in contempt.

if anything, it honors the one thing that seems to set humanity apart from all of God's other creations: our capacity to love.

that's all.

that's all religion should be about.

and that's all that should be in mind when deciding between right and wrong.

do we let convicted, confined criminals copulate with fatal consequences? let them die and offer no charity or compassion or, in the very least, guidance?

is it really wise to simply attempt to prevent the inevitable? rather than adjust to change so as to provide better safety?

no, because even Jesus gave those who wronged second, third, fourth chances.

moreover, knowing full well that these individuals might head back out into society, how can we sit idly by and allow for their "indiscretions" to spread to innocent passersby?

how can we put our neighbors at risk?

in any context?

how can we let them starve, deteriorate with disease, or allow them to make ill conceived and poorly informed decisions?

and how can we prevent our neighbors from partaking in the one God-given gift that defines our humanity?

how can you tell someone that their love is wrong?

love is a big word, not because it should be restricted or contained or feared, but because, simply enough, it doesn't discriminate.

it's human.

it's flawed.

it's inevitable.

it's necessary for harmony and unwavering faith in whatever you choose to believe.

and that's the only morality we need - that is, the kind that isn't defined by too-long lists of dos and don'ts; rather, the kind that allows for indiscriminate and unconditional love.

so, thank you, old lady, for saying all of those things to and right in front of me, knowing full well that i'm involved with the LGBT community.

thank you for disregarding any notions of human decency and consideration so as to banter on with your hurtful bigotry.

i regret not being brave enough to stand up to you and needing this job.

but i'm grateful for the fact that, God willing, i've got another 60 some odd years to go before my moral compass goes to pot.

and, of course, before i need Depends, too.

Red with passion, or the heart wants what it wants.

2009-06-28T15:26:00.000-07:00

i confessed to a friend a little while back that i hold a soft spot for redheads.

she was disgusted, and proceeded to harangue me for my Ginger Love by informing me, in so many words, that redheads are nothing more or less than the spawn of Satan.

"Red with evil."

but i disagree.

although i can't necessarily describe a concrete reason as to why i harbor special feelings for redheads (that is, apart from the fact that they're nearly always cheerful and bubbly and, to some extent, awkward), i know for a certain fact that they're not the earthly embodiment of the devil.

everybody needs love from somebody.

Gingers need love, too.

and i'm here to give it to them.

that being said, so as to continue the previous post, this second list is devoted to the Gingers of My Heart (again, in no particular order):

1. Amy Adams

from Enchanted to Sunshine Cleaning, i just love her. she seems so down to earth and friendly and adorable.

2. Kate Winslet

i. love. her. always have, always will. true love lasts a lifetime. she's my #1 special lady. i actually don't even know why i didn't list her as number 1 here. probably because, given our true connection, numbers - and everything else in this world - are unimportant.

creepy?

good.

3. Jenny Lewis

actress and musician and singer and beautiful and awesome.

4. Alyson Hannigan

granted, i'm probably more attracted to her smile than anything else, and she now plays a brunette on "How I Met Your Mother," but still. and that's all i've gotta say: "but still."

5. Isla Fisher

crazy. and crazy hilarious and awesome.

6. Christina Hendricks

um. hott. that is all.

and, of course, not included in this list but whom i still wholeheartedly admire: Lucille Ball and Katherine Hepburn.

see? Gingers aren't all bad.

i mean, i'm not saying that i'm exclusively attracted to redheads...

i'm just saying that they deserve a shot, too.

and i'm widening my options.

the heart wants what it wants.

now excuse me while i drool.

...but my love is real!

2009-06-26T21:12:00.000-07:00

so i've reread the previous few posts and can only say that i'm sorry for the emoness of them.

well, not really sorry.

but i have every intention of re-lightening up the ol' blog this time 'round with a couple of completely simple, non-thought-provoking lists.

the first, my biggest fiction crushes (that is, crushes on fictional characters).

they really aren't in any particular order:

1. Hermione Granger

i like a woman in charge. and, honestly, after all those times she covered Harry's ass, those books should've been called Hermione Granger and the Time Harry Should've Listened But Didn't Because He's Kind of Stupid.

2. Elizabeth Bennett

witty, independent, and unapologetic.

3. Elinor Dashwood

i also have a thing for the ones who're quiet but in charge. and she's the only one in that book who actually has an ounce of "Sense." i also like the idea of helping someone open up a bit, or being comfortably quiet with at times.

4. Juno MacGuff

i repeat: i have a soft spot for subtle badasses.

plus, neither of us could get pregnant. perfect.

5. Lisa Fremont

Grace Kelly. solving murders in a dress. arguing with Jimmy Stewart.

6. Chuck Charles

adorable and eccentric.

7. Veronica Mars

...do i even need to explain this one? she's like everything that's awesome in everyone mentioned above, rolled into one imaginary entity.

others not pictured:
Kate (Taming of the Shrew)
Betty Suarez
Lindsay Weir
Eowyn

a friend of mine told me the other day that he thinks crushes are mostly based on those characteristics we envy in others, or that we feel we lack and therefore admire.

i suppose the easiest way to prove this theory is through fiction crushes, as you're offered so much more insight into their thoughts and actions and histories.

in sitting down and looking at the above crushes, i've come to the conclusion that the qualities i tend to admire in others are as follows:
1. decisiveness.
2. emotional openness/control (except Elinor, clearly).
3. adventurousness.
4. being unapologetic.
5. being independent.
6. wit.
7. astuteness.

that being said (and i'm sure there're even more), i wonder if what my friend hypothesized is true.

i mean, i know for a fact that i have trouble in the whole decision-making department. i can hardly decide on what to have for dinner, usually.

and i've never been one to wear all of my emotions on my sleeve. at least, not intentionally. i've always had trouble orally talking about my feelings and problems, often resorting to less invasive methods of communication like simple storytelling or changing the subject for the sake or by way of telling a joke.

and i'm definitely not unapologetic. i often take the blame for a number of things that happen to and around me, and i'm still working on building up the courage to take first steps without hesitation.

but i like to think that i have something of a thirst for adventure. why else would i move myself all the way across the country, by myself?

and be willing to go to the UK for grad school?

i also like to think that i'm something of a quiet observer of the things around me, as i especially like taking walks on my own for the sake of soaking everything in without interruptions. and i like pointing some of these small observations out.

as for wit and independence, i'm not sure if i have either of them in abundance, as much as i may tend to think that i have, at least, a small inkling of each.

growing up in the Toro household meant family dinners every night and, by extension, conversation. with my parents being who and what they were, and my sisters each well-endowed with the gift for wit, these conversations were often as educational as they were entertaining. so, though i may have an understanding of and appreciation for wit, i often wonder if i was the Toro fluke.

independence-wise, again, i'm not entirely sure if i've the fortitude or sheer will to practice as much of it as i may have. my parents have never fared well with the idea of letting my sisters and me go, and the Toro girls often complain to one another about the choke-hold our parents still have on us.

but i wonder if i'd be able to survive if completely cut off from them. i'm not entirely sure if i've been equipped with the right frame of mind and experience to boast independence, as original as i might think i am.

so i suppose the nature of crushes is one that is based on compromise.

everyone secretly enjoys the idea of loving certain parts of himself or herself, and the true attachment forms when this likeness is coupled with certain attributes that he or she feels that he or she lacks.

all in all, i suppose, true crushes represent the ideal person we wish we could be.

talking to myself

2009-06-24T15:12:00.001-07:00

sometimes i wonder what life would be like if i wasn't such a chicken.

i wasn't always so timid: every boyfriend i've ever had was acquired through a brief and almost confrontational encounter.

"Hey, ___."

"Oh, hey, Vickie..."

"I heard you like me."

"Oh...wha-"

"Wanna be my boyfriend?"

"Okay."

things were so much easier when i was feigning straightness, and when i honestly didn't really care about what other people thought of me.

looking back, it's hard to pinpoint a specific reason as to why i started to build up these walls, or develop such a negative perception of myself.

in fact, i'm pretty sure Little Vickie would be less than approving of my current mental [and, probably, physical] condition.

here is how i imagine the conversation would go, if i was bffs with Dr. Emmett Brown:

Little Vickie: Wow.

Big Vickie: What?

LV: So I guess we're not really swimming anymore.

BV: ...That obvious?

LV: I have abs. You have rolls.

BV: Thanks, I hadn't noticed.

LV: Why aren't we swimming? I thought we had plans.

BV: We did. And then reality set in.

LV: How?

BV: Knee surgery -

LV: That kind of thing never stopped us before.

BV: - and teams were hard to come by in Mexico -

LV: We could've found a way.

BV: - and I was going through a hard time.

LV: You gave up.

BV: ...I gave up.

LV: Hm.

BV: [silence]

LV: And what about violin?

BV: I still practice...sometimes.

LV: No orchestra or Michelle Branch collaboration or anything?

BV: No - and we don't even like Michelle Branch anymore.

LV: Whaaat?

BV: She's in some country music thing now.

LV: Gross.

BV: Yeah.

LV: And do you perform or anything? Recitals?

BV: No.

LV: Why not?

BV: It's hard.

LV: It wasn't always hard. We got a standing ovation once.

BV: It stopped being fun.

LV: You let Mommy get to us.

BV: Something like that.

LV: You gave up again.

BV: ...I did.

LV: And are we out yet?

BV: You mean, gay-wise?

LV: What other "wise" could I mean?

BV: Yeah, we came out to everyone.

LV: Wow. Never thought we'd do that.

BV: Yeah.

LV: Do we still like you-know-who?

BV: Voldemort?

LV: Don't tell me what happens.

BV: You already kind of know.

LV: Don't! And anyway, not who I meant.

BV: Ah.

LV: Yeah.

BV: No, we've moved on.

LV: Ooo. Are we dating?

BV: Not exactly.

LV: What do you mean?

BV: We're open to the possibility, if other people are open to it, too.

LV: Why wouldn't other people be open to it?

BV: ...Look at us.

LV: You're stupid.

BV: That's probably one of the reasons, too.

LV: We were elected SCA President!

BV: ...And "Most Likely to Become Principal."

LV: Whatever. So we went through all that trouble to come out, after all those years of hiding, just to be single?

BV: How is it our fault that no one wants to be with us?

LV: Stupid.

BV: You've mentioned that.

LV: Did we give up on everything?

BV: No! We're writing a lot. And we're doing improv.

LV: Like comedy?

BV: Yeah, and we love it.

LV: Well that's something, at least. Never thought we'd do that.

BV: Yeah, I know.

LV: That's a little progress.

yeah, i'm not entirely sure if LV would approve of BV too much. lots of thing's've changed.

old goals out, new goals in.

really, though, as much as i might enjoy the idea of new liberties and independence, i can't help but wonder if it's too late to go back a little bit, or take a little bit of "back" with me.

i suppose it's a little silly to think that our younger selves were a little wiser than our current selves.

or more fearless.

if i'd just an ounce of the naive fearlessness and dreams i'd had when i was a little kid, i wonder where i'd be.

still though, it's dumb to regret things too much. probably a lot smarter to deal with the hand i was dealt.

or, perhaps more accurately, the hand i somehow chose to have.

i'm hardly past my prime, i think - or like to think - so i suppose it's never too late to re-imagine the life i'd like to have, or go about re-capturing some of the things i stupidly let go amiss.

it's probably about time i get over myself and start making changes, or go at least a little ways back to the things from my childhood that i envy.

sometimes growing up doesn't mean letting the little kid disappear.

the Vickie Hilton edition.

2009-06-23T09:02:00.000-07:00

yep, that's right, looks like somebody's finally gotten their just desserts in the form of one knuckle sandwich!

don't get me wrong: i'm not one who condones violence for settling issues.

but nor do i condone douchebaggery for building a "career" and poorly representing the entire LGBT community.

because, let's face it, as much as members of the community know, firsthand, that Hilton is hardly representative of all of us, he's the first queer face most heteros associate with gayness.

the "Queen of All Media?"

pur-leez.

more like the jackass jester of the court who might occasionally do a decent job of entertaining, but, for the most part, shoots and fails and ends up making a complete ass of himself while attempting to take others down with him.

i think i'm definitely in favor of offering the title of "Queen of All Media" to Anderson Cooper instead.

that is, to someone with actual sense, intelligence, and overall human decency.

and proper grammar skills.

seriously, how can someone craft an entire career from feeding off of the misfortunes of others? or fabricating even worse misfortunes when a person's life just isn't dramatic enough?

an entire career built on hypocrisy, superficiality, and, on some level, cruelty and ridicule.

that being said, again, i'm all for using words rather than fists.

but NOT when that word is along the lines of "f*ggot."

in NO CONTEXT is the use of that word permissible.

not even - and especially - when the speaker is not only a member of the LGBT community, but also, unfortunately, a representative of it.

you wanna avoid physical violence and talk it out instead?

good for you, but don't fucking perpetuate negative stereotypes of a group of individuals who're already on the frontlines and fighting for positive legal and ideological acceptance.

don't make it okay to use that kind of language.

and don't expect to get away with it.

i'm not one who supports censorship of any kind, but when it comes to understanding the current cultural, social, and political climate associated with gay-straight relations, i can't help but wonder what possessed you to use that disgusting word and later claim that you were completely innocent.

i'm not justifying will.I.am's "fan's" actions at all. it's really unfortunate that the confrontation escalated so rapidly and under such poor circumstances - so both of you were in the wrong.

you shouldn't've been hit - maybe - but you also shouldn't be under the impression that that kind of behavior is acceptable.

given the already somewhat unstable and evolving image of the LGBT community, you should know better.

if you wanna use words instead of punches, use intelligent words.

you wanna sit down and compromise instead of lash out and attack, use patience.

and maybe if you afford people the right to their own privacy and positive image, instead of the negative tabloid bullshit you call "journalism," karma wouldn't come back and bite you in the ass.

or punch you in the face.

douche.

i've got [LGBT] issues.

2009-06-19T13:30:00.000-07:00

i know the whole marriage thing is a big deal, but, in terms of my own life, it's also a pretty lofty goal.

i mean, lemme find a way to the altar first.

as of now, prospects are dim in that department for me, as i'm still very much dealing with some of the more immediate and somewhat traumatic, albeit smaller aspects of the gay agenda.

as such, i've compiled a list of just such aspects in an effort to call attention to certain things that don't get enough airplay when people talk about "LGBT Issues":

Ambiguity
i've been teased and doubted quite a bit since coming out for being less than flamboyant.

no, i don't rock the flannel or appreciate female facial hair with as much gusto or negligiance as some lesbians. blame the fact that, growing up, i was the only lesbian i knew of apart from Ellen (who i couldn't even really idolize because i feared that if my mom caught me just watching her show i'd be outed).

basically, i have no clue how to "act" like a lesbian, and, in all honesty, i'm pretty sure that kind of thing shouldn't matter.

i've been called an "Ally" more times in my life than i care to remember, and can only put at least some of the blame for my current spinster state on my alleged ambiguity.

and the fact that i tend to only get hit on by scary butch lesbians.

who, unfortunately, aren't really my type.

but life would be so much easier if they were.

in all honesty, i have no clue how to behave normally, let alone appropriately lesbian. but i will say that i'm waiting, impatiently, for the day when none of that will matter.

when i can openly express my love for things like My Fair Lady and Pride and Prejudice and maintain that i am still very much a big spoon.
Fashion
i guess this one ties in with the whole ambiguity thing, but it doesn't hurt to point it out a bit.

i just don't know how to dress myself.

when most people picture lesbians, i think they tend to envision either totally hipster types, or totally butch types.

with my lack of fashion sense and masculinity, i don't fit into either category.

i tend to think that my nerdiness takes precedence over my lesbianism, for whatever reason.

believe it or not, whenever i enter a social situation my first thought isn't, "Look at all these hott chicks!" - it's actually more along the lines of, "Hot DAMN I wish I wasn't such a weenie."

and my clothes, i think, go along with this: i throw on whatever's practical and comfortable because, honestly, i have to focus more on survival than attraction.

and it isn't until later that i wish i'd bought that shirt my sister recommended, or had better boobs, or cuter jeans, or an ounce of swagger.

which brings me to my next point:
Swagger
i don't even know what this is. i mean, i know what this means, and i certainly tend to be drawn towards people of a certain swagger, but i don't know how to go about getting it for myself.

i get the sneaking suspicion that this is something people're more or less born with.

and most people of the LGBT community, from what i've observed, have a certain 'tude that they always seem to know how to use to their advantage.

any and all visible LGBT individuals - at least, the ones on TV and in the movies - are more or less comfortable in their own skin and fit the identity to a T.

last week during improv workshop, i was told that i gravitate towards awkward characters and that i should learn to harness my inherent awkwardness.

up until that evening, i was under the impression that i didn't have a swagger - awkward or otherwise.

as such, i've resolved to make it my mission to understand and harness this awkwardness and maybe put forward a new kind of awkward, LGBT swagger.

cuz, honestly, i don't know how to go about doing the confident one.
Hobbies
i'm a terrible guitarist. when i picked up the guitar about a year ago, determined to fulfill a lifelong dream of mine, my sister Olivia pleaded that i don't become "one of those lesbians."

really, she had nothing to worry about. my clumsy hands are enough to prevent me from forming a lesbian folk-singing power duo.

and i can't sing.

and i'm not emo.

just self-deprecating.

moreover, i can't completely give up meat, and i can't really understand people who can.

it's the Korean and Dominican in me.

don't take away my bulgogi and kalbi and pastelitos and pork.

granted, i've become more or less "Pescatarian" as of late, but sometimes i can't help but slip up.

consider my efforts to eat less meat enough to satisfy this particular effort (even though i still feel slightly inadequate).

and i can't tell the difference between Monet and Manet - i'm somewhat culturally deficient.

i mean, i enjoy museum excursions and seeing all of the artwork and everything and appreciating, simply, the beauty of and effort put into everything, but the minute you ask me to recite, in detail, the aesthetic and cultural implications and contributions of everything we've just seen, you'll probably end up drawing a blank stare or an uncomfortable giggle.

but i can quote entire verses from George Carlin's routines, and recount my favorite parts of Chaplin films.

i can nerdily and unabashedly make Harry Potter and Star Wars references and make/blurt out the puns everyone else is too cool to point out.

i said once before that a secret turn-on for me is love for Jimmy Stewart, and i've really yet to find someone who fulfills this particular irrational request.

it makes me wonder if i should hold out for someone who could potentially enjoy or embody these kinds of things, or if i should throw in the towel and conform.

there's a lot of pressure out there for someone as clueless as i am.
Unrequited Love
this is probably my biggest beef with being both gay and human.

let me tell you: straight crushes are BS.

not the kind of BS that gets picked up occasionally by street cleaners or park rangers, but the kind that NEVER GOES AWAY.

it drops, festers, stinks up the whole damned place, and multiplies every time you try to sweep it under the rug or toss it away or hose it down.

the more you try to convince yourself that it's not something worth thinking about because of the unlikelihood of the desired outcome, the more you end up torturing yourself with incessant brooding over the fact that its resolution is so unlikely.

especially if you're in the closet and at the inevitably and irrevocably awkward and confusing stage of adolescence - when nothing seems to make any sense anyhow.

someone asked me recently if i've ever been in love. my immediate answer was a bitter, "No," but, later that night, i got to thinking:

if unrequited love counts as "being in love," then, in fact, i have. and the fact that i hadn't thought of it earlier surprised me, because this one phase of my life which wound up shaking me to my very core and eventually forced me to confront my sexuality head-on was one that i never thought i'd forget or doubt.

it was the kind of thing, though, that, in my memory, i denied as being "love," for the simple fact that even just the phrases "attracted to" and "liked" were enough to cause unwarranted pain and suffering.

(thank God i'm out.)

so i started to reminisce about this one person i knew and "liked," and really sat down to understand the nature of the "like":

the way i "liked" making her laugh more than anyone else because of how great and lovely her smile and laugh were;

the way even her coldest and bluntest comments could make me laugh;

how unassuming she was about her prettiness, strength, and wit -

all of which she had in excess.

and all of which made me reconsider the previous decade or so of my life when i could easily write off any attraction i had to other girls as misunderstood and overestimated "friend feelings."

because, i suppose, it ran deeper than that.

i couldn't stop thinking about her or the whole predicament altogether.

it hurt to see her, and it hurt to miss her.

and it hurt to know that she could never know about any of it because there was no possible way that it could make a difference.

and nobody could know.

and it was disarming.

and it was this part of the whole thing that made me question my own partaking of the love pie.

that what makes love, love isn't the possibility of its reciprocation, but the sheer fact that you can sit and appreciate something, or someone, for everything they're worth.

even if the other person isn't aware of it.

knowing that you potentially see something that nobody else sees.

that being said, being gay and clueless amidst a sea of predominantly hetero femme women isn't exactly the ideal circumstance someone in my bitterly single state wants to find herself.

as much as i enjoy the idea of seeing quiet beauty that no one else really sees, i think i'd like the idea of telling this beautiful person about it all directly and often much better.

it's why i came out of the closet, so that someday i could go around and be as openly sappy as i want.

and yet, though my chances of finding someone to be sappy with have increased drastically, i still find myself in a new closet.

the kind where i find myself either attracted to a straight girl or to someone who's way out of my league.

leagues that're predetermined by Ambiguity, Swagger, Hobbies, and Fashion.

but i suppose what i'm trying to say is that unrequited love doesn't discriminate against any one group.

and the world would be a much better place if everyone was bi.

and a little bit nerdy.

a big midsummer morning's update/catch-up, or i wish i was straight

2009-06-15T08:47:00.000-07:00

i thought this summer was done in terms of new developments, but, clearly, i was wrong.

quick summary:

1. improv started up again, and i found out last week that, if i complete all 3 levels/classes at Comedysportz, there's a good chance that i'll be admitted into the Rec League and perform regularly. someday, i might even audition for other shows at the theatre.

2. i got accepted into the Cinema-Television Critical Studies program at USC's film school. at first, i thought that i wouldn't get in in the first place. after a little while, once i declared in Narrative Studies, i figured i'd turn down the offer of admission just to keep things simple and because, in some ways, the 2 majors overlapped. but now i figure, hey, i got into USC film school. i'm sticking with it. i'm hoping it'll help me with networking and whatnot, and if i focus on film in the CTCS program, i can focus more on theatre in the NS program.

3. i'm actually giving thought to grad school.

crazy, i know.

especially as, ages ago, i vowed never to stay in school longer than i have to.

but i figure now, as i have no real, concrete, stable career plans for the future, the best option would be to stall for as long as possible.

so, the list of top choices includes (in no particular order):
Northwestern University
NYU
Columbia University
UVA
USC
UCLA
U. Penn
Oxford University
Cambridge University

the last two are as unattainable, probably, as they are pretentious. but i figure, what the heck. might as well see.

plus, i'm pretty sure i want to live in the UK for at least a little bit at one point in my life.

4. i've resolved to not pine for anyone, and not make it my mission to find someone this year. i'll just let the chips fall where they may.

screw unrequited love.

bleh.

gay stuff:

i've been to a number of different gay-related marches and rallies.

i've never felt so blissfully gay in all my life. and i'm learning a lot:

the only single lesbians are unbelievably butch and scary.
the only femme lesbians are either taken by an unbelievably butch lesbian, or another femme, or is too good for me.
i don't know if i'm butch or femme.
i've been told that i'm much more femme than i think.
bah.
my gaydar only seems to work on men.
that or men are just that much easier to detect.
only the coolest straight people are allies.
and break my heart.
homos like to march.
and chant.
and rant.
and dance.
and paint their boobs.

and i'm pretty sure there's still tons more to learn about this whole culture, which is why i'm a little excited and nervous for the upcoming year, when one of my roles in the USC LGBT community is to lead discussions on LGBT issues.

homesickness:

all in all, this summer's going pretty well, apart from the homesickness.

my cousin Jack just graduated from high school and i had to miss the ceremony because i'm all the way across the country.

you never really realize how far away from home you are until something makes you wish you could click your heels and teleport.

that and the whole film school acceptance thing is the kind of thing i wanted to share with my family.

but oh well...there'll be other summers, i suppose.

i just wish i could've been there for Jack.

and all of my friends, especially as a couple of them seem to be going through a lot. i hate not being there for them.

but i suppose that's the biggest thing about growing up and being an adult, at last.

learning and fighting to stay in touch, surviving on your own, clinging on to family.

i honestly can't believe how old we're all getting.

i had a heart attack when i found out that a kid i'd known since middle school had gotten married and had a baby.

and another is engaged.

and another passed away.

it's crazy how much can happen in what feels like a small space of time.

but it's also weird to think that, with 365 days in the year, meaning 525600 minutes (thanks, Rent), we don't anticipate so many opportunities for change.

sappy, as always.

on that note, the meat and potatoes:

i don't like to think of myself as the kind who needs someone.

i read somewhere that children who grow up in homes where affection and positive co-dependency grow up with a healthy attitude towards relationships and open affection. in other words, kids who see their parents relate to each other in positive ways will grow up and relate to their own partner in positive ways.

let's just say that i didn't get a lot of that growing up.

and the consequences of this more distanced upbringing has become increasingly evident these past few months as my sisters and i - according to just about all of my friends - are finding ourselves facing much of the same issues in our love lives.

er, my theoretical love life. as, technically it's there, but, really, it's not because nothing's actually happening.

first, we don't know how to "read the signs." if someone's flirting with us, we just can't tell. i'm pretty sure this has something to do with the fact that none of us really sees herself worthy of that kind of attention.

who the heck would flirt with me, really?

crazy.

second, we don't know how to act on our feelings. for the most part, i sit and pine and suffer.

in other words, we're all a little bit timid.

...a lot timid.

sometimes i wish i could just get obnoxiously drunk and drunk dial the person i like. just for the sake of putting it all out there and getting it over with.

and, potentially, forgetting about it in the morning.

otherwise, i feel like i'm going to end up sitting in my lonely, empty apartment, pining away for girl after girl after girl.

suffering for my "art."

...of comedy.

i mean, i know that people find confidence and courage way more attractive than timidness and self-deprecation, but i can't help it.

i wish i could go back to my middle school days when i had the cojones to demand things rather than shyly ask for them.

when i strolled up to my now ex-boyfriend and told him to be my boyfriend because i knew he liked me.

seriously. where the heck has that kind of confidence gone?

i guess dealing with girls is a different issue, as now it could potentially "mean something."

and girls are ridiculously confusing and all about those implicit schemes and charms and whatever.

all of which i lack.

but, hot damn, i wish i was straight sometimes.

it would make so many things easier:

sex. none of that confusing canoodling business.
flirting, as men are easier to please and way more straightforward.
...and what else would one need?

it's actually really unfortunate that i'm a lesbian.

you'd think i'd be alright at dealing with women because i'm one, myself.

but, apparently, the unfortunate combination of God and my genes and upbringing ultimately denied me most of the necessary and typical female decoding skills.

FML.

but i suppose it's about time i try to turn a brighter leaf.

just be myself and be okay with the fact that all this means is that someday, that special someone's going to see past all of the timidness and break through all of the stupid walls i've inadvertently built up and stubbornly refuse to tear down too easily.

or be so forward that i really have no choice but to go along with it.

at least i'll be with someone.

all's i knows is, i'm tired of pining. and i'm tired of not feeling good enough for anyone.

it's about time i stop trying so hard and let the ladies come to me.

(PLEASE come to me!)

TGIS[ummer] and the chance to read for fun

2009-05-22T13:44:00.000-07:00

comedy classes done till June, work not starting till Tuesday, no homework, no worries.

i went out today after a morning swim and bike ride and bought 65 bucks worth of books in celebration.

one book was Pablo Neruda's Los versos del Capitán - a collection of love poems he wrote while in exile with his lover, Matilde Urrutia.

the sap in me has always wished that i'd be able to write or explain certain feelings through words, or be with someone who can woo me through poetry.

gross, i know.

but the heart wants what it wants.

on top of that, i think i mentioned earlier in this blog that one of the biggest turn-ons for me is a great laugh. i could never explain why, but occasionally i'll come across someone i enjoy making/hearing laugh more than anyone else.

something about the warmth in their laughter that's genuine and reaches out and grabs me and spreads to every part of my body.

Pablo Neruda pretty much summed it up:

TU RISA

Quítame el pan, si quieres,
quítame el aire, pero
no me quites tu risa.

No me quites la rosa,
la lanza que desgranas,
el agua que de pronto
estalla en tu alegría,
la repentina ola
de plata que te nace.

Mi lucha es dura y vuelvo
con los ojos cansados
a veces de haber visto
la tierra que no cambia,
pero al entrar tu risa
sube al cielo buscándome
y abre para mi todas
las puertas de la vida.

Amor mío, en la hora
más oscura desgrana
tu risa, y si de pronto
ves que mi sangre mancha
las piedras de la calle,
ríe, porque tu risa
será para mis manos
como una espada fresca.

Junto al mar en otoño,
tu risa debe alzar
su cascada de espuma,
y en primavera, amor,
quiero tu risa como
la flor que yo esperaba,
la flor azul, la rosa
de mi patria sonora.

Ríete de la noche,
del día, de la luna,
ríete de las calles
torcidas de la isla,
ríete de este torpe
muchacho que te quiere,
pero cuando yo abro
los ojos y los cierro,
cuando mis pasos van,
cuando vuelven mis pasos,
niégame el pan, el aire,
la luz, la primavera,
pero tu risa nunca
porque me moriría.

and in English (although it hardly does the original justice):

YOUR LAUGHTER

Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.

Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.

My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.

so cheesy. but so good.

i think i'm in dire need of a little spoon.

just so i can have an outlet for all of this and not post lovey-dovey poetry on my blog.

seriously, though.

still looking for that cucharita.

FML.

are you there Jeebus? it's me, Vickie

2009-05-05T11:25:00.000-07:00

Dear Jeebus,

Last night I managed to overcome my fear and overall ignorance of the LA public transportation system and actually make it to the improv workshop I'd recently been asking you about.

As I was desperately praying immediately beforehand, I'm sure you're well aware of just how terrified I was when I discovered that I somehow made it to the theatre (as I was secretly hoping that I'd screwed up again so as to avoid any humiliation or realization of the folly that would be my pursuing comedy).

When I got there, my fear didn't subside much. The first couple of people I met were both middle-aged men, one of whom had background as an actor and stuntman, while the other was big, tall, and made up for his lack of hair with charisma.

They both asked me what my background in improv or theatre was, after informing me that 6 of the 9 people in the workshop were "theatre people," and when I told them that I'd none - not even a bit part as a rock in a school play - they immediately opened up in fatherly ways and recapped what I'd missed in the previous class (which I had missed due to my geographically challengedness).

They told me about the teacher and how energetic and funny she was, about the experience of the other students, about the games they played and how they'd already forged bonds. Even in their attempts to put me at ease, I couldn't help but feel that maybe I was too far behind to catch up.

When the teacher arrived, she immediately knew who I was as, apparently, the same woman who recommended me for the workshop informed her of my mishap and she was therefore expecting me.

She's warm and bubbly, speaking a mile a minute, but never too fast to miss out on your replies.

When we got onto the stage and started warming up, we started playing improv games that involved making weird noises and blurting random things out.

It was fun.

I was still in a very self-conscious state and found it a little difficult to completely open up, but, upon seeing a couple of other students who were battling with the same issue, I felt slightly heartened.

When we did the walking exercise - where the teacher would call out a characteristic, either physical or figurative and we would alter our walk accordingly - and I saw how silly everyone else looked, I felt slightly more comfortable with the idea of looking stupid, myself. I got into it. Maybe a little too into it, but I was starting to have fun.

We kept playing a number of different character-development games, learning how to develop them according to physicality and everything. It was a lot to learn, but, learning it through the vein of comedy, I found, made it easier to swallow.

The first real "game" we played was one called Hitchhiker. The premise of this game is that there are 4 seats set up on stage, like car seats (so 2 rows of 2), and the car starts out with one occupant, the driver, who takes on a specific kind of character original to the performer. Another performer, when they feel the time is right, pretends to hitchhike and the driver pulls over to let them in. The new passenger takes on a completely different character - hopefully one that is close to being the opposite of that of the driver - and the driver, in turn, evolves and adopts the new character. Another hitchhiker of a different character joins and the previous 2 passengers take on the new character and cycle through the seats, so that the driver is now sitting in the backseat behind the driver's seat while the second passenger becomes the driver. And the same goes for the 3rd hitchhiker.

Once sufficient time has passed for the 3rd hitchhiker, the hitchhikers begin to cycle out, with the same character development/adoption going on with whoever was in the shotgun seat.

I was afraid, and figured it'd be best to try to be part of the first group, but every time I tried to stand up, entire groups of 4 would fly to the stage and leave me in the crowd. So I was left with going in the last group.

I was terrified, but decided that the best way to get over it would be to be the original driver.

I didn't know what I was going to do, and a rush that was both exhilarating and terrifying overcame me. So I went with the first thing that came to me, and somehow a character came out.

"UUUUGGGHHHHHH!" I growled, "I HATE driving! GRRRR UGGHHHH"

...and the audience laughed.

...and it felt good.

The first hitchhiker still wasn't taking the initiative to stick out his thumb.

So I kept going with it.

"UGGGHHHH! DRIIIIVIIIING!" and people were still laughing, "FUUUUCK MY LIIIIIIIIIIIFE!"

And, finally, the first hitchhiker stuck out his thumb.

"UUGGGHHH! HITCHHIIIKERS! BAAAAHHHHH! I HATE HITCHHIKERS!!!"

I got more laughs.

And the other student hopped in, taking on a very uptight, OCD insurance salesman role.

And we went with it. It was easy.

I immediately sat up straighter in my chair and stuck my knees together, keeping my hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel.

We talked a bit about the dangers of hitchhiking and driving altogether. We let out uncomfortable laughs. And the second hitchhiker joined, so I took a seat in the back.

This hitchhiker decided to take on a haughty air, and the first hitchhiker and myself took it on immediately.

The people in the front seat started bickering passive aggressively about how slowly the driver was driving.

I would occasionally throw in a random comment to sporadic laughs from the crowd.

And, after a particularly cutting remark, I put my hand up to my laugh and let out a snooty, "Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha," which caused laughing from the audience that was so loud that we had to stop the scene for a moment before we could carry on.

The fourth hitchhiker came in and, very self-consciously, began primping herself in the mirror. After a little bit, we realized she was also a druggie. After asking what was in the box at the front of the car, the driver turned to her and blurted out, "Crayons!" and the rest of us ran with it, pretending that crayons was the nickname for a new drug.

So while the 2 people up front were discussing drugs, the other hitchhiker and myself, in the back, started pretending to shoot up and get crazy making random noises.

When the final hitchhiker got out - after a few more funnier character development scenes - I returned to the original melodramatic character.

"Thank GAAAAAWD!" I growled.

Afterward, according to our teacher, it was like watching an actual scene. She complimented me on my character evolution and the haughty laugh, as well as how well I worked with the first hitchhiker who joined me in the car.

And a fellow student complimented me on my growl.

I was starting to feel pretty good.

Another game we played a little while later - that is, after a few other warm-up and practice games - was called Interview. In this game, 2 seats are set up on stage: the person in the right seat is the interviewer, of a milder character, while the person on the left takes on whatever persona that pertains to whatever topic the teacher shouts out.

Again, I was nervous.

When it was my turn - and, again, I was among the last - the teacher gave me "Vaudeville."

So I did my best jazz hands all the way up to the seat.

The interviewer asked me about what I did, and I started talking in a weird accent with a tone you might hear on a muffled record from the early 1900s, going on about the "rich history" of vaudeville before realizing that I know nothing about vaudeville.

So, at the request of the interviewer, I got up and demonstrated, doing a weird tapdance shuffle, with lots of jazz hands.

The audience was laughing again.

I was feeling even better.

After the game was over, the teacher pointed me out and said that that she almost peed herself from my performance and that she loved how my confidence on stage with doing the most ridiculous dance ever did a good job of giving the audience the confidence to laugh and be a part of the performance.

I got applauded.

I can't help but say that I'd never felt so good about myself.

Numerous games and performances, when class was coming to an end, a few people, my teacher included, asked me what my background in theatre was.

"None," I told them.

"None?!" they replied, "Not even in high school or anything? And you're not studying theatre in college?"

"No..."

The teacher told me I was a natural, and she and another student said that it was crazy seeing "the new kid come in and raise the bar."

I know that all of this might sound like shameless gloating and everything, but when you've gone through nearly 2 decades of your life hopelessly wishing you had the courage and the talent to be one of the people you see on stage in those unbelievable improv or comedy performances, knowing that there was no way you'd ever be able to do something like that, and thinking that you have no idea what you'd otherwise want to do with your life, hearing someone give you that kind of encouragement in something you're really passionate about really means a lot.

Somehow - and I know it might be a bit premature to say something like this - I feel like I've found something I could really be a part of.

I really enjoyed it.

The environment.

The people.

The very nature of the whole thing.

I want to be a part of it.

I may have found my calling.

And I can't wait till next week.

So, needless to say, Jeebus, I think I owe you a lot.

Thank you for letting me have so much fun.

Thank you for letting me be around such warm and open people.

Thank you for helping me be okay with making mistakes.

Thank you for giving me a call.

Vickie

april powers bring may flowers

2009-04-28T20:36:00.000-07:00

so, according to my sisters, my dad's been going on about how much i've "blossomed" this year.

personally, it's pretty tough to gauge how much change has happened.

so, after a recent dramatic event/discussion with my suite-mates - who suggested i take a look back and re-evaluate just how much i've changed this year so as to come to terms with the possibility that "not all change is good" - i've decided to do just that.

first, a look at freshman year:
1. i was unhappy with my self-image. upon gaining an insane amount of weight the previous two years (following a diagnosis of Depression, etc.), i had little to like about myself - both inside and out.
2. i was a total hermit. the only person i really ever talked to was my roommate (who i still absolutely adore).
3. i wasn't part of any of the communities on campus and, therefore, felt completely detached and unhappy. i was lonely.
4. i didn't know what to do with my life. i was lost, confused, and helpless. i felt useless and isolated. i was a waste of space.

in fact, freshman year, my depression and loneliness hit such a low point that i seriously considered transferring (or worse). i wasn't happy with myself, my situation, and my homesickness was a burgeoning incurable disease.

and now a look at this past year:
1. i have so many unbelievable friends, and i've met (and am still meeting) really interesting people. i actually have a social life, but, more than that, i have a second family.
2. i'm totally involved and in love with a community. so much so that i've taken on a couple of leadership roles for a couple of the organizations i really enjoyed this year.
3. i feel like i'm part of an exciting movement.
4. i'm taking an active role in pursuing dreams that i used to think were out of reach because i was too chicken. actually, i managed to persuade my parents to let me stay in LA for the summer so i can suck it up and do some improv comedy workshops.
5. i'm feeling much more inspired, and have consequently started writing more. not well, but still something.
6. i've decided on a major - Narrative Studies - and have every intention of actually following through with a lot of things that i've put on either the backburner or a pedestal.
7. i finally feel worthwhile. er, at least, a little more wortwhile than before.

so, suite-mates, i'd just like to say that i'm quite happy with the changes that've taken place this past year. i may have made a few mistakes, but i've learned from them. i'm human. and the fact that i choose not to stay cooped up in my room all day (anymore) doesn't mean that i've taken a turn for the worse.

i finally feel like i'm coming into my own and, for lack of a better analogy, and to continue the overall sappiness of this post, i'm "blossoming."

it's been a big month.

in all honesty, i'm not sure if pursuing a career in comedy - in any form - is promising, but i know that if i don't try, it could be something i regret for the rest of my life.

and i'm excited about coordinating uRap and OutReach (co-coordinating this one), albeit a little nervous, because it feels like holding these positions is a culmination several shell-shattering acts and events. it'll be a challenge, going from being nobody to being someone in charge, but it'll definitely be a huge learning experience.

and all of this is important. i used to complain and whine about being single and everything, but, now that i know what it's like to be myself, and now that i've been able to look back at who i was, i think i finally know what they mean when they say that the only way you can really be with someone else is if you're comfortable with being with yourself first.

and i think i'm finally coming into that position.

i'm happy.

(also, i'm more than aware of the cheesiness of this post's title. so whatever. WHATEVER.)

shaken and stirred.

2009-04-23T15:07:00.001-07:00

a little while back, i went to a queer-Chicana/o-themed slam poetry performance with a couple of friends and consequently had my mind blown.

the night was filled with thought-provoking and emotion-invoking lyricism - the likes of which i'd never experienced in a live performance setting. it was small, raw, and empowering.

the featured performer was Yosimar Reyes, a gay, 20-year-old Chicano, award-winning, critically acclaimed slam poet who's on the rise in the slam sub-culture of LA. his work primarily focuses on the issues concerning the intersection of colored queerness in the context of the gang war torn streets of LA and the burgeoning culture of the LGBT Chicano around the world.

hearing and seeing him perform was an unbelievable experience. the fact that it happened in a small, indie, hidden art gallery down an obscure street not too far from Skid Row was something that undoubtedly added to the power of his words, his voice, and his message - not that they needed help.

here are just a couple of the ones he performed:

Acts of Resistance
This is not fucking
Not to be confused with lovemaking

This is resistance

Your hand pressed upon my chest
The way your lips feel on mine
This could never be anything but that

Some say we were not born
To be inter connected like this

And to think people have died for us to feel so complete
You on top of me
Saying
This feels right

And it does

Never for a moment did I think I would find myself in this predicament
Whispering your name
As if I was in deep prayer

So in the blessings I envision
I see your hands
Caressing the parts of my body
I have grown to be ashamed of

You make me feel me
In its totality

Cause every time we are inter connected like this
I feel stronger
Like somehow
Through this fucking, lovemaking call it whatever
I am Home

So I open the doors of my body to you
No longer afraid
Of the ghosts that haunt me

The ones that came inside and left me empty
Took the innocence I sold for acceptance

You bring warmth
After the heated bodies
I am surprised that you are still here

Holding my hand

Telling me that I should not feel dirty
Because rituals like this do not involve bloodshed

This is resistance
Because brown boys are not supposed to love like this
We are not supposed to fuck like this

We are supposed to take
Break into women's bodies
And leave them homeless

We are supposed to inflict power
On the bodies of those who have nothing but love to give

This is resistance
You and I
Whispering in the middle of the night
Laying side by side
Your arm as my pillow
Your stories is all I want to hear

This is not fucking
This is resistance
Brown boys are not supposed to love

We were simply born to fuck

Each other up

So now that we are getting ready to do this again
I want you to hold me but this time pretend
That as we are committing this act of resistance

We are regaining all that was taken from us
Our dignity, our pride, our love for one another

Do me with justice

My mother always told me that going against authority would kill me

And if it does there is no other way I want to die

But with you at my side

Both of us shouting

Fuck the Police!
This is Front Line Resistance!

Mi Amigo (translations at the bottom, and they're numbered)
Because you will never be mine and I will never be yours
I write these words
Because in my heart I hold nothing but respect and admiration
And in my lips hide kisses that will never touch your skin

I write in silence
Thinking of the force you have upon me
How your breath carries winds
Tus brazos, (1)
Tus ojos, (2)
Tus Labios carry history (3)
Movements of our people
Como migrations
You have me thinking of home
And how I would love to build one with you
You by my side
Telling me what poems you like best

God must have made you with precision
because every time I look into your imperfections I see nothing but beauty
Eres como la luna en las noches que no puedo dormir (4)
Como las olas del mar que lloran (5)
Porque no las puedo oir...(6)
For you I would sing these words
Place them on an altar in honor of you
And offer my love and loyalty forever

Eres como el sol (7)
So powerful that I can't avoid you
Every Morning I awake to see you
And like the Sun and Moon
I must come to terms that we both work best whne we are
Separate
Y separados como nuestra tierra (8)
Te mando estas palabras (9)
Pa' que sepas (10)
Que siempre habra alguien que te quiere (11)
That I will always be here
And although I cannot love you like a lover
You will always be
Mi sol, (12)
Mi tierra, (13)
Mi amor, (14)
Mi Amigo. (15)

translations:
1. your arms
2. your eyes
3. your lips
4. you are like the moon on nights that i cannot sleep
5. like the waves of the sea that cry
6. because i cannot hear them
7. you are like the sun
8. and separated like our earth
9. i send you these words
10. so that you know
11. that there will always be someone who loves you
12. my sun
13. my earth
14. my love
15. my friend

needless to say, i bought the book. and took a poster. and friended him on facebook. and walked away feeling smarter, stronger, and inspired.

all's fair when love is war: obsessed (and other terribly cliche frustrations)

2009-04-15T01:05:00.001-07:00

crushes are probably the worst idea since that time when Chamberlain said, "Oh, don't mind Hitler: he's a stand up chap."

seriously. if there's one thing i hate more than having an irrational crush, it's constantly being around said crush and therefore not being able to get over said crush.

and not knowing how to properly use colons and semi-colons. and dashes. i tend to be dash, colon, and semi-colon happy.

i can never control when a crush starts. or when it changes.

i could develop a crush on someone because of the most mundane event that, to a normal person, would go unnoticed (as it should).

she could give me a wave, or trip on herself, or make a nerdy Harry Potter reference, or just laugh in a particular way and i'd fall head over heels for her. even if i don't know her that well.

it's impossible to determine my type when my desperation not only blinds me to certain, previously abhorred traits, but also gives a lot of meaning to a lot of nonsense: nonsense that can and will probably go on to haunt every waking moment and every attempt at relaxation and meditation.

moreover, once a crush is realized (even after i acknowledge the fact that it's unfounded or unlikely), i spend the next ridiculously long period of my life pining away at something that had no real past, no real present, and definitely no real chance for a future.

why do i do this to myself? i can't think of any answer apart from, "Because I secretly like to torment myself."

seriously. sometimes i think i have this secret need to pine and suffer for the sake of unrequited love. somehow it's a sick way for me to get my jollies. as pathetic as it sounds, subconscious, irrational Vickie appears to find self-inflicted unrequited love a perfect avenue for uncomfortable feelings and helplessly awkward encounters.

and it blows.

especially when you get so stupidly drunk at a party that you confess to anyone and everyone (except the actual girl, of course) that you have a nerdy, silly crush on a certain someone...

...while you're wildly unattractive for a multitude of reasons, the least significant of which is your concession to Asian Glow (of course, the only Asian gene you inherited, of all the other totally awesome and promising Asian genes you could have gotten had your sisters not run the prodigal gene river dry).

as i once told my friend Kyle, who once tried to encourage me to, "Pounce on the bitch," i don't pounce, i pine.

sometimes i wonder what it would be like to have the cojones to be upfront about all these feelings, and then i remember that it would be impossible to bypass my inherent awkwardness and inability to ignore the turning of the stomach and tightening of the throat whenever someone i'm remotely attracted to randomly decides to roll around.

it's never until the awkward moment's passed that i think of a million ridiculously charming and clever things i could've said to win her heart, rather than the useless, socially challenged word vomit and dribble that tend to spew from my mouth when i'm in a panic.

and then, of course, i keep kicking myself (sometimes literally) and complain and make a whiney ass bitch of myself in front of my poor, absurdly loyal, compassionate, and generous friends who have no choice but to hear my annoying self-deprecating rants.

(i'm sorry, you guys.)

why can't i change? why can't i just grow up? why can't i grow a pair of ovaries and stroll right on up to her and say, "Hey, I like you a whole lot and think we should get coffee?"

coffee?

i don't know. according to my cousins, it's what grown-ups do when they like each other and want to talk.

am i even grown up enough for a relationship of sorts? or even just a date?

sometimes i get the nagging suspicion that i'm nothing but a 6 year old trapped in an ill conceived 20 year old body.

i would much prefer to be the other way around, but it's probably way too late for that kind of switch.

also, coffee at this point would be rendered useless by the sheer fact that i can't so much as greet her without saying or doing something that could land me in an institution.

i suppose the best place to begin would be to sit down and think about the things i tend to be attracted to, or could potentially be attracted to when in a somewhat sane state of mind.

Personality-wise:
1. she has to be willing to make bad jokes and potentially make something of a slight fool of herself in public. this is probably the biggest turn on of all time. i'm not sure why, but anyone who's comfortable enough with herself to not care about making a slight ass of herself is alright in my books.
2. she has to be able to laugh at my bad jokes, or at least tease me about them. or any of my jokes, for that matter, but as the majority of my jokes tend to fall on the nerdy side, this particular trait could be a major asset.
3. being outspoken but not pretentious or condescending (towards anyone) is a great trait to have. there's a difference between having an opinion and denouncing all other opinions.
4. that being said, intelligence isn't essential so much as passion is really important. if she's passionate about anything, and is willing to share it with me and educate me about it, then things'd be great.
5. she's unassuming about her looks and her personality. everything she does is natural to her and genuine and unshakeable.
6. unafraid of her nerdiness or awkwardness. she just is.

Looks-wise:
just FYI, i'm not particular about physical stuff.
1. she's comfortable with herself. no matter what. she might be humble, and a little awkward and shy and unassuming, but not wildly insecure or falsely self-deprecating.
2. warm eyes, as cheesy as this sounds. just something in her eyes when she's laughing or smiling or talking to me that grabs me. it's genuine and makes me feel safe somehow. (on a more superficial level, i tend to be drawn to lighter eyes, particularly grey or green.)
3. a nice, big, genuine, warm smile. again, cheesy. shoot me.
4. a great laugh. sappy, but true. it's the kind of laugh that i like to hear over and over again and which makes me wanna make her laugh over and over again.
5. as i tend to be more comfortable with being a Big Spoon, she'd probably be a little shorter or at least around my height. and this is completely superficial.
6. artsy and/or strong hands. i don't know, but i have a hand fetish.

Hobbies-wise:
1. i love to cuddle. i just do. and it's long overdue.
2. if she loves It's a Wonderful Life, or any Jimmy Stewart movie, i'll probably be into her.
3. if she has a nerdy obsession/interest (i.e. Harry Potter, Star Wars) - but not to the point where it's creepy - i'm in.
4. again, things that she's really passionate about. anything. whether it's artsy, or charitable, or purely indulgent, any form of passion for or deeper understanding of something is a huge plus.

granted, all that said, i know i'm in no position to be choosey and, by all means, i know that this "list" is completely malleable. i suppose outlining all of this and trying to put order to something that, for me, tends to be completely chaotic and non-sensical or unfounded is supposed to be therapeutic.

i guess some people see the romance in decidedly having feelings for someone for reasons they can't quite explain following a totally chance encounter filled with unorthodox (or completely, overanalyzed typical) minor occurrences - and i suppose some part of me likes to agree - but i can't help but wonder if feelings like that, or like the crush under which i'm currently pressed, are at all healthy or helpful.

after figuring out what i tend to like, the next step might be to find out what i'd do if i were to find someone who managed to fit (or, at least, someone i'm inexplicably drawn to):

1. i'd spend an unspecified amount of time pining and complaining to poor, innocent friends who want nothing more than to stuff a sock in my mouth and be done with it.
2. i'd pine some more.
3. [ideally, in a perfect world where the women i tend to be attracted to aren't way too good for me] during some chance encounter, i'd suddenly blurt out something irretractable like, "Hey! You! Coffee?" or, hopefully, something way more suave (i still have to work it out...)
4. i'd take her out to do something fun that either plays to one of or both of our passions or that neither of us has done before, before/after dinner or lunch or coffee. (too cliche?)
5. if, by some miracle, things go well and i haven't made a total ass of myself, i'd offer to take/walk her home. a walk which, again, if everything has somehow managed to go about without a hitch, might include some level of handholding or awkward flirting.
6. if i still haven't screwed up, i might hint at a second date.
7. after a series of successful dates, we might progress to cuddling.
8. and so on and so forth.

needless to say, i'm naive, inexperienced, and totally sappy. moreover, i've clearly received dating lessons from rom coms of the mid-20th century.

in all honesty, i really can't see myself going through with step #3 any time soon. if anything, i'd have to be the one approached.

what my friends and i have concluded is that i am incapable of flirting. not because i don't know how to respond, but because i don't even know what's going on until after it's all over.

the only way i might pick up on it would be if she came up to me and said something along the lines of, "Hey. I'm flirting with you."

and i probably still wouldn't believe her.

i lead a sad, sad existence.

i need help.

fast.

fin.

Lykke Li - "Tonight"

The Killers - "Dustland Fairytale"

Cat Stevens - "How Can I Tell You?"

Girls Night In Top 10

2009-02-13T14:48:00.000-08:00

with the impending likelihood of yet another spinster Valentine's Day on the horizon, i decided to google "top tens" of good Girls Night In movies. needless to say, as the majority of the lists didn't seem to cater to my own special needs and tastes, i decided to compile my own Top 10:

10. Mean Girls

do i even need to explain?

9. Pride and Prejudice

my mom once disdainfully told me that i reminded her of Mr. Darcy because of my reluctance to dance and talk to people i barely know. i'm hardly that confident in my unassuming charm and character, but i definitely wouldn't mind ending up with a Lizzie.

8. Sense and Sensibility

Jane Austen. period. also, Kate Winslet and Emma Thompson. and Hugh Laurie. i have a soft spot for period pieces. also, somehow i think Elinor Dashwood would totally kick Miley Cyrus's ass, given the opportunity.

7. Knocked Up

it's beyond me why most movies like this are reserved specifically for men because of the "gross-out" humor. seriously. if i had a nickel for every time i nearly peed myself laughing during this movie and The 40-Year-Old Virgin, i'd have enough nickels to wash about 20+ loads of underwear and pants. (TMI!)

6. Juno

my crush on Ellen Page might have something to do with it. also, again, Juno's a right side brighter than the average Hilary Duff-esque protagonist. and whenever Jennifer Garner's character redeems herself in the mall, and finally realizes just what an ass-hole Mark is, i just wanna reach out and hug someone. like Ellen Page.

5. Lars and the Real Girl

i'm pretty sure you already know how much i love this movie, and why, from the extensive review i wrote below.

4. Kill Bill

again, do i really need to explain? it's about a bunch of chicks who kick ass. and cut off limbs. and swing maces.

3. Silence of the Lambs

this one's probably a stretch, but lately i've been in the mood for a thriller...

2. Amelie

this one just always makes me smile.

1. All About Eve

again, a pretty pretentious stretch, but still...Bette Davis is my coldhearted, bitter crush. why can't movies like this be made for women anymore? or at least more often? after i watch this, i always feel that much more empowered, as sappy as that might sound.

i guess, honestly, i'll admit that these aren't necessarily in an accurate order, but i love all of them. also, there're probably a ton of other movies that didn't quite make it to this list due to either my inattentiveness to detail or my inability to remember things, period.

in terms of music, i've been hooked on Lily Allen for the past week or so:

the whole album's pretty fantastic. it's hilarious, smart, and, most importantly of all, unforgivably catchy. seriously. i've had the majority of the songs on it stuck in my head for the past week.

Lars and the Real Girl

2009-01-29T01:18:00.000-08:00

i read the screenplay for this movie in the Intro. to Screenwriting class i took about two semesters ago. i couldn't believe that it was the same movie as the one i'd seen in the trailers, as all of them advertised the movie as a complete comedy.

granted, as i read the script i did enjoy the funny moments (like the whole throwing the flower aside so as not to give Margo false hope thing), however, for the most part, i found myself more moved than tickled. even as i just read the script i knew that there was something more to the story than boy gets fake girl, boy loses fake girl, boy gets real girl and they live happily ever after.

at its core the story is actually about a guy who, having lost the one person who was supposed to be the source of unconditional love and human connection in his life, and blaming himself for that loss, pushes anyone who has the potential to be close away so as to avoid further complications following yet another devastating disconnection.

the event that triggers his sudden desperation for complete transformation to hermit is the pregnancy of his sister-in-law, whom he actually adores. as his own mother died during childbirth, the cause for his insecurity - which ultimately manifests itself in the form of a lifeless, life-size "female" doll that fits his exact specifications (like not being able to get pregnant/give birth or feel pain) - is the fact that he's so afraid of the same horrible thing happening to his brother's family.

before i managed to see it, the friends of mine who already had advised me that it was "just really, really awkward." after watching it, i knew that they were right in most respects - there's no avoiding the fact that certain scenes (like Lars's dancing at the party) were a little cringe-worthy, but, for the most part, i couldn't help but relate to Lars just about the entire time.

i'm not going to be melodramatic and suggest that i had it any worse than he did: i've never had to suffer the real loss of a parent or sibling. but i will say that, in a way, that might have something to do with the fact that i couldn't lose something that i never really felt i had in the first place.

but here is where it gets strange for me: that, though i did see a lot of myself in Lars, the other person i saw in him was my own mother.

she never had it easy. our grandfather, a traditional Korean man who warned her that the only way he'd pay for her college education was if she studied to be either a nurse or a teacher - rather than an artist as she wanted - and who wasn't afraid to use old Korean disciplinary methods, was never the kind of father our mom really needed or wanted.

so, instead of losing a mother, like Lars, she lost her dreams - a loss that is arguably as traumatizing as the former.

when she married my dad, he was supposed to be her way out of that life. and he did get her out of Korea and bring her to the US, but, much to her dismay, she still found herself wanting.

she was far away from home. she had to learn how to effectively communicate with people in English. she had to fulfill her wifely duties of maintaining the house and raising a family under a tight budget and with a more or less absent husband.

and she had to do all of that while dealing with my dad's infidelity.

i've never been one to buy into a cheater's excuses. a affair is, ultimately, one of the most inconsiderate, hurtful, selfish things one person can do to another. i've often wondered how and why our mom was able to stick with our dad for so long after finding out about those incidents, but then i remember her entrapment.

Lars both doesn't know how to and can't be with a real woman (or people in general) because he's afraid he might hurt her somehow; our mom couldn't break away from our dad and be on her own because she didn't know how to communicate and survive on her own, and because the first person who really showed her any sign of love betrayed her.

as my sisters and i grew up, our mom did her best, in her own way (that is, the only way she knew), to instill in us the feeling that someday we would do whatever we wanted and not be confined to the social laws that trapped women (like herself).

i'm not defending her actions, because i don't think anything really can excuse a lot of the things she did to my sisters and myself. my sisters and i have often talked about how we all wish none of us ends up like her. we've even gone so far as to say that, though we'd like to have kids, we wonder if it would be in the kids' best interests. like Lars, like our mother, we're afraid of ourselves and what kind of pain our limited knowledge of appropriate behavior might bring to the people we care about.

none of us had a decent model for human interaction.

so, again, this isn't a defense for our mom, but, having seen the movie and seeing Lars in both my mother and myself, i can't help but think that i have a better understanding of where we're both coming from. oftentimes, our actions rely solely on that with which we're familiar - nobody really consciously tries to be bad, but we tend to behave in the best way we know.

our own mother, brought up with abuse and disappointed hopes, continued those cycles when she had her own kids - cycles which worsened under the even more disappointing circumstances.

in turn, my sisters and i were given a special vantage points - those of being born a generation later and thus being better able to identify and [somewhat] cope with the situation, and having sisters who felt the same way. unlike our mom, we had something of an escape to look forward to.

so, when we were growing up, our mom continued the cycle of abuse - which is why i never felt much of a connection with her when i was younger. i didn't want to. the one person who was supposed to be the source of affection and confidence provided neither of those things, so i always had trouble relating to her or seeing her as my mother. so, even though my sisters and i were brought up with slightly better circumstances, this didn't mean that we didn't have to suffer for it first.

i developed a multitude of "problems;" among them OCD, anxiety, and depression. but, most importantly of all, i closed myself in.

when you're in elementary school and all of those puppet shows visit, preaching morals and good behavior, you're told from the onset that, unless consciously avoided and "defeated," abuse goes on in cycles, as the abused often turn the tables when their time comes around. in response, i made the conscious effort to avoid hurting other people as my mother had hurt my sisters and me.

i did manage to make friends in school and everything, but, for the most part, i also managed to hide under the guise of someone who was comfortable with herself and others and could make people laugh, usually by way of impersonating the root of my insecurities.

but even if i did manage to make people laugh, or make friends, i never really let people too close. i may have given my friends the illusion that we were close, or that i was completely open with them, but, for the most part, i always made the conscious decision to hide the bits and pieces of myself that i felt might potentially do some damage.

in a way, i guess, my mom stories became what the safety blanket (that is, a piece of the one person with whom he wished he'd had a connection) in the movie is to Lars: something that was always there when i needed to somehow relate to other people, and acted as a crutch when i felt inadequate.

Lars doesn't wallow in self-pity. throughout the film i got the feeling that, in some way, even though he wasn't able to verbalize it, Lars was at least somewhat aware of the reason behind is social awkwardness - but he was never willing to talk to someone about it or use it as an excuse. he just was, and he tried to hide it by way of adopting a "fake person." i was never my true self with other people.

but, eventually, like Lars, when i was finally able to accept my "condition," although i still do suffer plenty of social awkwardness with people i meet, i've finally opened up to the people who've already been part of my life (including both of my parents) - and i'm learning how to open up to the new ones.

Lars and Margo, in a way, are symbols of hope for me, so, even though i'll admit the film had its share of awkward situations, i couldn't help but see myself in him. granted, i know it won't be an overnight change (that is, my capacity for interacting extravertedly with new people), and i definitely have a ways to go before i can completely make it through a conversation without making an ass of myself. but i also know that there is a chance of recovery and hope for close human interaction. my fear of my being with someone and potentially unconsciously hurting them is dissipating and i can always look ahead and on the bright side.

"Day Too Soon" - Sia

"Big Mistake" - Tim Fite

hello, goodbye anxiety

2009-01-06T22:13:00.000-08:00

hello. hey. heyyy. yo. bonjour?

there're lots of ways to say "hi" to someone; lots of ways to greet a familiar face or make a good first impression.

in a lot of ways, there's a lot riding on that initial "hi"; it can serve as the basis of a new relationship or spark some kind of tension; it can comfort someone in his/her time of need or imply just the right level of authority; it can be the first of many memories to come.

whenever i approach someone for the first time (rather, whenever i'm approached by someone for the first time), i can't help but think about all the weight tied to my "hi." when i sense a necessary greeting getting closer (that is, when i see someone slowly making their way towards me), all i can do is try to will myself to avoid or hide my inherent awkwardness with the hopes of maybe convincing this new person that i'm anything but awkward.

or nerdy.

or weird.

or wildly uncomfortable.

so i pre-game (or try to), and try to envision the perfect "hello" with which i plan to blow this person's mind.

oh man, i tell myself, they're gonna think i'm so cool.

because, at least, according to my subconscious (which, of course, is the subconscious of someone who enjoys making obscure Harry Potter references and watching things like Ken Burns' The Civil War in her free time), silent pep talks merit "cool" status.

but then i notice that the person i'm determined to impress with my awesome is, in fact, getting closer - a fact that's, unfortunately, directly proportional to my growing anxiety and forgetfulness.

the icy hott "hello" that i'd so carefully choreographed - the one with the smooooth handshake, the even smoooother "hey," and the nonchalant grin - goes out the window and i find myself desperately scrambling around for the scraps of what was to be the new, cool Vickie.

and, while i was blanking out and trying to remember everything i'd practiced, there they are and, in the words of Christina Aguilera, suddenly it's hard to breathe.

now and then i get insecure...

from all the pain...

i'm so ashamed...

...and i can't remember the rest, and i realize that i only just managed to prevent myself from singing the few lines of "Beautiful" i know aloud instead of returning the greeting the person (who's now standing right in front of me) just extended.

and my super-cool "hello" becomes something more of a high-pitched squawk followed by an awkward handshake or spastic wave and, for the majority of the rest of the conversation, i'm forced to subconsciously relive and overanalyze the horror that was my typical, nerdy "hello" and wonder if the other person cottoned on to said nerdiness.

worse still is the fact that, once i finally manage to come to terms with the proverbial spilled milk, i have to start thinking about the impending "good-bye."

if hellos are important because they're the first impression you make on someone else, good-byes are important because they're the last, most recent memory or mark the other person will have of you when you part ways.

so i go through the whole anxious planning cycle all over again, with much of the same results, and i wonder if i'll ever succeed in out-growing my awkwardness.

that being said, there're definitely times when i completely abhor my social-ineptness, but there're also moments when i convince myself that there're even worse things to worry about.

recently, someone i was close to for a number of years (starting in 6th grade and lasting through 10th) died in a car accident.

i'm not one who's openly afraid of death and all that it implies: i'm well aware of the fact that it's a natural cycle, blah blah blah, and that "the other side" isn't something to fear or oppose.

what i have trouble coping with is the idea that, well, one moment someone you've known, cared about, talked to, laughed with - someone who's existed and grown and had personality and thoughts and feelings - could suddenly just (physically, at least) cease to exist. they're gone, forever.

and you never even got to say, "good-bye."

and you wish you had, regardless of how nerdy or awkward it may have been.

looking back, i can't even remember what our final good-bye was like.

when she transferred to a different high school, and i moved to Mexico, things just sort of drifted into a sad, detached, "see you when i see you" kind of relationship and, apart from the occasional "hey" on myspace or facebook, our friendship basically disintegrated.

after i found out that she had died, i immediately regretted not keeping in touch with her as much as i probably should've done. i wished that we'd said proper "good-byes" before we'd gone our separate ways.

but in the long run, i've come to think that maybe the good-bye we did manage to make was as it should've been.

there's something more romantic in thinking that our last "good-bye" was nothing special because neither of us suspected that it was to be, in fact, our very last "good-bye" - that we expected there to be many more "hellos" and "good-byes" to follow, so there was no need to make a big deal out of that particular one.

we were optimistically looking ahead.

i guess some people would consider that "taking a moment for granted" or "that every good-bye should be a special good-bye" because you never know which one'll be your last.

but i don't like thinking about finalities, or in terms of finalities.

finalities are so pessimistic - looking towards the end of something instead of the next-time.

i can't live that way.

my hellos and good-byes're plenty loaded and troublesome, thanks, without considering something as morbid and heartbreaking as death.

i miss her, and i wish we'd had more time together, but i don't regret the way we said "good-bye." she was a wonderful and beautiful person, and i'm grateful for the time we did manage to have together, and there was nothing wrong with assuming that we'd see each other again.

so i'm going to try to worry less about my hellos and good-byes from now on.

granted, i know my awkwardness and social skills need some help, but i'm working on it.

it's way more meaningful, i think, to always hope for a next time.

Some music:

1. "Beautiful," Christina Aguilera

just because i alluded to it. i may or may not love this song a little too much.

2. "Come Here," Kath Bloom

this video is really, really, really cheesy, but it's also the only one on youtube that has the entire song. this is one of the most romantic songs i've ever heard, and in the movie Before Sunrise it's in one of the most romantic scenes i've ever secretly enjoyed. and it kind of hits close to home. about the whole "timid" thing, i mean.

3. "Slow Show," The National

speaking of being timid and anxious...

re-inauguration and R-E-S-P-E-C-T (of the "self" variety)

2009-01-04T20:31:00.000-08:00

Man.

Reading old blog posts is like finding unpleasantly cheesy, trite, and painful childhood diary entries.

Seriously.

Save for a few of the more personal entries (and even those can trigger slightly cringeworthy effects), I gotta say: I have been one sap-tastic blogger.

Moreover, I've been horribly unreliable and unoriginal.

What I've decided is that I'm way too easily distracted and scatter-brained (*using this word makes me feel like a 70+-year-old*) to come up with and stick to a set blog theme. Also, trying so hard to sound clever and witty and deep has never been my strong-suit. I think I'd fare better by writing in my own "voice" - or, at least, figuring out exactly what my voice sounds like.

So here's the deal: I'm making it one of my New Year Resolutions (apart from the resolution to make and stay true to Resolutions) to post at least one blog thing a week. Another blog-related resolution is that I'm going to be myself.

My wifey Jose (who's actually a guy and therefore not really a sexual object in my life and therefore not actually my wifey (God has a weird sense of humor and decided to put my soul-mate in a gay man's body)) and I made a pact at the onset of Winter Break: to do everything possible to build up the confidence in ourselves to be ourselves.

For me, this includes getting healthy (and having a healthier body image), dressing in clothing that I feel suit my style (pun!), and, most importantly, speaking for myself. Basically, it's all about self-respect. But no worries: I promise I'm not going to turn back into sap-tastic Vickie. Granted, I'm probably going to keep on writing about some personal things, but I'm going to do it on and in my own terms.

So here goes.

...

Again.

But for real this time.

Leaving on a good note (just some music I've been obsessing over for the past couple of weeks or so):

1. "Mona Lisa" - Nat "King" Cole

There's just something about his voice that makes me melt. That and this song is just so beautiful in so many ways. I'm not saying I'm a Mona Lisa, but who can listen to this song and not relate to it in some way?

2. "Postcards from Far Away" - Coldplay

I've always been in love with the piano. I'm both eminently jealous of and easily in love with anyone who can play it well - particularly with pieces like this one. It's short and sweet, but totally engrossing. When I'm at school, listening to it makes me homesick for the brown, fall leaves of VA. And when I'm home, it's just a nice way to sit back, relax, and take a moment to think.

3. "Can You Tell" - Ra Ra Riot

Ra Ra Riot's quickly becoming one of my favorite bands - mainly because I'm partial to bands that use stringed instruments apart from the guitar. Also, this song is so catchy and poppy and pretty much says everything that needs to be said about being way too awkward, shy, and inarticulate to tell that special someone exactly how you feel or show him/her exactly who you are - something I may or may not know a lot about. Okay. Maybe a lot.

Also, I like their moves.

4. "Saturday" - Chris Garneau

This man writes some of the most heartbreaking songs you'll ever hear. On the same token, he can also write some really romantic songs. This is one of those songs that can touch you on both levels.

on a good note! ...pun!

2008-11-24T18:01:00.000-08:00

so i've been looking through my previous blog posts and i've come to realize that the overall theme thus far appears to have been written by Sad Sally. to make it up to the few of you who might actually be reading along, and to live up to the blog's name, i've decided to post something a little less intense and a little more enjoyable.

also, possibly self-incriminating...

this is a meme both of my older sisters did and tagged me in. and the prayers to keep my guilty pleasures secret begin...

Step 1: Put your music player on random.
Step 2: Post the first line from the first 25 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing the song.
Step 3: Post and let everyone you know guess what song and artist the lines come from.
Step 4: Strike out the songs when someone guesses correctly (No lyric hunting! That is cheating!)

1. remember the weight of the world
2. i woke up and wished that i was dead
3. so at my show on monday i was hoping someday you'd be on your way to better things
4. all around me are familiar faces
5. if you're having girl problems i feel bad for you, son
6. play this song for its first minute one, then go to the next harlot
7. what a dream i had, pressed in organdy...
8. you chat to me like we connect
9. all the pines that shiver in the park
10. all we've been given by those who came before...
11. nan, you're a window shopper
12. i can turn the greyest sky blue
13. i see you down on the frontline
14. let's go to the park, i wanna kiss you underneath the stars
15. at last, my love has come along
16. come with me, my love, to the sea
17. when i left you alone to fight your battles of long winters and hotels...
18. tengo la camisa negra
19. it's the time of the season
20. i've got a song on my mind; i've been singing it all day
21. today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you
22. slow down; lately lives are moving too fast
23. i had seven faces
24. everything that keeps me together is falling apart
25. as i walk along i wonder...

i'm tagging anyone who's bored enough to want to do all of this. so doooo it.

If I Had Spoken Out, or Korean Moms and Dah Gays, or Never Able to Say "I Love You"

2008-10-26T02:25:00.000-07:00

"Remember when I was little and you thought I was a lesbian?"

There are two qualities that are arguably the most important when it comes to being able to communicate with others: tact and a willingness to openly explore previously uncharted nebulae of thoughts and feelings.

Unfortunately, due to reasons that have yet to be decided by the nature vs. nurture debate, and as evidenced by the poorly masked aims of the aforementioned question, I happen to lack both.

Throughout the past 19 years there have been a number of situations in which I have found myself where I have desperately wished that my role models for self-expression were not the tight-mouthed, fly-swatter-armed Korean mother and the self-fashioned macho, army officer father; the clenching of the stomach, the uncomfortable awareness of the awkward placements and erratic motions of my limbs, and the sudden disconnect that occurs between my mind and clumsy tongue are all too familiar feelings when it comes to telling someone about something slightly less superficial than typical, arbitrary banter.

So when my mother and I were walking through the woods behind our house, and our usual, meager attempts at conversation were out-paced by very pregnant pauses, I had no choice but to finally acknowledge both my inherent and/or learned flaws as a communicator and a voice that had somehow managed to survive the sporadic, subconscious purges of unwanted and unwarranted thoughts and feelings.

Just tell her now, it said, There's no point in waiting. It's not like the clouds'll open up when it's finally time to talk about it. This kind of secret isn't the kind that gets easier to tell over time. Don't think too much. Just blurt it out.

I had just enough time to heave an anxious sigh before hurrying to catch up to my mom's step and suddenly spout, "Mommy-remember-when-I-was-little-and-you-thought-I-was-a-lesbian?"

A slight pause before the reply.

"Mhm," she said, "Because you wah such a tomboy. But I knew you would grow out ob it, because yoh granmuddah was dah same way befoh she grew out ob it, too."

Crap.

"Right. Well..." I wasn't sure how to finish, "I don't think I...grew...out of it."

Another pause.

Crap. Too vague. You'll probably have to explain it now. Crap. Why did you have to go and say something anyhow?

"What do you mean?" she said slowly.

"Well...I mean...I don't think I grew out of it."

Another unbearable pause as her face folded into an indiscernible expression. There was definitely a small curl in her lip. Was it a bemused curl? Amused? Surprised? Suspicious?

"You mean you, heh, attracted to, heh, women?"

All four. And then some.

Wait, is this a trick question?

"Well...yeah. I mean, yes. I am."

The longest, quietest half hour of my life followed.

"Well," she resumed, finally, "I guess you at that age where ees okay to experiment."

Oh, God.

My tongue now catnip, and my guts, or what remained of them, now thrown unceremoniously into my vault of unmentionable and buried feelings, I let those be the last words of the discussion. Well, the last words before the random and less-than-comforting, "What would you like foh dinnah?"

For the next several days I was led to believe that discussion pertaining to my sexuality was either complete or unimportant - neither of which was at all reassuring.

On the third day or so following my brief, albeit traumatizing coming out, my mother put those insecurities to rest.

She caught me in the hallway, just as I was about to go to bed.

"Beekie," she said, in a soft voice - the likes of which I hadn't heard since I was very little - "Sit. Le's talk. I'b had a lot on my mind dah past couple of days, so I couldn't really registah what you...said to me...dat day. So, le's talk."

I slowly turned and caught myself against the wall. With utmost focus, I managed to bend one leg, and then the other; lower myself to the ground, put one leg over the other; place my arms at my sides in a sort of practiced pose of what was to be perceived as "casual." It was hardly comfortable, and I was suddenly too aware of the strange placement of my fingers, elbows, head, feet. Everything seemed to get in the way.

She sat down, too, on the opposite wall, considering me with the kind of wary eyes that usually preceded a trying line of questioning.

Several moments passed. Finally, she sighed wearily and began asking me the most relentless and prying questions I'd ever been posed.

The first few were straightforward, mainly about when, where, and how "this" happened. The next had a lot to do with previous boyfriends and conversations we'd had that had led her to believe wholeheartedly in my straightness and put her worries about my being gay to rest. She then asked questions that had a lot more to do with her own limited understanding of gayness in general than to my own identity.

"So what you gonna do when you hab uh job? You can't tell dah uh-duh people in your oh-piss about it, right? So you can't date when you grow up because colleague might find out?"

What year does she think we're living in?

"I think times are changing, Mommy. And even if my coworkers aren't tolerant, I think I can defend myself if I have to."

A deep sigh.

As the interrogation carried on, it was obvious to me that every word my mother managed to form, and every question she managed to craft, all resulted from probably one of the greatest internal struggles of her life.

It was exhausting sitting there, listening to and answering her questions. But more draining was having to witness her battle with the problem I had thrown at her feet.

Growing up, my mother was never one to display anything other than strength and power. Any sign of tears or sadness was quickly masked with bouts of screaming and anger, and if we cried we were instructed to stop. The only time I could remember her breaking down, however brief, was when her father died. I was four.

But now, fifteen years later, here she was; the unwavering symbol of strength and self-control in my life, with quiet tears in her eyes and subtle cracks in her voice, displaying anything but strength and self-control.

"What ah we going to do?" she sobbed, "What ah we going to do?"

"I don't know," I returned, "I don't know. What...what do you mean?"

I was so sure that she was going to fulfill every fear that had kept me locked in that closet for so long.

She'll probably oust me now. Just tell me to leave, get out, not come back until I'm happily married to a doctor who has it all, including a penis, and have popped out five kids.

"You - you wanna staht looking like uh man now?"

Wait...

"No, Mommy..." I didn't know if it was okay to laugh, "I'm not transgendered, I don't think...I'm...gay."

She sighed again. Was it relief?

I wasn't sure if this was the point in the conversation where she would suddenly spring up and embrace me, letting me know it'll all be okay and that she was just testing me.

If that's her biggest worry, I thought, I'm in pretty good shape.

Unfortunately, my fashion sense was not the depths of my mother's concern. After another long silence, we returned to far more personal questions, one of which continues to trouble me even months afterward.

"So what was it like?" she asked, "How did it feel, how much did it hurt, to have feelings for someone and know that you could never tell them you loved them? That they, she, could never know?"

Up until this point, I had managed to maintain my composure when faced with even the most ignorant and troublesome questions. Not a tear was shed on my part and, apart from the occasional hand and feet fidgets, I had managed to keep the obviousness of my discomfort and internal conflict to a bare minimum.

But when she asked this question, I could feel the wall I had so carefully built around myself begin to crumble. I didn't answer right away - I took a moment to try to regain my composure before opening my mouth. But when I did manage to open my mouth to speak, no words came out. Instead, the air around me was suddenly filled with loud, strained sobs - the likes of which had never been heard before.

The tears fell, a little at first, but eventually I felt like I could drown in them. I couldn't stop shaking, or crying, or sobbing. It just kept coming out, tearing its way out of me like a poorly tamed and contained bird. It couldn't be stopped, and I wasn't sure if I wanted it to stop.

Here it was - the unnamed, faceless monster that had haunted me my entire life. The thing that had caused me so much anguish and fear. The source, and in some ways consequence, of my self-hatred. The one thing that turned the key in that closet door.

There it was, the ghost I had lacked the sense, or desire, to fully acknowledge and come to terms with, so simply identified and so plainly worded that the lock encasing all of my previously restrained emotions was shattered and I was left with no choice but to let them come ripping out.

I went on sobbing for several minutes, while my mother watched. She didn't say a word, nor did she make any attempt to come comfort me. I could feel her eyes on me, scrutinizing my every move, and try as I might to control myself just enough to continue the conversation, I couldn't help but keep going.

Finally, my breathing began to even out, and the tear-flow stagnated. I wasn't sure of what I was feeling. I was lighter somehow, awakened to a new sense of myself. My body was slumped, either by exhaustion or release. I couldn't look at my mother. I didn't want to know what she thought of my spasmodic emotional spell.

When I chanced a glance upward, though, it wasn't disgust I saw in her eyes, or hatred; it was pity - a glint of compassion I didn't know those eyes were capable of. Did she know what I was feeling?

"It hurt, a lot. But...I'm growing," was all I managed to say. Anymore and I was sure I'd start sobbing again. She might start sobbing again.

The conversation ended not too long afterward with a somewhat stiff and embarrassed, "Good night."

The truth is, unrequited love isn't a foreign concept to me, nor is it something from which I think I, or anyone, can ever truly recover.

But love, even the unrequited kind, isn't something that's meant to be caged or tucked away. It isn't bestial, or wrong, or labeled. It isn't slight, or meant to be slighted.

It sets us apart from every other creature on the planet. It forms the foundations of the most basic needs and wants in life. It's why we have faith, and why we wake up in the morning. It exists in all of us, driving us forward, moving us through each day, guiding us through every obstacle.

It's meant to inspire good in everyone and to unite us against the common enemies of ignorance, intolerance, and hatred.

It can't be divided by labels, or contained by fear. It's too big and too loud, and doing so can be too painful and destructive for any one person to experience alone.

Having lived with that pain, the kind that comes with loving someone and knowing, deep down, that she can never know about it, I know that no one should ever have to feel that way. That to go against the very thing that makes us human is not only unnatural, but also perhaps the most exhausting, pointless path anyone can take.

So when society tries to tell me that my love is wrong and that I should control it, repress it, or be ashamed of it, or that it's a different, unnatural kind of love, I know deep down that they are wrong and driven by the hatred that stems from ignorance and fear.

And, someday, when I die and have to face the judgment of God for my sins, I take comfort in knowing that my biggest potential flaw will be loving someone, rather than blindly spreading hatred throughout the world.

There's only one kind of love.

thanks and samples

2008-03-11T20:31:00.000-07:00

the responses to my last blog have been overwhelmingly positive, and i'm not even sure if i can do justice to the amount of happiness, relief, and overall love i'm feeling right now. all i can say is that i am so grateful to have such an unbelievably amazing group of friends/support system. it really means a lot to me.

i know i don't say this often enough, but underneath this tough, formidable, intimidating exterior that is Vickie Toro beats the heart of a softy who loves her friends and sometimes gets the wild urge to pull all of them into a big bear hug/cornucopia of love.

...

so anyways, at the end of the last blog i promised to write a way more entertaining blog - so i'm here to deliver.

first, because i haven't done this in awhile, some "new" music you should look into:

Flock - Bell X1
this actually came out in 2006, which means i was definitely late on the Bell X1 train. however, later's better than never. admittedly, some of the songs (namely Eve, the Apple of My Eye) pay tribute to basically every cheesy, lovey-dovey melody ever composed, and the lyrics are hardly nuanced, but that doesn't take away from the fact that they're way catchy. moreover, songs like Like I Love You (yes, they did a Justin Timberlake cover) and Bad Skin Day pop out of nowhere with something a tad different. though, all this rave might just be me defending my secret love for somewhat cheesey music. sue me.

In Rainbows - Radiohead
i was never really into Radiohead before i heard this album. i just didn't get it. but there was something definitely new and interesting about songs like Weird Fishes/Arpeggi and Nude. i don't get it, but i like it, and you might, too.

So Tonight That I Might See - Mazzy Star
again, i was late. Mazzy Star actually primarily played in the 80s, and this album in particular came out in 1993. however, that doesn't take away from how great it is. it's definitely more mellow than most of the bands i've listed thus far (except for maybe Kings of Convenience and the like). the funny thing is, as Olivia likes to point out every now and then, i'm not a big fan of people who sing with something i call "lazy voices." Mazzy Star's lead, Hope Sandoval, is definitely an exception to this rule. instead of feeling annoyed, as i normally do when i listen to "lazy voices," i was, in a way, captivated. one guitar (usually), maybe a stringed instrument, and Hope's voice are undeniably haunting.

and that's it for music.

now on to some samples.

for those of you who don't know, i'm taking a screenwriting class this semester. every week we're given a prompt to write about and i've decided to take just a couple of them and post them up for more feedback. feel free to be completely honest.

the flower scene - an eager teen meets his crush's very Christian father

breaking up - someone tries to break up with someone else who can't let go

so yeah. go ahead and read them, criticize them, tear them apart, burn them, etc. - any feedback is good feedback.

and that's really about it for tonight, kids. i'll try to be more consistent about blogging. until next time!

coming out, among other things

2008-03-06T14:19:00.000-08:00

so from the title, as well as from various obscure hints i've littered throughout previous posts, i'm pretty sure you know what this is about.

i've recently made the decision to be way more open about my sexuality - which is hilarious, especially if you know me, because most of my friends think i'm a-sexual.

unfortunately, i'm not a-sexual. in fact, i'm gay. i use "unfortunately" because, if anything, i think telling people that i'm not attracted to anyone is a heck of a lot easier than telling them i'm gay. such is the world in which we live.

for some of you who might be reading this, this might come as a surprise - whether or not that surprise is pleasant isn't my concern.

in fact, i'm not going to use this blog to defend myself or homosexuality, because a.) it won't accomplish anything and b.) i don't want to bore you. this blog, as its name suggests, is for me.

what i will say is that it wasn't a choice for me. i can't remember a time when i didn't have these feelings. my first crush was on a female classmate in pre-school who, after seeing me accidentally screw up an arts and crafts project, came over and cheered me up.

i didn't know that what i was feeling had a label, and i definitely didn't know that general society frowned upon said label. all i knew was that i liked her and there was nothing i could do about it.

it wasn't until a few years and a few other girl-crushes later that i learned the name for my "condition." my sister Olivia had overheard our parents arguing over my sexuality - i was 7 and my mom had told my dad that she was sure i was gay. my dad denied it and said i was just a tomboy. in analyzing Olivia's account of the discussion, i came to the conclusion that my feelings towards other girls were wrong and i should change. so over the next almost-decade-long period of my life i tried everything to not only repress these feelings, but to overcome them completely.

the result? eight years of unbearable exhaustion stemming from unhappiness and self-hatred.

i tried dating boys to convince myself to be attracted to them. as much as i may have really cared about them, i couldn't bring myself to harbor any feelings beyond those of friendship.

i followed in my dad's footsteps and declared myself an outright conservative, reading conservative literature that degraded homosexuality and anything that deviated from the norm. and though i tried to take them to heart, knowing that my efforts at dating boys were failing only inspired more self-hatred.

finally, i read the Bible, thinking that if anyone could "save" me, it would be God. i was looking for any passage that would blatantly tell me that homosexuality is wrong. i was looking for whatever message Westboro Church members had found - that "God hates f**s." ironically enough, even though there are a few mentions of the wrongness of homosexuality, i never found any words of hatred or intolerance. what i found were words that inspire self-acceptance and love. ultimately, the purpose of the Bible isn't to set down laws by which individuals must abide. instead, i found that the Bible's purpose, or God's purpose, is to inspire individuals to love wholly and unconditionally, regardless of any insignificant qualities or imperfections others might possess. and, perhaps most importantly, in order to be able to love others, one must be able to love and accept oneself.

a few months after reading the Bible (when i was 15), i came out for the very first time to my sister Olivia. and it was probably the greatest relief i'd ever experienced. a couple of months after that, i came out to my other sister Annie.

so you might be wondering why i've chosen to come clean about this now. well, i guess the real question is why didn't i do it earlier? it was mostly fear. and this feeling that coming out and saying it could possibly make it finite, and for the longest time, even after coming out to my sisters, the idea of cementing my sexuality in point-blank fact was intimidating. if anything, i was worried about what my friends would say and how they would feel. i was worried about how they would think of and treat me.

but now, after coming out to several other people, i've come to realize that i have truly amazing, supportive, non-judgmental friends. also, that i shouldn't worry about what others think - that i should never have to compromise who i am for the sake of who others think i should be.

so now i'm out. but no worries, i won't be one of those scary, tattooed, mullet-and-tapered-jeans-wearing lesbians. i'm still the same old sometimes-ridiculous, usually-nerdy, mom-impersonating vickie, and i hope you will be able to see and acknowledge that.

if you're surprised by any of this and have questions, i'm completely open to answering anything you want to ask. unless you're asking me to defend myself. in which case, it's a lost cause. for you, i mean.

if you've known all along because i told you, thank you so much for arming me with the confidence to be myself. i love you so much.

next time i promise i'll write a way more entertaining blog.

PS
my parents don't know yet, and i'm planning on telling them over summer break, so if those of you who know my parents, or whose parents know my parents, could keep it on the DL, that'd be great - i mean, i know it's a lot to ask, but i just think this is the kind of thing my parents should find out from me. thanks!

reliable unreliability

2008-02-19T20:18:00.000-08:00

i'd hate to say, "i told ya so," but hey, it's been over a month since my last post and i only remembered to post this time because my sister called me and asked, "what the heck happened to your blog?"

so not a lot has happened in the past month or so, except i think i might be getting closer to reaching a decision about my future.

crazy? just a little bit.

but i've been enjoying my screenwriting class a lot, and i've been getting a lot of positive feedback, so it looks like screenwriting is a definite possibility.

also, i managed to scrape an LOL on my last paper for a class called Variations of Love and Literature - story of my life: getting LOLed when attempting to discuss love.

oh, and lastly, my parents randomly gave me permission to take a 10 hour road trip to tennessee for the Bonnaroo Festival. i'm pretty sure it's that test parents give their kids, hoping they'll screw up so that they can use it as reason to deny permission for anything in the future. and i'm pretty sure it'll work.

i can't really believe i'm basically in the final stretch of my first year of college. i also can't believe it's been almost a year since i've been in high school. i'm getting so old. sometimes i also kind of wish i could fastforward about 20 years. maybe to a time where i'm, like, married with a couple of kids with a mortgage and a few oscars on the mantlepiece.

or maybe i'll be in a shack with lots of cats and nothing to show for my fruitless efforts to become a writer except for heaps of aged, yellow paper i have to start using as toilet paper because of my poverty and my fear of going into town and meeting people.

either way, at least i'll have a better idea of how i'm going to end up. this whole "ignorance is bliss" thing is kind of bull shit. so's this whole "follow your dreams."

honestly, the last dream i had was one where i was being chased by faceless people demanding cupcakes.

and i'm pretty sure i'm not going to be a baker.

so that's about it. feel caught up? good.

so long for now.

PS
i voted for obama. and you should, too.

post-winter break catch-up

2008-01-14T20:46:00.000-08:00

okay, so i know i haven't blogged in about a month, but given the few/no comments i'm pretty sure you haven't noticed. or cared. which means i'm in this for myself now. a lone blogger. so just a bit of catch-up news so i can pretend someone is actually reading this and cares:

1. i was totally sad when Ellen Page lost to Julie Christie at the Critics' Choice Awards, but as Juno won for best screenplay and comedy i was appeased.

2. if you remember from one of my previous posts, where i predicted the outcome of the Golden Globes, you'll know that i got 9 right. what can i say? i know how to call 'em.

3. i got a pretty good haul on Christmas. a bath robe that is completely devoid of over-the-top-femininity (which i can only take to mean that my mom has given up on trying to extract my inherent tomboyishness); matching pajamas that make me look/feel like i'm about 5 years old (you know, those pajamas that are all loose and stretchy until you get to the ankles and wrists where it's tight and a different color); a t-shirt with my all-time favorite motivational quote from one of our generation's greatest thinkers ("Model through it," Tyra Banks); and an acoustic guitar (this was pretty much the highlight of my Christmas, as i'd been begging to learn to play a second instrument since i was about 10)

once i unwrapped the guitar, Olivia turned to me and went, "Oh, God. You're gonna be one of those college students?"

4. the majority of my Christmas break was spent lazing about, catching up on my America's Next Top Model, taking care of Wheezy (our mini-schnauzer who's a total spaz - whenever he starts acting weird, my mom likes to remind me that dogs often take on the behavior of their owner. thanks, mom), and occasionally going out and about to explore the many fine endeavors available in Woodbridge, VA. which includes a bowling alley, a mall, a movie theatre, laser tag, and...that's about it...

so basically my break was uneventful, however i was a little sad about having to come back to school and think. and learn. but that also means procrastination, which is good news for you because it means that my posts will be more frequent.

but yeah. not much more to report. i might be back later this week to vent about my first week back at school. in the meantime, you should see the movie Juno, because i'll probably start making several obscure references to it. so go procure a hasty date with the cheese to your macaroni.

a random musing and more good music

2007-12-15T22:01:00.000-08:00

so i remembered. or i got bored. either way, i'm back with more blogging action for you.

as this is the last week of classes before winter break and the final stretch of the school year is on the too-near horizon, lots of random thoughts, worries, and fears have started to spring up (as is custom when things come to a close). so, below is a random musing that resulted from said thoughts, worries, and fears. it's actually pretty ambiguous, as my random musings tend to be, but nonetheless thoughtful, worrisome, and scary. at least for me.

afterwards, in case i put you in a dull mood, there is yet another list of more of my favorite albums that previously, in my hurry/negligence, went unmentioned. so here we go.

on to the musing:
so i pretty much have no idea what i want to do with the rest of my life. i used to think it was set in stone and that i was going to go into screenwriting or film production, but trying to imagine myself twenty years from now i really have no idea if it's right for me.

i totally envy people my age who "know." i want so badly to have that passion for doing something - that security in knowing that there's something out there that's right and fits and is enjoyable. sometimes i wonder if i'm passionless for a reason and if this phase of passionless wanderings'll ever end. when it comes down to it, i just can't picture myself doing anything specific or making any progress in twenty years.

nearly all of my peers here have already settled on majors and terrifyingly detailed outlines of the next 10 some-odd years of their lives. am i a freak for not knowing? everyone keeps telling me i have time, but as i have to declare a major by the end of next year, i'm pretty sure everyone's exaggerating.

maybe the trouble is i want to do too much? that i can't decide? that i'm just swimming in a mess of unrelated interests, goals, and unexamined-yet-nonetheless-apparent fantasies?

or maybe i'm just completely apathetic? incapable of being independent?

i know that i want it to be meaningful. but who doesn't feel that way?

and i know that i want it to be creative. but how does that narrow it down?

and then the question becomes, "what am i good at?" - something that i've never believed should decide what someone does for the rest of his/her life. moreover, i've never really felt particularly good at anything. i've always felt like the poster child for mediocrity.

then it's, "what's easiest?" - something that i think counts for even less. but so many people here have partially based their decisions on a mixture of what comes easiest to them and the easiness of the course offerings. but i don't know if "easy" necessarily means "rewarding."

which means that i know that i want what i do to be challenging.

ultimately, the question is, "what do you enjoy to do most?" and here is where i get confused.

i love being part of a completely creative process and being able to see, hear, and touch the final product and have others see, hear, or touch it, too. i love the idea of working with other people to create and i love the idea of other people enjoying the final product.

the problem is that other questions come into play. am i really so confident in my own creative abilities that i can create something and willingly put it up for judgment/other people's eyes? or am i too afraid of failure? i guess everyone's afraid of failure, but then most of those people have the confidence in what they're doing to know that they won't fail. but i've never been tested. i've never been able to take that first step and create something that's all my own and present it to others. the very idea of standing in front of a group of people scares me, so how would i take negative criticism targeted towards something into which i poured my heart and soul?

so you see my dilemma. i'm a dreamer who's caught up in negative realities. i guess you can't be a "nightmarer."

i want to create but i don't know what or how and, worse, i don't know if i even have the courage to share my creations with others. what's an artist if no one sees her art?

if i lived in a perfect world, where i lacked any unnecessary inhibitions that currently seem to take charge of my life, i have an idea of what i'd like to do.

i'd get up on stage and make people laugh. or i'd write things for people who get up on stage and laugh.

or i might get behind a camera or sit in the cutting room for the next "important film."

or i'd sit in a recording studio, producing an album.

or i could do all four. again, if i lived in a perfect world, i'd be immersed in creativity.

but the reality of the situation is that i'm too unsure of myself and too aware of all of the negative consequences of wanting to create in a world like ours.

which is why i'm taking a music theory class, a screenwriting class, and an intro to acting class next semester.

maybe if i try to break down those walls now i'll stand a better chance of coming into my own and losing that fear of being "read?"

wow. i feel like i just finished a mile run and took a first sip of a cold cup of water.

so, on to the once-neglected-but-still-loved music (again not in order of preference. and maybe i'll keep this "picking faves" thing a weekly blog staple):

Abbey Road - The Beatles
cuz who doesn't like The Beatles? i actually only picked this one to list because it came first, alphabetically. also, Something is pretty much one of the most romantic things you can say to a woman. Help! is also great, as are Magical Mystery Tour, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, and the White Album.

At War With the Mystics - The Flaming Lips
they're just a really fun band, and this album is probably the best example of that. i challenge you to listen to this album without tapping your foot once. try it. i dare you.

Boxer - The National
i actually didn't know about The National until i read my sister Olivia's blog where she talked about listening to one of their songs as a guilty pleasure. when i went to see what it was all about (the alleged guilty pleasure, i mean) i found that i didn't feel the same way. in no way was i guilty about liking just about every song on this record. on the other hand, i do feel guilty about finding out about them so late.

she called it a guilty pleasure because of the allegedly high amounts of sappiness of the lyrics in Slow Show. what can i say? the heart wants what it wants. i'm a closet romantic. big spoons need love, too.

Brett Dennen - Brett Dennen
the first song of his that i heard is called Desert Sunrise. there could be no better title for that song. his lyrics aren't as complex as others. in fact, they tend to be very simple. but this simplicity doesn't make his lyrics mundane - just honest and straightforward. and i love that honesty.

Challengers - The New Pornographers
the first song of theirs i ever heard was Slow Descent Into Alcoholism. i was hooked. and to my pleasant surprise, i found that Challengers was even better than Electric Version. i just love unconventional arrangements and sometimes unexpectedly poignant or witty (or both) lyrics. Twin Cinema and Mass Romantic are also great.

Chelsea Girl - Nico
i listen to These Days whenever i'm feeling particularly blue or thoughtful. she just seems to say all the things i want to say but can never think of the right words. she's not afraid of expressing her uncertainty of the world, and i tend to admire that particular brand of courage in people.

Come Away With Me - Norah Jones
so i think i have a crush on Norah Jones. who wouldn't? i think that if my life was a movie and it came to a particularly romantic part (i can dream, right?), a Norah Jones song would be playing in the background. specifically, either The Long Day Is Over or The Nearness of You. and i love that the warmth in her voice can just fill me up. the only downside is that sometimes listening to this album only reminds me of the fact that i have no one who'll Come Away With Me. (long, deep sigh)

The End of History - Fionn Regan
i have a soft spot for acoustic music. i'm not sure why, but i think it's something to do with the fact that i just feel like i can relate to it more. it feels more personal. also, there's something about his voice that just adds to the intimacy you feel with the guitar.

Flight of the Flynns - Kunek
so easy to start listening to this album and forget that you're supposed to be writing a college paper...

Food In the Belly - Xavier Rudd
unforgivably catchy and, again, acoustic. he also has a really interesting voice that i can never seem to get enough of.

I'm Wide Awake It's Morning - Bright Eyes
i was actually shamefully late when it came to Bright Eyes, having only jumped on board earlier this year. i love his unconventional voice that sometimes doesn't even seem like it's singing. and i just overall love the arrangements and the fact that i can't get some of the songs out of my head.

Inside In / Inside Out - The Kooks
i wouldn't go so far as to call this a guilty pleasure...but okay, maybe i will. it's a typical poppy, british-punk type indie band. sue me.

Once - Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova
this is actually the soundtrack of the movie of the same name that came out this year. i never saw the movie, but i think the soundtrack's amazing. there are moments of complete vulnerability and others of just complete anger. i love that he's able to just lose it during an acoustic piece. it's not something you hear every day, and it's definitely commendable. The Swell Season is also great.

Oracular Spectacular - MGMT
i tend to be partial to experimental-type music. also, music that seem to be able to get stuck in your head with little effort.

Time Without Consequence - Alexi Murdoch
when i re-went through my itunes, i could NOT believe i forgot to include this one. it's unbelievable. and it shares my insecurities about life and all that jazz. lyrics from All My Days:

well many a night i found myself with no friends standing near
all of my days
i cried aloud
i shook my hands
what am i doing here
all of these days

for i look around me
and my eyes confound me

and it's just too bright
as the days keep turning into night

Trouble - Ray LaMontagne
the man's bringing soul back. i just love his soft yet soulful voice. it's unique and captivating. Till the Sun Turns Black is just about equally great.

so that's it for albums (at least, until i discover a new one, or i realize i left one out). so, so long for now...

golden globe predictions

2007-12-13T19:35:00.000-08:00

so this isn't a "deep" or "insightful" blog. just how i think the golden globes are going to turn out.

granted, i haven't seen quite a few of the movies that're nominated, but given the films' reputations and the elitist/predictable behavior of the golden globes/critics, i think i can come up with a relatively accurate list of shoe-ins/winners (for the film part). so here we go:

best motion picture - drama
probably either Eastern Promises or No Country for Old Men. i'm leaning towards the latter, but who knows? for some odd reason Eastern Promises (which looks like a Russian twist on A History of Violence) has been getting a ton of attention and critical acclaim.

best motion picture - musical or comedy
i'm hoping for Juno, but Sweeney Todd's been getting a lot of attention. i'm thinking it'll go to Juno, the little indie that could. but that could just be wishful thinking. given Tim Burton's reputation and already well-established career, it might just shut Juno out.

best performance by an actor in a motion picture - drama
either George Clooney or Viggo Mortensen. probably George Clooney.

best performance by an actress in a motion picture - drama
this one's tough - as far as i know, there hasn't been a real standout performance in this category. i'm leaning towards either Cate Blanchett or Julie Christie. it'll probably go to Julie Christie, given the horrible reviews Blanchett's film received.

best performance by an actor in a motion picture - musical or comedy
i actually really hate that drama gets its own category while musical or comedy are grouped together. really says something about how the critics prioritize. in my opinion, comedy is just as commendable as drama when done correctly/effectively. but whatever. i think this one's going to go to either Ryan Gosling or Johnny Depp. as Johnny Depp did his own singing and everything, it'll probably go to him. although, Charlie Wilson's War is controversial and whatever, so Tom Hanks might very well stand a chance. in other words, i have no real idea...just a guesstimation.

best performance by an actress in a motion picture - musical or comedy
Marion Cotillard. i mean, i'm totally rooting for Ellen Page, but as La Vie En Rose is far more dramatic than Juno, and as the critics tend to favor drama for really idiotic reasons, i'm thinking the globe'll go to Cotillard. not that she doesn't deserve it, but i really do think Page unceremoniously and unapologetically kicked ass as Juno. but whatever.

best performance by an actor in a supporting role in a motion picture
either Casey Affleck or Javier Bardem. No Country for Old Men was given way more clout than The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, so Bardem might have an edge, but Affleck's performance was supposed to be something of a revelation.

best performance by an actress in a supporting role in a motion picture
(have you noticed that they split up musical and comedy and drama for everything else except supporting roles?) either Cate Blanchett or Amy Ryan. it'll probably go to Cate Blanchett just because she, you know, played a dude.

best director - motion picture
(they also don't split this award up. way to go.) Julian Schnabel could very well be the dark horse in this race, as The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is supposed to be amazing (it's on my films-to-see list), however the Coens could very well be the shoe-in.

best screenplay - motion picture
either The Diving Bell and the Butterfly or Juno. i'm thinking/hoping for Juno. this is the year of the unexpected indie.

best original song - motion picture
Enchanted. just because.

best original score - motion picture
Atonement by Dario Marianelli. this guy's a genius. if i ever compose music, i hope to have half his genius/talent. it's been getting rave reviews because of his use of the typewriter as an instrument. definitely no competition here.

best animated film
ratatouille. because it's snooty. and also, Pixar.

best foreign language film
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly or Se Jie.

and that's it! maybe i'll post again within the next couple of days with something more personal...

or maybe i'll forget...