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Sunday, November 22nd, 2009
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I know, another deviation from the philosophical entries, but... I have to brag. ^_^
UCI's Argentine Tango club, along with the Salsa and Swing clubs there, put together an AWESOME mixer. We had more than double the number of people I had thought would show up, and I'm proud to say that I taught a lesson that some of the guests lauded as the best of the night.
It. ROCKED.
Sooo worth it. Sooo doing it again.
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Monday, November 2nd, 2009
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For those who are looking at the subject and wondering, I've been taking classes and helping people learn it for the last 3 years, and I'm working on making it four.
I just had my first experience dancing tango outside of the UCI community I'm a part of.
I... have SOOO much to learn...
Y_Y
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Friday, October 9th, 2009
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I was listening to the radio the other day, and I caught a fragment of a song. Only a fragment, because I wasn't in the mood for it after hearing what I did, but a mental paraphrase of said fragment won't leave me alone.
If you know what the song might be, I'd love to know.
EDIT: The song is "Just Breathe", by Pearl Jam.
The lyrics I caught had the vocalist singing about how he could count the people he loves on both hands.
My immediate reaction was cynicism. I wasn't in the mood, and there was some music person boasting how there are so many special people in his life. My changing of the channel was fueled by more than my usual complaint that there was nothing on the radio, but also by indignation.
And I realized that perhaps my indignation was justified, not because it was a bad song, but because (in my opinion) society seems to be losing sight of what "love" really is. We use it colloquially, like I did in the second one-line-of-a-paragraph, but that's not what I'm talking about.
I'm talking about love between people. Everyone claims to love, and so few can actually provide a reason that has merit. Some do it out of responsibility, others to leverage the law or society, or to be accepted by people... It so often seems like there isn't a good reason.
Maybe I'm talking outside of my boundaries of knowledge. It may be different in Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia, South America, or perhaps it's even different just going outside the country, to Canada and Mexico. Maybe it's different going to Alaska or Hawaii, where it's not connected to the chaos of the contiguous United States; crossing state lines; or even leaving my mountain-ringed part of Southern California. I cannot claim to know more than what the most-likely-biased statistics bring, or what the news networks uncaringly report, but if they're even half-true, are we not ignorant of what love is?
Statistics claim that half of all marriages end in divorce, and that there are more single parents than ever. Even if we assume that half of the former are not for the capricious "irreconcilable differences" so many claim, and that half of the latter are caused by death (in some form or another), that's still so many people that don't know the meaning of what love is. They couldn't possibly know, because if they did, would that many people have that bond just fall apart?
For that matter, I don't think I can properly put to words what love is. Different people have different reasons for loving, different wants from their relationships, and different motivations for finding someone, not to speak of how these ideas can change over time.
Even so, I think there are essential parts of love that I already know, and that don't change. I think it starts with not tiring of a person's presence. So many people stop being able to do this, stand to be around someone, which is disheartening. One of the few things I can agree with my father on is that you can't say you can love someone until you've seen their quirks. He likes to say that you need to be able to wake up next to them, and see them without makeup, with that weird junk that forms around your eyes still attached, and the obligatory morning breath (ok, so he doesn't phrase it like that), and still care about them just as much. And then, that's only the start of knowing they could be the one.
All of this was brought about by one song lyric, and it has lead me to do a lot of thingking, because I've had to think about the people I'm around. I have to start wondering about who I myself love, or even care about. Frankly, doing so depresses me. As I do this, I find, more and more, that I don't have two hands for the people I care about and love. I have one hand, and it's gaining free fingers, sadly.
I'm finding that people push each other away so much more than they properly pull them closer, and with the people close to you, they push you away by trying to pull you closer when you don't want to be reigned in.
If you dare, look some time at the people in your life. See which ones you truly care about, which ones you love, and ask why. It's a harsh look at reality, a harsh, dark view, but I think it's one we all could stand to take, especially before we become another statistic, in some way or another.
"When I look into your eyes
There's nothing there to see
Nothing but my own mistakes
Staring back at me
Asking why..."
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http://xkcd.com/150/
The second frame of that got me thinking.
I think it's right.
I think it's time to start getting the word out to our generation. I think we need to start realizing just what we're doing, because we're creating a society of idiots.
We really are.
We idolize actors and athletes, paying them outrageous sums of money for often the most inane things. We laud rap and hip-hop "stars", and venerate their songs of misogeny, murder, and give them money hand over fist for the most formulaic music on the market. We create a society where, socially, the most accepted are the most debaucherous; drinking oneself into an amnesic stupor is practically the "acceptable minimum".
We give people the easy out too easily. No one feels like they have to work for anything, because it's easier to outsource it, fake it, claim credit for it, and run away from it. So many people get married only to break up for "irreconcilable differences." There's no accountability.
Maybe it makes me an old soul for doing so, but I'm looking back lately at the last generation, and all they accomplished. They really did accomplish a lot. It's the people of that generation that tried to fight world hunger, oppressive regimes, global warming (even if they did cause some of it); brought about the internet; refined parts of an infrastructure that not only connects people across cities, but counties, states, even the world.
For the grammar nazis, yes, semi-colons CAN serve the same function of commas.
And if you are a grammar nazi, you probably have the last generation to thank for that, too. It's not only the people who made sure you went to school, but people in that generation that brought about a lot of school reform.
Do we really want to be remembered as a generation of debaucherous wretches who can't stand behind anything but what we're told to stand behind?
I say we start the movement. The maybe five of you who read this, and me. Spread this around. Post it, or something like it on your blog, on your journal, or get more creative. Make it a mural on the wall of a freeway, with the letters stretched out so you can read it at 65 mph and have it still make sense. Turn it into beat poetry, or an interpretive dance, an indie theater routine, or the next "Chicken Soup for the _______ Soul".
We should make our generation one that is remembered not because of the debauchery, but because of the determination to rectify this derailing of society.
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Saturday, August 8th, 2009
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Je pense, pour moi, que c'est la langue. Il n'y a aucune langue que français qui peut sembler si gentille, si douce, mais à la fois, si puissante. Pour moi, sauf quand quelqu'un me fait le parler, j'adore parler en français.
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I find it disturbing that Michael Jackson, suspected child molester and the closest human being to a Mr. Potato Head, gets full pages in the newspaper (he had 4 full pages in the L.A. Times, in addition to being on half the cover), yet Farrah Fawcett, one of the original Angels and one of the most eye-catching women in history, barely gets mentioned.
This may sound callous, but if you know me, you know I'm just calling it as I see it...
Ditch the freak, and give me the lady's story. I could care less about a bleached fool who's had more plastic surgery than Pamela Anderson's had breast augmentations, and doesn't have enough brains to know what's appropriate and what's not. I may not be the most sympathetic person, but I'd much rather find out about the life of someone who tried to duke it out with a bad bout of cancer.
Farrah Fawcett, rest in peace. May your soul be free of life's pains.
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Wednesday, April 22nd, 2009
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Friday, February 27th, 2009
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Thursday, December 25th, 2008
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Wednesday, December 24th, 2008
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Ingredients:
1 cup of water
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup of sugar
1 tsp salt
1 cup of brown sugar
Lemon juice
4 large eggs
Nuts
1 bottle tequila
2 cups dried fruit
Sample the tequila to check quality. Take a large bowl, check the tequila again. To be sure it is of the highest quality, pour one level cup and drink. Repeat. Turn on the electric mixer. Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy owl. At one teaspoon of sugar. Beat again. At this point, it's best to make sure the tequila is still OK. Try another cup... just in case. Turn off the mixerer thingy. Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit.
Pick the frigging fruit up off the floor. Mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers just pry it loose with a drewscriver. Sample the tequila to check for tonsisticity. Next, sift two cups of salt. Or something. Check the tequila. Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Add a spoon of sucar, or somefink. Whatever you can find. Greash the oven. Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don't forget to beat off the turner. Finally, throw the bowl through the window. Finish the tequila and wipe counter with the cat.
CHERRY MISTMAS!
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Sunday, October 12th, 2008
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I've been wondering about the concept of an "anti"...
... This is not a misspelling. I'm referring to the prefix, or, perhaps, the idea of an "antithesis"... Do we all have our own personal antitheses? Something that just so clashes with our natures that it pains us, sickens us, so radically changes our moods that we radiate out what I can only call off-hand as "displeasure"?
I'm finding that mine is a problem; it hinders social interaction to what I can only imagine is a large degree, and I have a worry that it is severing friendships of mine...
Yet I cannot shake it... I find that the term "psychological aversion" describes it well, though if I'm overloading some term, then I'll not object to a replacement. I find that it takes naught but a thought of my antithesis to start to trigger my reaction to it...
... And yet, as I write this, I wonder if I'm pointing to the wrong target...
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I wonder if I think about this more than someone should.
I've already figured out what song I'd want played - it's one that carries something of a "don't worry, move on" idea - which is perhaps the thing that makes me wonder the most; I'll be returning to this thought...
I also wonder the weal and woe of wanting to die in a certain way. I find myself drawn to a particular song whenever I think about this. I used to listen only to the words of the third verse of the song - "Spraypaint and Ink Pens" by Fort Minor - and I detested it, but I happened to listen to it again for meaning, which was quite a revelation... Listen to it, read its lyrics, and you may find what I found there... ou, possiblement, j'ai cette idée parce que, si souvent, je ne suis qu'outil...
But to return to the earlier thought, I am reminded of a small portion of a synopsis of a movie I caught unintentionally, and so I now pose their question, albeit reworded:
What would you remember of me were I to die?
Please use the "anonymous" option to comment, and don't reveal yourself; if I figure it out through your writing, so be it, but I think I'd rather not know if I can't...
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Thursday, September 11th, 2008
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... Isnia sdner et ej te, deip à sepuoc sed sennod em ut... Ruep erdner xuev ut iuq, neihc nob emmoc esnep em ej, siofeuqleuq...
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Wednesday, August 13th, 2008
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If anyone was watching the Olympics tonight, for the men's synchronized diving?
SCREW THE ITALIAN JUDGE.
Salopard rated some other country higher than the US by 3-points-plus on a worse dive. Smaller splash, yes, but worse synchronization, and vertical axis rotation to further dissynchronize their dive.
Bloody politics. Rate the dive, not the divers' country.
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Thursday, July 17th, 2008
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I'm coming across the realization that I'm becoming a workaholic as a form of escapism...
At my work, I'm treated like a "somebody". People come to me for help, I'm entrusted with tasks because they know I'll do it correctly, I get along with my coworkers incredibly well... I don't mean this in a boasting way, but I'm only a few steps shy of being a "manager" on the totem pole. It feels... good...
I lose that feeling whenever I park outside my house.
This house is not a home... ~Three Days Grace, "Home"
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Tuesday, March 18th, 2008
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Wednesday, February 6th, 2008
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Saturday, December 29th, 2007
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I ordered a computer from HP.
The monitor and the tower? Shipped separately.
Both were due today. Monitor arrived, safe and sound.
Computer? No.
Incompetent liars at FedEx Home - sorry, they're the incompetent, lying PRIVATE CONTRACTORS hired by FedEx Home Delivery - don't swing by, and they log the delivery as having been a "delivery exception" because they claim I wasn't home. Yeah bloody right. I was out in front of my house at the time they claimed there was the error, and they didn't even bloody leave a delivery slip.
So, because they closed at 3 PM today, I have to wait until they're next open. They're open Tuesdays through Saturdays.
Oh, wait. Tuesday's freakin' NEW YEAR'S DAY. Meaning I'm waiting until Wednesday for a computer that should have been delivered, had I had a delivery agent competent enough to know NOT to try and out-lie the customer!
The only question that remains is how much I can hurt this fool. I would love to see him pay out the nose for this tantamount theft.
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shargonysadros's journal
accomplished.
drained.
despondent.
pensive.
annoyed.
despondent.
nostalgic.
depressed.
angry.