There is something about the human mind that rejects the free and the easy. We do not trust it, we do not believe in it, we always wait for the other shoe to drop. I suppose the problem is that we keep thinking of things in pairs of opposites, instead of taking the cycles as they come. When good things happen, we worry about a catch. We think in terms of the monkey's paw, and that's why we just do not see.
Nothing is free, that much is true. Everything is paid for. Take the Christian concept of salvation, for instance. It is free. It is a promo. All you have to do is take it, and it is yours. And that fact alone makes it the hardest to believe in.
But while salvation may be free for us, it's only because Someone already paid. And the fact remains that if you sign up for it, it won't always be that easy. It gets harder later. Then easy. Then hard. It's a cycle, not the Twilight Zone version of the Monkey's Paw. (That's just an example. Or maybe the first sentence of my upcoming opus called "The Zen of Christianity. Yes, I'm kidding. Oh wait, I already said that in a previous post.
Of course, it is a commitment, all promos are. If someone pays your way, there is an obligation. Especially when it is a price you yourself cannot afford. But that's another entry. So is the whys and the wherefores of it, the fine print, the little things the oversimplified tracts don't discuss. Just so you know. Just so you don't cancel your subscription too early and miss out on the rest. But the signing up part, that's easy.
Like my job. It is so easy, it gives me a headache. All I have to do is come in, and that's the hardest part.
The same is true with the job. The hard work was done earlier. Some of it was even done by me. That's why it's easy now. It'll get harder later, but that's not payment for now, it's the prepayment for the next tough time. That is the way of it. That is the way it should be.
Living is a great job, even if there are idiots who try to buy everything in the world and think that world domination includes that bright place in your head where your mind used to be. But the point isn't the wages at the end, or the work at the beginning, or how much more the other guy who was hired (born, to you people who don't get metaphors, you know who you are) after you gets.
The point is just to show up.
Everything else follows.
And the bill, at the end, is never as high as you were afraid it would be. And it always will be a bargain compared to what you got.
And I have no point, really. It's just that earlier, I read this:
"There are many things to see, unwrapped gifts and free surprises. The world is fairly studded and strewn with pennies cast broadside by a generous hand. But- and this is the point- who gets excited by a mere penny? If you follow one arrow, if you crouch motionless on a bank to watch a tremulous ripple thrill on the water and are rewarded by the sight of a muskrat paddling from its den, will you count that sight a chip of copper only, and go on your rueful way? It is dire poverty indeed when a man is so malnourished and fatigued that he won't stoop to pick up a penny. But if you cultivate a healthy poverty and simplicity, so that finding a penny will literally make your day, then, since the world is in fact planted in pennies, you have with your poverty bought a lifetime of days. It is that simple. What you see is what you get."
Annie Dillard, from "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek."
Merry Christmas.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Friday, December 01, 2006
Accusations and Criticism
It occurs to me that internal critics are birthed by external ones.
Accusations are first heard by the ears, before they echo in the mind, magnified in the heart until it deafens the soul, disorienting the spirit .
And disoriented, it wobbles in insecurity, unable to move forward, hindering us from giving and taking our best, and accepting what will bring us joy, even when it is freely given and freely offered.
Even if we have experienced it before and knows what it brings us, it is that belief ithat one is underserving that stops us from walking a path we know leads to away from pain, and into light.
I remember drawing much in the time before a friend looked at my sketchpads and said, " Why is it that we artists can't afford materials, and you can when you're not even an artist?" I do not remember what I answered, I only remember that I stopped drawing.
I suppose it is why I have six blocks of Fabriano watercolor paper, and five of the Arches ones that remain unused, a number of watercolor sets and paints that remain untouched, and three Moleskines that have nothing but my name in them.
And I have noticed of late that I can, indeed, draw, not very well, not as well as when I drew every day; but I am improving with practice. But I can only draw on scratch paper and used office paper or the back pages of my sister's old exercise sketchbook, using ballpoint, or regular office issue pencils and signpens. All of these are cheap' they will not be wasted when a good artist could put them to much better use. Put a piece of "expensive" paper in front of me and I freeze, put artist-grade paints in front of me and the colours turn muddy, put a charcoal pencil in my hand and my palms sweat, which turns the paper into a sheet with blobs and blotches of black and gray.
I cannot even bring myself to sign up for an online class, much less a live one, there is a fear of being told by professionals that I am talentless, and have wasted my money, that I am better off writing because that would be a more productive use of my time.
It would not be so bad if the paralysis did not extend to my writing, because, after all, that is my job and what I have been known to be since I was eight. But it does.
I can only write and draw in the notebooks I make, not in a Moleskine. And while my sisters point out that those notebooks I sew probably cost more than Moleskines in terms of my time, the fact that they were created by me makes them less valuable, and as such, unintimidating and more useable.
But I want to draw. I want to paint. I want to see. And then I remember what I told my copywriter, the one whose previous bosses had asked him if he was sure he was a writer and was thus doubting it himself, "Do you want to write? Then write anyway. Labels are useless."
So I draw anyway, and I paint anyway, despite not being an artist. And the fact that I am surrounded by real ones will not stop me.
After all, I am also not a great chef, but that does not stop me from boiling an egg when I am hungry and must eat.
Perhaps one day I shall try it on a real stove. And perhaps one day I shall use my real art materials.
Perhaps.
Accusations are first heard by the ears, before they echo in the mind, magnified in the heart until it deafens the soul, disorienting the spirit .
And disoriented, it wobbles in insecurity, unable to move forward, hindering us from giving and taking our best, and accepting what will bring us joy, even when it is freely given and freely offered.
Even if we have experienced it before and knows what it brings us, it is that belief ithat one is underserving that stops us from walking a path we know leads to away from pain, and into light.
I remember drawing much in the time before a friend looked at my sketchpads and said, " Why is it that we artists can't afford materials, and you can when you're not even an artist?" I do not remember what I answered, I only remember that I stopped drawing.
I suppose it is why I have six blocks of Fabriano watercolor paper, and five of the Arches ones that remain unused, a number of watercolor sets and paints that remain untouched, and three Moleskines that have nothing but my name in them.
And I have noticed of late that I can, indeed, draw, not very well, not as well as when I drew every day; but I am improving with practice. But I can only draw on scratch paper and used office paper or the back pages of my sister's old exercise sketchbook, using ballpoint, or regular office issue pencils and signpens. All of these are cheap' they will not be wasted when a good artist could put them to much better use. Put a piece of "expensive" paper in front of me and I freeze, put artist-grade paints in front of me and the colours turn muddy, put a charcoal pencil in my hand and my palms sweat, which turns the paper into a sheet with blobs and blotches of black and gray.
I cannot even bring myself to sign up for an online class, much less a live one, there is a fear of being told by professionals that I am talentless, and have wasted my money, that I am better off writing because that would be a more productive use of my time.
It would not be so bad if the paralysis did not extend to my writing, because, after all, that is my job and what I have been known to be since I was eight. But it does.
I can only write and draw in the notebooks I make, not in a Moleskine. And while my sisters point out that those notebooks I sew probably cost more than Moleskines in terms of my time, the fact that they were created by me makes them less valuable, and as such, unintimidating and more useable.
But I want to draw. I want to paint. I want to see. And then I remember what I told my copywriter, the one whose previous bosses had asked him if he was sure he was a writer and was thus doubting it himself, "Do you want to write? Then write anyway. Labels are useless."
So I draw anyway, and I paint anyway, despite not being an artist. And the fact that I am surrounded by real ones will not stop me.
After all, I am also not a great chef, but that does not stop me from boiling an egg when I am hungry and must eat.
Perhaps one day I shall try it on a real stove. And perhaps one day I shall use my real art materials.
Perhaps.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
The trouble with lazy people is that they rarely have to good sense to be unambitious.
And the trouble with strength and solidity is that it renders you invisible. No one notices concrete posts or brick walls, except until they crack and crumble to pieces, bringing everything down with them..
Wait until they decide to spraypaint their names on you.
And the trouble with strength and solidity is that it renders you invisible. No one notices concrete posts or brick walls, except until they crack and crumble to pieces, bringing everything down with them..
Wait until they decide to spraypaint their names on you.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
This is not what my resignation letter will say. But I'll be thinking it.
am tired again.
I am tired of working with people whose only view of kingdom has to do with protecting their petty little fiefdoms, no matter what, at whatever cost, and to hell with everyone who gets in their way.
I am tired of working with people whose only view of eternity is the installments on their home loan.
I am tired of working with people whose idea of what is right has to do with whoever's voice is arguing the loudest, especially because often, it is merely the sound of their own, ringing in their heads.
I am tired of working with people whose concept of excellence is based on what other people think, founded on the approval of men, and aligned only with the ideals of whoever signs the checks.
I am tired of working for people for whom spirit is something that comes in a bottle, and must be sold to the masses, despite the fact that they cannot afford it.
I am tired of working with people for whom reality is a matter of consensus, and must be voted on by a majority.
I am tired of working with people whose idea of truth is based on what people want to hear.
I am tired of working with people for whom character is a mere concept, based only on talk, not deeds; and for whom ethics is something only imposed by the advertising board list of guidelines.
I am tired of working with people whose idea of trust is keeping you where they can see you and vice versa, and for whom integrity is a matter of how well the firewalls work.
I am tired of working with people who think nothing of sacrificing the health of a sick child, to finish a commercial.
I am tired of working with people who find nothing wrong with selling cigarettes one day, and an anti-smoking campaign the next.
I am tired of working with people for whom pride is a matter of how many other people they have humiliated.
I am tired of working with people for whom friendship and team oneness is based on a united attack on whoever is weak and powerless at the moment.
I am tired of working with people whose idea of strength and leadership is based on force, and for whom discipline is something only found in a memo.
I am tired of working with people for whom gentleness is a sign of weakness, and whose idea of keeping the peace involves the elimination of those who disagree with their point of view.
I am tired of working with people who would hold on with both hands to an unsavory and unprofitable account, but who would drop a teammate at the first sign of weakness.
I am tired of working with people whose idea of promotion is the demotion of others, who judge performance based on time sheets, bundy clocks and agreeable smiles, rather than talent, effort and results.
And most of all, I am tired of working with people whose ambitions far exceed their ability, intelligence or even willingness to work.
This is what happens when you spend 15 years working in an industry founded on misrepresentation.
I am tired.
Again.
I am tired of working with people whose only view of kingdom has to do with protecting their petty little fiefdoms, no matter what, at whatever cost, and to hell with everyone who gets in their way.
I am tired of working with people whose only view of eternity is the installments on their home loan.
I am tired of working with people whose idea of what is right has to do with whoever's voice is arguing the loudest, especially because often, it is merely the sound of their own, ringing in their heads.
I am tired of working with people whose concept of excellence is based on what other people think, founded on the approval of men, and aligned only with the ideals of whoever signs the checks.
I am tired of working for people for whom spirit is something that comes in a bottle, and must be sold to the masses, despite the fact that they cannot afford it.
I am tired of working with people for whom reality is a matter of consensus, and must be voted on by a majority.
I am tired of working with people whose idea of truth is based on what people want to hear.
I am tired of working with people for whom character is a mere concept, based only on talk, not deeds; and for whom ethics is something only imposed by the advertising board list of guidelines.
I am tired of working with people whose idea of trust is keeping you where they can see you and vice versa, and for whom integrity is a matter of how well the firewalls work.
I am tired of working with people who think nothing of sacrificing the health of a sick child, to finish a commercial.
I am tired of working with people who find nothing wrong with selling cigarettes one day, and an anti-smoking campaign the next.
I am tired of working with people for whom pride is a matter of how many other people they have humiliated.
I am tired of working with people for whom friendship and team oneness is based on a united attack on whoever is weak and powerless at the moment.
I am tired of working with people whose idea of strength and leadership is based on force, and for whom discipline is something only found in a memo.
I am tired of working with people for whom gentleness is a sign of weakness, and whose idea of keeping the peace involves the elimination of those who disagree with their point of view.
I am tired of working with people who would hold on with both hands to an unsavory and unprofitable account, but who would drop a teammate at the first sign of weakness.
I am tired of working with people whose idea of promotion is the demotion of others, who judge performance based on time sheets, bundy clocks and agreeable smiles, rather than talent, effort and results.
And most of all, I am tired of working with people whose ambitions far exceed their ability, intelligence or even willingness to work.
This is what happens when you spend 15 years working in an industry founded on misrepresentation.
I am tired.
Again.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Life's Not Fair.
But God is just.
And merciful, and loving, and kind, and patient, and did I say loving?
Go read your Bible.
And merciful, and loving, and kind, and patient, and did I say loving?
Go read your Bible.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
The Memory of Truth
People believe what they want to believe. There is nothing you can do about it, nothing you can say to change their mind, no evidence that will convince them to the contrary, especially if said evidence will show them to be much smaller people than they think they are.
It does not make them bad people: It only makes them oblivious. And we all know obliviousness and ignorance is not necessarily equivalent to evil. Until, of course, such someone loses an eye, or his freedom, or desire to live.
But still, people will believe what they want to believe. It is somehow connected to the persistence, or lack thereof, of memory: It is a hazy shade of comfort that people will seek refuge under when truth blazes too hot and too bright, like the noonday sun. So people remember what they wish, what absolves them of guilt, what reassigns blame, what validates what it is they have or have not done.
Memory, after all, is not necessarily the truth, and the connection between belief and honesty is a tenuous thing at best. Honesty has nothing to do with facts, the same way that it has nothing whatsoever to do with reality. What it is has to do with guilt, and absolution and validation and one's perception of one's self.
A person may be absolutely honest, and still be nowhere near recounting the facts as they are in its entirety: not if it would mean the sacrifice of self. It is a rare person who would sacrifice one's innocence, or the perception of the most important being in the universe of him, for the truth: I can only think of one person in the entire history of the world who has so done.
And He got crucified.
It does not make them bad people: It only makes them oblivious. And we all know obliviousness and ignorance is not necessarily equivalent to evil. Until, of course, such someone loses an eye, or his freedom, or desire to live.
But still, people will believe what they want to believe. It is somehow connected to the persistence, or lack thereof, of memory: It is a hazy shade of comfort that people will seek refuge under when truth blazes too hot and too bright, like the noonday sun. So people remember what they wish, what absolves them of guilt, what reassigns blame, what validates what it is they have or have not done.
Memory, after all, is not necessarily the truth, and the connection between belief and honesty is a tenuous thing at best. Honesty has nothing to do with facts, the same way that it has nothing whatsoever to do with reality. What it is has to do with guilt, and absolution and validation and one's perception of one's self.
A person may be absolutely honest, and still be nowhere near recounting the facts as they are in its entirety: not if it would mean the sacrifice of self. It is a rare person who would sacrifice one's innocence, or the perception of the most important being in the universe of him, for the truth: I can only think of one person in the entire history of the world who has so done.
And He got crucified.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Every Four Year Old Can Draw
I am beginning to suspect that most people's internal critics were birthed by an external one.
No one ever thinks, "Oh, I can't do that". Not from the start. Not until someone else tell you that you can't.
The self-editing, the self-criticism, the self-doubt is not a talent you were born with. It is something you are taught.
My advice? Fire your internal critic.
And choose a better teacher.
No one ever thinks, "Oh, I can't do that". Not from the start. Not until someone else tell you that you can't.
The self-editing, the self-criticism, the self-doubt is not a talent you were born with. It is something you are taught.
My advice? Fire your internal critic.
And choose a better teacher.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
The Good Sons
I'm the eldest child, and my daddy's favorite. In fact, everyone says I look exactly like my dad: I've got his eyes, his bad skin, his color, his hair, even his walk. The only thing he didn't give me was his speedy metabolism. Darn.
Anyway.
Like most good, obedient eldest children, I always had a problem with some parts of the Bible. If you're the eldest child, I bet you know what I'm talking about.
I mean, come on. Why did God say "Jacob I have loved, but Esau I have hated." Say what? I thought God loved everybody. Why did he hate Esau? Esau was a good boy, did what his mommy and daddy wanted. They told him to hunt, he hunted. Daddy told him to get stuff for stew, he did. And Jacob, sneaky younger brother that he was, cheated him out of his inheritance. It was just a blessing, but it meant Esau would always be second fiddle to sneaky ol' Jacob till the end of time. But God loved him and hated Esau. What's up with that? I'm not even going to go into how annoying Jacob's son Joseph probably was, saying he had dreams where his brothers and parents would bow down to him, showing off the coat daddy gave; to the point that his brothers decided to throw him down a pit, and then sell him to the slave traders. God knows how often I wanted to sell my sisters off by the pound. But I digress.
Then there's poor Cain. Why, in heaven's name, did He reject Cain's nice clean fruits and veggies, and preferred Abel's stinky sheep? I mean, I can just imagine why that pissed off Cain so much he resorted to murder. Bet he was thinking, "My, that Abel's just the biggest suck-up-- and those sheep, he didn't even MAKE those sheep! That's so annoying. I think I'll kill him. " God knows, I was close to murdering my second sister when I was a kid. She got away with things that got me spankings. Then again, she's also considered the "black sheep" of the family. Which brings me to another story I had a huge -- the biggest, actually -- problem with.
The Prodigal Son. Now that guy was a jerk. Took his inheritance in advance and just blew it on wine, women and karaoke. Or whatever else they had in those days. So he runs out of money, ends up hungry in a pig sty, and decides to come running back to daddy. And what does daddy do? Does he kick him out? Nah. Does he even say "I told you so?" Nah. Takes the huge ring off his finger (probly the one with the family crest, I bet) puts it on the prodigal, takes the cloak off his back, puts it on the stinky pigsty dude too, and tells his good elder son to roast the fattest calf they have and throw a party for the homecoming. No wonder elder brother grumbled while roasting the fatted calf.
Ever since I was a kid, that was my problem. It really annoyed the heck out of me. I mean, that wasn't fair. Esau and the rest, they were good kids. Like me. Worked hard. Like me. Did everything their daddies said. Like me. Took care of the family and the family business. Like me. So what was wrong with them?
What was wrong with them was that they didn't think there was anything wrong with them. Like me.
The first order of business in getting right and close and personal with God is repentance. You can't do that if you think you're good, and you can't be sorry if you think you haven't done anything wrong.
You can't humble yourself if you think you're perfect. It's called pride, and it's a terrible sin, because the more you have it, the less you think you need God. The less you think you need God, the less chance there is you're going to come humbly running to Him, begging for His mercy. Like me, those sons thought they deserved special treatment. (Again, like me.) Cain was proud of his produce, thinking it was all his brilliant farming that yielded those cool veggies and stuff. He wanted to be praised, not to praise the Lord. Abel, on the other hand, knew he was only taking care of the sheep that God made, and gave back the sheep, and the glory. Esau was most likely proud too, he-man, cool hunter, daddy's little man. "Hey, dad, guess who brought home the bacon today! " Oh wait, make that mutton, bacon was a no-no for those guys. But. Anyway.
It's pride, plain and simple. So you work and work and work, grumbling because you think you're doing everything, but not getting blessed, and wondering why, when you're not doing the one and only thing He really wants you to do: repent, and tell Him you need Him.
And there you are, grumble-thinking "I'm the good one, dammit, why are you giving them everything?!!! It isn't fair!"
Then God says, like the daddy in the story, " Oh? Haven't I? Weren't you always here and with me? Wasn't all I have yours for the asking?" But you never asked. It was all just a chore to you. At least that's what I think the daddy said.
And one last thing. The biggest mistake we can ever make, like me, is to think we're nothing at all like the prodigal son. In the eyes of God, ever since Adam, we all are the same as the pigsty guy. Stinky, smelly, far away from Him and His love, protection and provision, until we decide to repent and ask to be under Him again.
And yes, it isn't fair. That's a blessing. Because if we're going by what's fair, by God's own rules, man, we'd be dead now.
I'm not the good child, none of us are. There was only One good and perfect Son, and He had to die on the cross for us pigsty people. And because He did, we all can come home, and enjoy the party daddy's holding for us, in honor of our return.
Anyway.
Like most good, obedient eldest children, I always had a problem with some parts of the Bible. If you're the eldest child, I bet you know what I'm talking about.
I mean, come on. Why did God say "Jacob I have loved, but Esau I have hated." Say what? I thought God loved everybody. Why did he hate Esau? Esau was a good boy, did what his mommy and daddy wanted. They told him to hunt, he hunted. Daddy told him to get stuff for stew, he did. And Jacob, sneaky younger brother that he was, cheated him out of his inheritance. It was just a blessing, but it meant Esau would always be second fiddle to sneaky ol' Jacob till the end of time. But God loved him and hated Esau. What's up with that? I'm not even going to go into how annoying Jacob's son Joseph probably was, saying he had dreams where his brothers and parents would bow down to him, showing off the coat daddy gave; to the point that his brothers decided to throw him down a pit, and then sell him to the slave traders. God knows how often I wanted to sell my sisters off by the pound. But I digress.
Then there's poor Cain. Why, in heaven's name, did He reject Cain's nice clean fruits and veggies, and preferred Abel's stinky sheep? I mean, I can just imagine why that pissed off Cain so much he resorted to murder. Bet he was thinking, "My, that Abel's just the biggest suck-up-- and those sheep, he didn't even MAKE those sheep! That's so annoying. I think I'll kill him. " God knows, I was close to murdering my second sister when I was a kid. She got away with things that got me spankings. Then again, she's also considered the "black sheep" of the family. Which brings me to another story I had a huge -- the biggest, actually -- problem with.
The Prodigal Son. Now that guy was a jerk. Took his inheritance in advance and just blew it on wine, women and karaoke. Or whatever else they had in those days. So he runs out of money, ends up hungry in a pig sty, and decides to come running back to daddy. And what does daddy do? Does he kick him out? Nah. Does he even say "I told you so?" Nah. Takes the huge ring off his finger (probly the one with the family crest, I bet) puts it on the prodigal, takes the cloak off his back, puts it on the stinky pigsty dude too, and tells his good elder son to roast the fattest calf they have and throw a party for the homecoming. No wonder elder brother grumbled while roasting the fatted calf.
Ever since I was a kid, that was my problem. It really annoyed the heck out of me. I mean, that wasn't fair. Esau and the rest, they were good kids. Like me. Worked hard. Like me. Did everything their daddies said. Like me. Took care of the family and the family business. Like me. So what was wrong with them?
What was wrong with them was that they didn't think there was anything wrong with them. Like me.
The first order of business in getting right and close and personal with God is repentance. You can't do that if you think you're good, and you can't be sorry if you think you haven't done anything wrong.
You can't humble yourself if you think you're perfect. It's called pride, and it's a terrible sin, because the more you have it, the less you think you need God. The less you think you need God, the less chance there is you're going to come humbly running to Him, begging for His mercy. Like me, those sons thought they deserved special treatment. (Again, like me.) Cain was proud of his produce, thinking it was all his brilliant farming that yielded those cool veggies and stuff. He wanted to be praised, not to praise the Lord. Abel, on the other hand, knew he was only taking care of the sheep that God made, and gave back the sheep, and the glory. Esau was most likely proud too, he-man, cool hunter, daddy's little man. "Hey, dad, guess who brought home the bacon today! " Oh wait, make that mutton, bacon was a no-no for those guys. But. Anyway.
It's pride, plain and simple. So you work and work and work, grumbling because you think you're doing everything, but not getting blessed, and wondering why, when you're not doing the one and only thing He really wants you to do: repent, and tell Him you need Him.
And there you are, grumble-thinking "I'm the good one, dammit, why are you giving them everything?!!! It isn't fair!"
Then God says, like the daddy in the story, " Oh? Haven't I? Weren't you always here and with me? Wasn't all I have yours for the asking?" But you never asked. It was all just a chore to you. At least that's what I think the daddy said.
And one last thing. The biggest mistake we can ever make, like me, is to think we're nothing at all like the prodigal son. In the eyes of God, ever since Adam, we all are the same as the pigsty guy. Stinky, smelly, far away from Him and His love, protection and provision, until we decide to repent and ask to be under Him again.
And yes, it isn't fair. That's a blessing. Because if we're going by what's fair, by God's own rules, man, we'd be dead now.
I'm not the good child, none of us are. There was only One good and perfect Son, and He had to die on the cross for us pigsty people. And because He did, we all can come home, and enjoy the party daddy's holding for us, in honor of our return.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Saturday, May 06, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Insomnia Too
Sleep has deserted me. So has my brain. They sent mosquitoes to keep me company instead.
So I decided to set up my wireless router, got paranoid so I secured the network I created, and promptly forgot my password ten minutes later.
It does not bode well for my still unlaunched criminal career.
Paranoia is the root of all stupidity.
So I decided to set up my wireless router, got paranoid so I secured the network I created, and promptly forgot my password ten minutes later.
It does not bode well for my still unlaunched criminal career.
Paranoia is the root of all stupidity.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Insomnia
Other people are up because they can't sleep, because they're thinking about true love, the thing in general or a person: the one they have, the one that got away, the theoretical one that's just around the corner if they're good and eat their vegetables.
I'm up at 1 am when I have to get up four hours later, because I'm watching "Kiss Kiss Bang Bang", because I've finally figured out how to burn .bin/.cue files into a disk the cheap divx-enabled DVD players will read. With Toast. Whee.
It isn't the utter aimlessness of my life that bugs me. It's the fact that I don't mind anymore.
I'm up at 1 am when I have to get up four hours later, because I'm watching "Kiss Kiss Bang Bang", because I've finally figured out how to burn .bin/.cue files into a disk the cheap divx-enabled DVD players will read. With Toast. Whee.
It isn't the utter aimlessness of my life that bugs me. It's the fact that I don't mind anymore.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Thursday, March 16, 2006
It's On A Poster
To the greedy, lazy and unpatriotic: Be ashamed, be very ashamed.
---
Love, do not harm the motherland.
Serve, don't disserve the people.
Uphold science; don't be ignorant and unenlightened.
Work hard; don't be lazy and hate work.
Be united and help each other; don't gain benefits at the expense of others.
Be honest and trustworthy, not profit-mongering at the expense of your values.
Be disciplined and law-abiding instead of chaotic and lawless.
Know plain living and hard struggle, do not wallow in luxuries and pleasures.
(Hu Jintao's List of the 8 Virtues, released March 16 2006, Beijing)
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Love, do not harm the motherland.
Serve, don't disserve the people.
Uphold science; don't be ignorant and unenlightened.
Work hard; don't be lazy and hate work.
Be united and help each other; don't gain benefits at the expense of others.
Be honest and trustworthy, not profit-mongering at the expense of your values.
Be disciplined and law-abiding instead of chaotic and lawless.
Know plain living and hard struggle, do not wallow in luxuries and pleasures.
(Hu Jintao's List of the 8 Virtues, released March 16 2006, Beijing)
Friday, February 17, 2006
Andypuppy and his pet.
Because Saturday is post pictures of your dog day.
Andy's just realized how tough it is to babysit a puppy. The little one is Ranger, my mom's new puppy. He's been bullying Andypuppy all week. As in. Nothing like a having a pet to teach your kid responsibility.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Seeing Purple
I really do not like Barney the dinosaur. Really. He gives purple a bad name. And dinosaurs.
And one day, when we least expect it, when the ghosts of all dead dinosaurs roam the earth and exact their revenge for the damage to their reputation, I shall laugh. And then throw my neighbor's whiny kid and whiny dog right in their path
And one day, when we least expect it, when the ghosts of all dead dinosaurs roam the earth and exact their revenge for the damage to their reputation, I shall laugh. And then throw my neighbor's whiny kid and whiny dog right in their path
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Gong Ci Fa Xai!
The rooster has flown, and the dog is in. He's much nicer. He brings you good stuff, like fluffy slippers and pandesal stuffed with corned beef. Plus, he gets rid of so-called friends who are bad for you. But you have to let him out once in a while by opening the South door so he can pee and do Number 2.
And oh, all he needs are squeaky toys and the occasional treat.
Really.
Ask Andy.
Here's to a better year.
And oh, all he needs are squeaky toys and the occasional treat.
Really.
Ask Andy.
Here's to a better year.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
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