Thursday, March 6, 2008

Empty

Dear Sarah,
I've got coffee stains around my eyes.
Is it from being exhausted, or is it because I've been crying?
Probably both.
I had to cut class early today because I couldn't even think or see straight; I was so tired.
The crying on the other hand was for Christian Siriano, the winner of this season's Project Runway, and my new best-non-friend. I was rooting for him since episode one and saw the season finale tonight. Massive applauses, applauses, and more applauses to you, Christian. You are amazing.


Dear Irene,
What a feeling.

Pulling 15 hours a day, for days on end will do that to anyone.
It's 1:20am right now -- what am I doing awake.?

Friday, February 1, 2008

Good fridays

I've been wearing this same shirt for about 3 days. It's funny that when you're sick, everything else around you seems to stop and vanish, and you become the only one who's alive, although you feel like you're dead. You forget to shower, the dishes pile up in the sink, you stop responding to emails, you resort to using paper towel when your toilet paper runs out, and you have this zany idea that eating more Massamun curry will act as an expectorant for your cold. But really, all that you needed was some solid rest - just some time to practice playing your guitar, nodding on and off while flipping through the pages of some Japanese comic book -- just some time to shut down, disconnect and decompress.
However something lifts after the fifth day, and I begin to slowly remember things. I notice that I have a dog; that the reason that I'm lying on only half of the bed is because I have a partner who sleeps next to me. I've run out of toilet paper, and the shirt that I've been wearing for days is in fact not my body's foreskin.
Today, I finally feel like a semblance of my old self.
Good morning New York. Happy Friday.
Finally.

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Doc Martin's

Based on my last entry, I thought that I would have followed it with one on Angela Chase, my favourite character ever. Remember that show "My So Called Life"? I love it... I was confused about why I never watched it back when it aired in the mid-nineties... probably because it only lasted for one season. Now I remember why I love Claire Danes so much - it was because of Angela Chase. And no, neither of them are over-rated.
But I digress.
I've been stuck at home for days now. I've been trying to work, but haven't really made any strides today - I have the flu. Or at least I feel like I do. So again, I'm working on my kitchen table. It's horrible that I'm bent over the the way that I am -- it reminds me of when I was in art school; I pretty much created make-shift tables out of large wooden panels, or I worked on whatever flat surface was available at the time. I'm inking a pencil drawing that I did earlier. I think this might be the first time that I've inked (almost) an entire piece. It's actually cathartic, despite the fact that I feel heavy-headed. I'm unsure why I just don't dive in and do more pictures fully rendered in ink. Maybe it's because there are so many contemporary greats out there who effortlessly employ the medium as though it's an extension of their hands like Yuko Shimizu, Nathan Fox, Tomer Hanuka, and Paul Pope. So when I look at their drawings I feel as though I could never be as skilled. This sounds like I'm fishing for support, but I'm not -- I'm just thinking out loud.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Thirtysomething

So, I've entered the age of the "Thirtysomethinger."
When I turned 29, I was all mentally prepared that I would soon turn one year older, so that when the day arrived I could own that age -- I could wear that number.
Thirty. 30. thur-tee. Three-O. 30.
I remember even feeling a bit of excitement, as though turning 30 would allow me membership into some sort of social club -- but doesn't entering every decade do this to a person from when they're 19 turning 20, onwards?
Not that it really matters -- as the trite saying goes, "30 is the new 20", but is it really?
I remember turning 20 and thinking that I was officially an adult. I clutched onto a new set of freedoms - ones where I felt I could be more of myself -- that I could be more carefree and more careless about things because other people's opinions mattered less to me now that I was officially an adult. Instead, my opinion was paramount; being 20 endowed me with a kind of personal vision and voice that I lacked in previous years. I was one of those Twentysomethingers who felt heroic and unbeatable. I owned every step that I took and scoffed at those in my past who made my teen years miserable and awkward. (For those of you who knew me personally back then, you know how much of a lie that turned out to be. Most of those ideas about myself were cinematic clich├ęs that played in my head, but really I was still that hormone filled, ill-confident, self-brooding and melancholic teen who lived in the body of a 20 year old.)
But now that I'm in my 30s things are beginning to look up (or down depending on what day it is).I encounter more and more moments in my life which remind me that I'm an adult. I'm more certain about my personal voice. I'm equally as obstinate as I ever was. And although I'm still carefree, I'm also more careful than careless nowadays -- about everything. No it's not fear, though some may look at it that way, rather it's more of the experience of having lived 29 years already, and knowing the probability and possibilities of what might happen based on my experiences of the past. Call it a hypothesis of the future... maybe.
There was a show in the mid-90s called "Thirtysomething." I wish I paid more attention to it. I can't comment on it at all since I've never seen any episodes of it, but I bet there were things that I could've learned and used today. I guess it was because I was too busy leading my Twentysomething life back then.

Monday, January 7, 2008

G

I think my fingers are bleeding... they look arthritic.
.
Funny enough, the first post that I'm making in 2008 is a record of my attempts at trying to be a thirty-something-rockstar. I've had this guitar laying around my apartment for years, but have never picked it up or learned how to play it until now.
Thank goodness for the internet - I've managed to log onto some Guitar 101 websites - I'm giving it a shot. I never knew how painful playing the guitar would be - I mean, I've heard that it was... that the strings weren't actually strings, but tiny metal ropes that feel like they're slicing into your finger tips each time you press down on them.
Yeah, so I'm no James Iha -- not that it matters really anyway.