The Benefits of Roadkill

(THIS IS A PICTURE OF SOME BELOVED ROADKILL AND ME AND MY FRIEND LISA IN CLACKAMAS, OREGON. I AM UNOPPOSED TO KILLING R.O.U.S.s)
Driving home at 1 AM from Garden Grove singing along with Bradley Nowell who "can play the guitar like a mother fucking riot." I see a cat running across Ward. I am going to miss it by a few yards, then it suddenly jerks back and runs directly under my wheels. I hear (and feel) two distinct thuds. I immediately turned off the radio and began sobbing. First of all, just feeling the furry body under my wheels was enough to startle me. Also, that's someone's cat I just killed. I've never killed anything with my car before. I kill bugs. And I've fished. But no one owns those animals. I drove for a few minutes crying hysterically and being awfully dramatic, then decided if I feel this bad about the thing I should probably go back and check on it. I drove back but couldn't see any guts or fur or body through my blurry vision. So I went back to Jon's and he got in the car to help me look for it.
Went back and couldn't find it. That's good. Except I know I hit the thing, with the front and back tires. So that cat, although miraculously on its feet again, is definitely damaged. Then Jon reminded me that it could be a stray. At least no human beings are involved in this catastrophe. There's just some cat limping around somewhere who's got an awful, patchy coat now and the other cats will probably make it an outcast. But the cat could just as likely be someone's beloved pet who will now have to undergo surgery and get one of those plastic cone things that look rather obnoxious and only make the animal grateful for its peripheral vision. I was sad for the sad person who will hate the driver of the car who hit the little black and white animal. But I was able to console myself because there is some gain in this situation. I have just given the veterinarian some prodigious business in these troubled times. The owner of the cat probably needed to take the cat to the vet for something minor and has been avoiding it until now, having a perfectly legitimate reason for spending hard-earned money on such luxuries as animal restoration. And this will all come back to me (and you) in the end when the veterinarian comes to Mother's Market (the vet probably shops at Mother's because of all the animal-friendliness dogma) with that money from the cat owner. I will have more customers to serve and then more likely to keep my job. I don't know how I can revert everything to helping the economy or some glorious demonstration of the virtue of capitalism, but I just did it and it made me feel much better. Another small thing that made me more at ease with smashing the bones of the cat was the fact that I don't eat animals...so it pretty much evens out.

Stay Tuned This Christmas!

It is difficult for me to be upset at the commercialism of Christmas. Sure, I hate working during the holidays, dealing with the crowds, parking lots, and upset housewives who have to cook for thirty. But when it all comes down to it, that's the spirit of Christmas, nowadays at least. As most learned people know, Christmas was originally a pagan holiday, specifically a Roman solar holiday. It has since evolved into the day we are to celebrate Christ's birth. And with the rush of materialism that has inevitably engulfed society, the holiday called Christmas is now a tool used by hundreds of industries to promote themselves and their profits, an evil commercialistic scheme that has depleted the "true meaning" of Christmas. Wow. Apparently peoples' faiths can be pretty easily smashed by lines at the mall and electric talking Santa Clauses that repeat "ho ho ho have a merry christmas" from Thanksgiving until New Year's Day. It happens. People can be pretty greedy. But faith in the real spirit of Christmas, if we're going to talk about origins, is really worshipping a Roman sun god, not the Christian God and his son. Once people become aware of this, the nativity scene manufacturers are going to run out of business.
But the holiday has changed, just like most ancient holidays that have managed to stick around this long. It changed into what is supposed to be a birthday party for Jesus into a gift exchange between friends and family. "The First Noel" isn't the most fitting song, but "Santa Baby" is what most shoppers are singing in their heads while buying gifts for others. I was unfortunately at the cash register the other day (on the side where you collect totals and give change, not the side where you have money and purchase things that you want and/or need) and a customer starts complaining about the commercialism of Christmas. She was evidently upset about the craziness of the holidays, the greed, materialism, and the deviation from the "true meaning" of Christmas (I think she'd just been hanging out with Linus). She was saying all this while loading onto my counter free-range organic turkeys, christmas cards, pancake mix, and knic-knacs from our plethora of the hard goods section. Eight hours scanning barcodes can make me talkative and more willing to express my opinion to these strangers, whether I am opposed or in favor of their quibbles.
"Well, I think Christmas couldn't have come at a better time," I said, rather politely I might add.
"Maybe for you. Do you have to cook for three families and buy gifts for greedy children?"
"No. I'm busy working the register while people buy all the things they need. I'm just glad people are forced to spend their money."
"Why?"
"Well, so I have a job, for one thing. With all these crazy lines I was able to pick up more shifts so I could have money to pay for the gifts I have to buy. But on a larger scale, tons of companies are getting money again. Which will just come right back around to you and me."
I'm not sure if she knew where I was going with it because at this point I was finished ringing her up and another angry christmaser was ready to give me money in exchange for his products and proof of purchase, so she left the store to prepare for the ominous 25th.
That's just what Christmas is right now. Buying things for people and receiving gifts from others. That's what it all comes down to. Of course those who wish to are more than likely to celebrate Christ's birth on this day, because it has been intended for such worship and recognition for some time now, not always though. Things change. This year I personally didn't actual get excited about Christmas until I faced the insanity at the mall. So I not only concede the "commercialism of Christmas", but I endorse it. Without offering my arguments supporting capitalism, I will say that Christmas without presents isn't really Christmas at all. If we are allowing the change of the holiday from pagan to Christian, then we can accept the modification of Christian to commercial, especially if it's going to keep hundreds of industries' heads above water.
(And something that I think is rather obvious but I think should be made clear: people like giving and getting gifts. Why some complain about ripping paper open to discover an item they've been wanting but would never buy themselves is beyond me.)

Burn After Laughing So Hard You Might Make Weird Noises

Burn After Reading wasn't the best Coen Bros movie, but it certainly made me laugh, and scream, and, squeal, and shrink in my chair, and stare wide-eyed at the screen desperately wishing the scene to pass but hoping I can watch John Malkovich continue articulating his tautology of "What the fuck" at the idiocy of every human being in film. The plot is too ridiculous and nugatory to explain in detail, only because we learn in the end that the jaw dropping turn of events have no real meaning at all. Of course, you must pay attention when someone tells you not to pay attention.

The movie is more than just a "Man Who Knew Too Much," first of all because the man, and woman, know nothing at all, and second of all because there is nothing to know in the first place. Linda Litzke tries her hardest to be in control of the situation, never keeping her mouth shut or turning away pretending she didn't find a disc with "secret spy shit". She has to take it to the Russians, of course, because only they will have interest in the numbers and dates and dates and numbers. She probably didn't get the memo that the looming war some have called cold is over. And similarly, Harry Pfarrer seems in complete control throughout the movie, despite the suspicious looks and cars that follow him around. He sleeps with whomever he pleases, but tells his wife that he's crazy about her because he has the keep that constant in his life, whichever type of wood the floor he is standing on might be made of. His paranoia about the food he eats is always false; he never has an allergic reaction to any of it, to the cheese or shell fish. But when he accidentally kills the unidentified man in the closet, he suddenly becomes paranoid to the point of accusing poor little flabby-armed Linda Litzkey of being in on it. All of this lunacy happens in the nation's capital, which has become a sort of panopticon, while the CIA has strict orders to "watch them and see what they do and report back when it makes sense," turning Harry around in a 360 to see people watching him from every angle.

Linda Litzke is fully aware of her sought-after position at Hardbodies as a face to the public, so she has dedicated her life to getting enough money to get 4 extensive plastic surgeries. The filming and lighting through the movie is completely unflattering to everyone. I find almost myself endorsing Linda's taking drastic measures to become the iconic beauty so she can find that special someone with whom to laugh at "Coming Up Daisies". But then I realize she's crazy, and liposuction will only make her as fake as the smiling heads on television and will do nothing for her spastic personality. I want her so badly to stop noticing the strangers that are watching her, but look into the glass office at Hardbodies to find the ex-Greek Orthodox priest who's been pining after her while she internet dates and complains about her loneliness. She doesn't see the his previous position in the church as a fulfilled way of life, but merely points out that "that's a good job." She recognizes the importance of security and stability, but still becomes entangled in a chaotic blackmail attempt, putting her best friend in danger. Osbourne Cox kills the next idiotic person he sees, with drink in hand, because he has been surrounded by morons and is just sick of it. I'm sorry to say that I condone Cox in his drunken decision.

As far as performances go, this is the first movie I have seen with John Malkovich and now understand why he rubs some people the wrong way. But I loved him and his arrogance and his careful pronunciations while castigating the most moronic people in DC. George Clooney is always a charmer and a fine actor. Frances McDormand's was by the far the most memorable performance. I don't know what to say about her besides commenting on her commitment and seemingly perfect fit for this role, and nearly every other role in which I've seen her. Tilda Swinton was great because I hated her so much in the film. And I'm sorry to say, but Brad Pitt was more distracting than anything. His comedy was the type of church Youth Group skit comedy, formulated and preplanned. I felt like I was being told when to laugh. I did not find the way he drank his water bottle funny however. But I guess it was nice to see Brad do a less smoldering role.

This movie was one of the funniest I've seen in a long time, but I didn't know why I was laughing at such horrifically true situations. Even though the audience was small at the 2 dollar theater, it was a good one. There was one lady in the front who kept snorting she was laughing so hard. So every punch line got two sets of laughter, one for the joke and one for the lady's ridiculous snort. It was a wonderful dynamic. A good audience is sure to make the movie better, as long as you aren't too concerned about who's watching you.

Complain About Something Else

    

(I also heard of a sign that says CHICKENS HAVE MORE RIGHTS THAN GAY PEOPLE.  Yes, fine.  Prop 2 went through.  But if I were to make a sign it would say CHICKEN FARMERS HAVE LESS RIGHTS THAN GAY PEOPLE OR CHICKENS FOR THAT MATTER.  But let me step onto a different soap box...)

I thought this election was over.  But apparently there was a small discrepancy with proposition 8.  Maybe you’ve heard of it.  It’s the one that “keeps the definition of marriage” and “upholds Christian moral values.”  And if it doesn’t go through it will “change the education system” and “your children will learn that homosexuality is okay.”  Wow.  That single prop can sure do a lot.  But let’s be honest, without changing the California constitution to say that marriage is between a man and a woman, things will stay the same way they’ve been.  Our little drawings in elementary school text books will remain:  a white man standing next to a white woman, a white son, a white daughter and a golden retriever in front of a one story house with a chimney. 

Voters, or rather current protesters, against prop 8 don’t have much better arguments either. They call this prop the “unfair proposition.”  This is the most unconvincing argument.  I feel like I’m listening to a bunch of whining six year olds.  I voted no on prop 8, but for different reasons.  I’m all for equal rights for everyone, but that’s not why I voted against the government taking the role as God, distributing and taking away rights to anyone it pleases. The rights we have are innate.  The government is not in place to give or steal rights, but to protect the ones we inherently possess. 

I had no idea the Christian Right had such a strong vote in California either.  Or maybe it was because of all the new registered voters who are apparently homophobic.  But why are people protesting and rallying a few days after the election?  They are campaigning the farthest away from the next voting season.  Whose attention are they trying to get?  Not the voters’, because they aren’t going to the polls anytime soon.  Then is it Schawrzenegger’s?  If you keep up all this complaining he just might become one of those new Republicans who aren’t Republicans at all.  He’ll become as big as government can get and take away everyone’s rights:  “Now if you guys don’t be quiet then none of you can get married!”  Well that’s a little counter productive. No one would be able to marry anyone, not even heterosexuals.  All you ring-by-spring folk out there will only have civil unions to look forward to.  Then think of what that will do to the economy!  Think of everyone who would go out of business:  the florists, David’s Bridal, chair companies, invitation printers, and our friend Elvis Presley at the wedding chapel in Vegas. That wouldn’t be “fair” to anyone. 

Since the campaigning season is over, let’s try to get back to those days I remember, when the beginning of our conversations didn’t begin with “Hi friend, how ‘bout them propositions?” Let’s think about when they will begin with, “Hi comrade, how ‘bout them bread lines?”  There are more important things to worry about right now than propositions that might be on the ballot in 2010.  Let’s talk about our current issues, like the radio “Fairness Doctrine” our president-elect is planning to implement.  Let’s focus our energy on neither the recent past nor the far future, but on the present times.  We just elected the most symbolic president our country has ever seen. 

This might be my favorite episode

Embarrassing Moment of the Day

I walked all the way home with my backpack fully unzipped. Not so much a "moment" as a "15 minutes".

Elle avait pris ce pli

I'm a sucker for a good poem. But only the really really good ones. My favorite happens to be in French, and when translated doesn't make me tear up or anything. So, I'll leave it be. Basically, Victor Hugo wrote this poem about his favorite daughter who drowned. I know it's depressing, but...so it goes.

ELLE AVAIT PRIS CE PLI

Elle avait pris ce pli dans son âge enfantin

De venir dans ma chambre un peu chaque matin;

Je l'attendais ainsi qu'un rayon qu'on espère;

Elle entrait et disait : -Bonjour, mon petit père;-

Prenait ma plume, ouvrait mes livres, s'asseyait

Sur mon lit, dérangeait mes papiers, et riait,

Puis soudain s'en allait comme un oiseau qui passe.

Alors, je reprenais, la tête un peu moins lasse,

Mon oeuvre interrompue, et, tout en écrivant,

Parmi mes manuscrits je rencontrais souvent

Quelque arabesque folle et qu'elle avait tracée,

Et mainte page blanche entre ses mains froissée

Où, je ne sais comment, venaient mes plus doux vers.

Elle aimait Dieu, les fleurs, les astres, les prés verts,

Et c'était un esprit avant d'être une femme.

Son regard reflétait la clarté de son âme.

Elle me consultait sur tout à tous les moments.

Oh! que de soirs d'hiver radieux et charmants,

Passés à raisonner langue, histoire et grammaire,

Mes quatre enfants groupés sur mes genoux, leur mère

Tout près, quelques amis causant au coin du feu!

J'appelais cette vie être content de peu!

Et dire qu'elle est morte! hélas! que Dieu m'assiste!

Je n'étais jamais gai quand je la sentais triste;

J'étais morne au milieu du bal le plus joyeux

Si j'avais, en partant, vu quelque ombre en ses yeux.

These two people are alright

I have the most beautiful sister.  Her and Andrew got engaged about a month ago and I couldn't be happier. 

These pictures were taken by Samuel Lippke and I think he did an amazing job at capturing the Andrew and Ellen essence.

Silly People

I went to another Objectivist lecture on Wednesday.  I would post about it, but I've been talking about politics way too much lately.  All I will say is I really enjoyed it, but I regretfully had to miss my TaeKwonDo class.

Last night at work a group of six very drunk people came in to eat some sushi.  I think it's very rude to show up to a restaurant already hammered.  They were pretty nice, except when they were ordering drinks.  One guy asked for a martini, but I told him we don't have a full bar.  Apparently this made him mad because he said "You're an asshole."  Well, I wasn't expecting that.  Now, I know he was drunk and I know he was kidding.  But he didn't say "sorry" or "just joking" or anything.  He just looked down to his menu and ordered a beer instead.  Fine.

Then today I was riding my bike to drop off movies at Blockbuster.  Just riding along.  Then this big bro truck drives by and yells at me.  I'm not exactly sure what he said.  All I heard was "(something something) fucking fixie, whore!"  Hm.  Okay.  Well, judging by his word choices, I don't think he was commending me on my excellent bike riding skills.  But I'm not sure what I did to upset him.  First of all, I don't think he was drunk because it was one 'o clock in the afternoon.  But if he was drunk this early in the day, I wouldn't be mad at him.  I wouldn't even pity him.  I'd just feel rather superior, to be quite honest.  Second of all, my bike isn't even a fixie!  It's a ten-speed!  And I use my gears, too.  If I didn't I wouldn't be able to get up that steep hill to get out of my complex.  And you know what, let's give this a third of all:  I did not look like a whore.  Not one bit.  I was wearing jeans, a wal-mart t-shirt and glasses.  I don't know what neighborhood he's from, but his red-light district must be very conservative.  

I didn't take either of these incidents personally or anything.  I was just shocked.  I don't understand how anyone can be so rude.  To conclude:  don't call me names because I will tell everyone about it and you will look just silly.    

Speaking of silly, Erin and I dressed like silly people for Halloween.  We watched Evil Dead and made cake.  It was loads of fun.

Would you like me more if I was a Democrat?

When I have children I am not going to let them watch Robin Hood.  I don’t want them thinking stealing from the rich can be justified in any way, even if you’re giving it away to poor folk.  Yeah, that King John was a real bastard.  But that’s his money.  You can’t steal it. 

I don’t know why this idea is so popular and trendy, especially among people my age.  I saw this movie almost a year ago and this one line has stuck with me.  The movie is called The Edukators.  It’s a German film about kids in their 20s who just want to change the world.  They are sick of the injustices that go on in the world, so they protest daily in the streets.  They hand out flyers and try to make people aware.  No harm in that, right?  They take it one step further, though.  The three of them find out when rich families are going to be gone on vacation or something.  The kids break into the home, rearrange their furniture and put random things in random places just to freak them out a bit.  Then they leave a note that says, “Your days of plenty are numbered.”  They don’t steal anything.  They just want to teach them a lesson.  One of the wealthy victims of these bizarre crimes says the line that stuck with me:  “If you’re older than 30 and a Democrat, you’re an idiot.  If you’re younger than 30 and a Republican, you’re heartless.”  (It goes something like that.)  Anyway, when I watched that I thought, “That’s so true!” 

But I’d like to add on to that.  Not only are you considered compassionate as a young person Democrat, but trendy.  So trendy, in fact, that you would never find a McCain t-shirt in a young clothing store.  But look around and you’re bound to find Obama shirts promising hope.  Hope for what, by the way?  Yeah, I know our country has definitely taken a turn for the worse after some bad administrations and really disastrous decisions.  And I know we’re in an economic recession.  But these kids that are wearing HOPE t-shirts aren’t in too much trouble, right?  They have enough money to buy a $38 t-shirt at Urban Outfitters.  (It’s just a cotton tee with Obama’s face screen printed on it…and probably made by tiny, pitiful children in India, by the way.)  This is a nation-wide store.  Not just in blue California, where the sun shines bright and you’re cool if you wear skinny jeans, huge sunglasses, and hold two fingers up in a peace sign (which is the equivalent to the giving the middle finger in England.) 

Let’s talk about California a little bit, shall we?  But more specifically, let’s talk about Hollywood.  I have been asking myself this question for some time now:  why are all the celebrities Democrats?  Seriously, almost all of them.  Most of these people are making well over $250,000 a year.  And if Obama is president they will be taxed more than anyone else in the nation.  Why are they okay with this?  They worked damn hard for their money, and they are fine with throwing it all away.  Oh, I’m sorry.  They’re okay with giving it to the poor people.  Well, okay, let’s clarify even more.  They’re okay with giving it to the government who promises to give it to the poor people, after they’ve finished using it up for their pet projects and think tanks and what not.  In the latest issue of Bazaar magazine, Drew Barrymore is featured advocating Obama.  She wears a t-shirt that says “Time For A Change.”  That’s great.  She wants change.  Who doesn’t?  I want to change our situation as much as anyone else.  Drew and I want change in different ways, sure.  I just don’t have magazines chasing after me to do a photoshoot and article about how I love America.  I have this blog though.  Which a million people read.  So I’m lucky.  Drew does say in the article, “I stay under the radar as much as this celebrity bullshit will let me, and I don’t thump on every cause.”  Okay.  Sure.  I haven’t heard her yelling at me for not driving a Prius.  But I do get that enough from every other celebrity in Hollywood.  But here’s something else Drew says:  “I can’t imagine why we all don’t desperately want to take care of each other.”  Well, yeah, when you say it like that I sound incredibly heartless for being conservative.  Not to mention like, totally, uncool man.  (By the by, I’m all for helping people out.  I’m not a total Rand fanatic.  I just don’t think government should have anything to do with it.)

In short (not really at all actually), if you want to be cool, go to an art show, wear peace sign earrings, your new Obama t-shirt, vintage exercise shorts, Toms shoes, and big, expensive sunglasses.  Oh and ride your bike.  Because you alone will save this globe from burning.  It is virtually impossible to be a conservative hipster.  

A Bunch of Junk No One Cares About

Is it weird that I feel guilty about not posting?  Especially when my valuable time is being spent on fun stuff like homework?  Yes.  I do have a few things to say though.  Nothing profound.

1)  I am scared of the squirrels in our complex.  The other day I played Chicken with this vicious one every time I walked back and forth from my door while doing laundry.  I won.  But I was very frightened.  And from my squeals I am probably deemed the pansy on the block.

2)  I hate horrible teachers.  Why am I paying someone to read to me from a book that I purchased for $120?  (Actually, that's a lie.  I paid $3.50 for the same book on www.half.com.  But everyone else paid $120.)  You know a teacher is bad when you ask a question and her answer only confuses you more.  "Do you understand now?"  "Um, no."  She explains again.  Then, "Now do you understand?"  "Um...I'll just read it in the book."

3)  I'm sick of this election.  I'm sick of watching a man in a red tie and a man in a blue tie ultimately promising the same disaster for us all.  I just want my freedoms.  Is that so much to ask?  I just want my innate rights to be protected from a small government.  Simple, I think.  (While we're on the subject, I've gone and confused myself and started looking at Bob Barr, the Libertarian candidate.  I found myself nodding along to his entire website.  My neck hurt.  But it was a nice change from shaking my head frantically at Obama's and even McCain's sites.)  So yeah, I want November 4th of 2008 to be gone.  But, I don't want to skip October 31...which brings me to...

4)  I love Halloween.  Might be my favorite holiday.  My roommates and another friend were all going to dress up like The Golden Girls (I was going to be Sofia) but they bailed.  I guess they weren't down for dressing like frumpy old ladies.  I can't wait to be a real frumpy old lady.  In real life.  I can complain all I want and I won't be considered negative, but quite endearing.  

5)  I don't know.  I feel there should be a 5th one.  Um.  Oh.  I really want to make movies.  Forever.  Oh damn, I thought of a 6th one now.  I  guess this one goes along with the movie theme.  I just watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail for my first time.  I know.  I don't know who was keeping it from me for 20 years.  Damn it!  I thought of another one!  But this goes with movies, too.  So don't worry.  I watched The Purple Rose of Cairo again this past weekend.  It has officially moved into my top 3 movies list.  I love it so much.  I was smiling through the entire movie like some dumb child.  Except in the end.  The end is sad.  But that's life, you know?  

To wrap up, I hope you didn't read this.  It was terribly boring.  I apologize.  

Funny To Me

In chapel the other day there were a bunch of flags walking down the aisles to the sound of "cultural songs."  (something about spreading our love to the other nations of the world) For the continent of Europe, a French song was played.  But the song said stuff like "you bastard, you left me for another girl...but I still love you...remember when we slept together..." that type of stuff.  Funny.

Makes Sense To Me

http://www.ocregister.com/articles/government-market-free-2171583-money-work?referrer=google

This was in the Sunday's Register's Commentary section. Greenhut also has a blog called Orange Punch.

CO2 Is Not Satan

Yesterday I attended a lecture put on by the Ayn Rand Institute titled "A Critique of Global Warming Science and Policy".  It was at USC and I didn't want to go alone so I took a friend from work.  After getting on the wrong freeway twice, parking as far away from campus as possible, and looking into every room of Taper Hall except the right one, we were half an hour late.  We snuck in the back of a room of about thirty or forty people and sat down, trying to catch onto what was going on.  The first speaker had already given his talk proving how Global Warming is pretty much false and data is skewed.  So if you ask me, "Hannah, what about An Inconvenient Truth and Mr. Gore's jaw dropping discoveries?  You can't say that's all false!"  I will say, "I wish I could tell you what Willie Soon said."  Because I really do.  But I did get to hear the majority of Keith Lockitch's speech about the policies and ridiculous amounts of funding caused by the global (sounds scary, doesn't it?) warming.  (Put the word "global" in front of anything and it sounds pretty intimidating.)  

After both speeches there was a time for questions and answers.  I listened to Mr. Soon repeat some of his findings after eighteen years of working on this issue.  So I was somewhat clued in.  I still had so many questions, though I could never ask them because it's likely that the question is either (a) unintelligent because and I was very uninformed compared to the rest of the audience or (b) just plain already answered in the first part of the lecture.  So I kept my hand down.  Except to move away a piece of hair from my face, which evidently caught Mr. Soon's attention.  He pointed at me, letting me ask the question he thought I had prepared.  I looked around,  hoping there was someone behind me (which is silly because the only thing behind me was a wall) who had their hand raised.  Alas, it was me everyone was looking at.  I made weird noises like, "Uh, mmm, oh."  And instead of saying, "Oh, sorry, I didn't have a question" like normal person, I proceeded to spout the most ridiculous, unintelligent, made from thin-air question.  I don't even want to write what I said.  (If you know me, you might know that I blush if anyone just looks at me.  I was probably Trojan red, but kept my eye contact with Mr. Soon, nodding my head as he answered my question.)  Of course, Mr. Soon didn't really understand my question.   I didn't even really understand my question.  Something about CO2.  

He answered briefly then took that subject and went on to explain that CO2 is not the problem.  Heat, the rise in temperature is the problem.  Yes, he says, there is a definite rise in CO2 level; no one can deny that.  "But people forget that CO2 is not bad.  It's good!  CO2 is not Satan!"  Mr. Soon got very passionate during that two hours.  "We breathe out CO2.  The plants need the CO2 to live!"  

I really wish I had enough sense to wear roller blades or heelies (those shoes with wheels that I've always wanted) or something to speed from our car to campus, but my foolish brain decided to wear ordinary sandals.  I did pick up some free pamphlets and such that have helped clue me in a little more about evil environmentalists. (really, I have one right here titled "Environmentalism:  A Doctrine of Man-Hatred")  But I am still totally uninformed about the science of the whole thing.  Disappointment.  

The same lecture is being held at UC Berkeley tomorrow.  Go to it if you can.  Then tell me what I missed!

Experiencing the Other

I'm a white girl and I work at a sushi restaurant.  Normally, no one points out that I'm the only blonde in the entire building.  I don't think it's that weird.  Our restaurant isn't super authentic or anything.  The owner is Korean and there are only a few Japanese people who work there.  

But tonight, this one drunk woman couldn't stop talking about how I wasn't, you know, asian.  Her husband pokes her and whispers, "Ask her.  Ask her."  

"Excuse me.  Why do you work here?"  

"I'm sorry?"  I'm a little confused.

"How did you start working here?"

I know what she means but I ask, "What do you mean?"

"You're not Japanese."

A revelation.  Everything is clear to me now.  My life makes much more sense now that I know that I'm white.

I push up my glasses and try to explain, "Actually, there are only a couple people here that are Japanese.  Everyone else is Korean or Vietnamese."

She thinks I don't understand.  "No.  You're not...asian."  Now, here's what gets me.  She actually whispers "asian."  Is it a crime to be asian?  I am thoroughly baffled at this point.  After a glass of wine and three beers, I can understand why  she's so talkative.  But when she says this I'm thinking she thinks I don't know I'm not asian and everyone else who is asian doesn't know that they are.  I leave her comment a little open ended so she understands what she is saying.  But she doesn't.  We proceed to talk about why I must have some asian roots or something, and I'm just reconnecting.  

"But you're a very smart girl.  You look very smart."

"Actually, I am smart."

"Yes.  I can tell.  I can tell you have a strong emotional intelligence."

Acting like I know what this means I thank her.  

I tried to avoid her the rest of the night but she was sitting right where I had to pick up the food from the chefs, so she always caught me.  She told me how she is part Portuguese and that she can get up and salsa dance right now.  I was not going to stop her.  Unfortunately, she stayed in her seat.  

I walked away after she told me I'm experiencing reverse discrimination.  Thanks for thinking I'm special and all, but I really don't think I'm being discriminated against.  Also, why on earth is it called reverse discrimination?  As if the only race that can discriminate against other races is white?  

Sometimes people get disappointed when they don't have an asian waiting on them, especially an asian girl.  She is thought of to be exotic and submissive and they'd rather her bring them a spicy tuna roll than a dorky blonde girl with glasses.  It's ridiculous but true.  Why is there no second thought when a non-white person works at a burger joint?  

And it's bizarre to me how many people clump all asian ethnicities together.  Just as long as they are considered "other than."  

(Don't try to get this from the OCC Library, because I have it right now.  But try back on September 30.)

Consider David Foster Wallace

Death is really the best publicity, especially when it’s dramatic. I’ve had a book by David Foster Wallace on my bookshelf for some months now and only picked it up to read after his suicide on September 12 of this year. I didn’t follow his work too closely, but I’ve always been interested in things he’s had to say. I’ve been surprised at how much his unexpected death has been on my mind. I’ve been reading The Broom of the System, his first novel, and starting to understand the development of his writing style.

Something I really like about Wallace is his ability to write about anything in the world and still make you think about it for the rest of the day. In 2004, he wrote an article, titled "Consider the Lobster", for Gourmet Magazine. His assignment was to cover a lobster festival in Maine. But he turned it into a piece about the ethics of capturing, boiling, dismantling, buttering and consuming lobster all for our personal pleasure. After discussing the history of these crustaceans and details about the possibility of their ability to feel pain, he asks the question, “…what ethical convictions do gourmets evolve that allow them not just to eat but to savor and enjoy flesh-based viands (since of course refined enjoyment, rather than ingestion, is the whole point of gastronomy)?” But it was more than a PETA pamphlet. Wallace offers an open discussion, after presenting the hard facts of lobsters and their preparation, about the simple morality of inflicting pain on another creature. He was not vegetarian or vegan, just a thinker who was willing to research and discover for himself the truth behind the delicacy of lobster. And this was published in a magazine for gourmets and cooks to flip the pages for recipes on lobsters, and crabs, and chicken, and veal for the matter. He acknowledges his audience as such, but continues to keep them thinking, no doubt.

https://mail.vanguard.edu/exchweb/bin/redir.asp?URL=http://www.gourmet.com/magazine/2000s/2004/08/consider_the_lobster?currentPage=1

The literalism of Roland Barthes’ essay titled “Death of the Author” in situations like these seems to evoke an opposite approach. Instead of deriving meaning out of an author’s work while ignoring his identity (including his views, race, childhood, religion, etc.), I cannot read a piece by Wallace without considering his history and his past up until the time he was writing. I can’t help but wonder about his psychological development while reading his novels, essays, and articles about inflicting pain on another creature. I had hoped for another forty years of writing. But some things that go on inside are too difficult to explain in a novel.