Sunday, November 30, 2003

I did a google search for my site today and one result turned up. To my complete surprise, somebody somewhere somehow discovered my site out of the blue. This person, who we'll call Kh, wrote this on one of his/her blog entries:


this person's blog's really interesting. keep the url there to read back. interesting. though i think th eperson, whoever he/she is, doesn't really know html. but the entries r really cool.

First, I checked Kh's post again and again to make sure the url he/she wrote down is actually mine. Then I started getting rather excited and defensive at the same time. I mean, I've only told two people about my newly made site, and this is the first time I've found my site through a google search (maybe I'll try aol next time), so this is making me want to giggle . Kh, I'm glad you think my entries are cool, I hope you keep reading. I have to defend myself a little about the html comment though. How do you know I'm html illiterate? I could be so good at html that I'm experimenting with abstract html - html that seeks to provoke thoughts, trigger emotions, and ...ok, I admit it, I suck at html. But Kh is very good at html. He/she has verses of poems running through the bottom border of the page, writing that turns upsidedown when you put your cursor over it, and get this: color . It's all very cool.

Or maybe that's css?

Friday, November 28, 2003

Shopping is unmitigated torture for me. Hopefully, one day, that will all change and it will just kill me.

Sunday, November 23, 2003

My dad came back from a silent auction with a gift basket which contained many fun and edible things such as: a cookbook (titled Cheese), a bottle of wine, a pretty cutting board, and a matching knife. Oh yeah, not to mention the basket and the cellophane. Now I love nothing better than cookbooks and cooking magazines. I have a bunch of them under my bed, and I often flip through the pictures to avoid doing things like vacuuming and physics.

So I was happily looking at the pictures in Cheese when this particular recipe caught my eye: Note: I usually skip the ingredients/directions part, because, well, they're boring.

Baked Nut-crusted Camembert

(Okay, first of all, what's a Camembert?)

1/2 cup chopped pecans or walnuts
1 1/2-pound-round (or oval) Camembert cheese (Oh, it's a cheese. I guess that makes sense. But what's the difference between a pound of round Camembert cheese and a pound of oval Camembert cheese?)
1 egg
Apple or pear slices
Sliced and lightly toasted rich bread such as brioche, panettone, or raisin pumpernickel

PUMPERNICKEL. Isn't that the funniest word you have ever seen? Now try saying it. Pumpernickel. It's so funny I even shared it with my mother.

When my fits of hysterical laughter died down, I looked up the word in my dictionary.

pumpernickel pumpernickel is a dark brown, heavy bread, which is eaten especially in Germany.

Speaking of my love for books with pictures of food or beverages, I bought a friend of mine a cocktails book for his birthday. If there is one thing this friend of mine hates doing, it is reading. I knew that a long time ago. But I told myself, a cocktail recipe book is not literature, so it's fine, he'll like it. From what I remember, I bought the book mostly because I liked it, because I couldn't leave the wonderful book of intensely colorful pictures behind. I'm being rather verbose today, with frequent usage of the word ''I'', but I guess what I'm trying to get at is that there's nothing more satisfying than looking at pictures of desserts, drinks, and soups.

I am going to name my first-born child Pumpernickel.

Saturday, November 22, 2003

Things do to when you cannot play your music correctly:

1. Blame the instrument. It may be of bad quality. It could be out of tune, and if it's a piano, there's nothing you can do about it (unless you own tuning supplies, in which case you're just plain silly). If it's a stringed instrument, there could be something wrong with the strings, the alignment of the bridge, or both.

2. Blame the environment because its structure does not compliment the frequencies in your song. It's all about the acoustics.

3. Wash your hands.

4. Take a nap. The lack of sleep has rearranged your brain cells.

5. Fling your arms around wildly, holler like Tarzan, jump up and down like the choir teacher that could not get her students to sing. Do this for a while, and when you feel like you have been chaotic and destructive enough (or just too tired), settle down and hum some bach cello suites to strengthen your diaphram. If that is too easy for you, tackle the Haydn cello concertos. Finally, take eight, long, deep breaths, singing the notes of a descending major scale with each exhale.

When all that has been accomplished, you may return to your practicing. Remember, it is harder to play slowly than it is to play fast. Practise your pieces at half or one-third the speed to get new ideas and to practice your rhythm and articulation.

- May we all become accomplished musicians one day

Thursday, November 20, 2003

I used to always yawn a lot, but now it seems like I have CYS - Chronic Yawning Syndrome. I admit that I don't get the recommended nine hours per night, but I don't fall too short and I try to catch up on weekends. So why is it that while my friends can function properly (and with no yawning) on less than 5 hours, I can't even do simple addition with 6 or 7?

Looking back at scholastic examinations, I recall a few where I understood the concepts, was completely capable of achieving a hundred percent, but was somehow miserably unsuccessful. They were the ones I felt confident about. And no, it was not cockiness - it was the lack of sleep. On the majority of the nights prior to the big crash I would stay up unusually late for some stupid reason. I either read an entire novel or sat in front of my computer and waited futilely for a certain somebody to message me (I will dwell on that particular aspect of my life come Valentine's Day). The test day arrives and I would be slow, irritable, and stupid.

The moral of the story: sleep as much as you can.


With that aside, I wish to now bring up the new location for my orthondist elastics (well, not that new). Usually, I would be told to put two near the back of my jaw to correct my overbite, but this time, they are right at the front where it is visible. They're situated so that when I talk or laugh (which I try not to do), my elastics stick out like fangs. Luckily, I started wearing them the day before Halloween, so it seemed somewhat appropriate. Most people gave me odd looks; a few were nice liars who called them 'cute'; one guy asked me what was wrong with my mouth.

The biggest problem was my CYS. When I yawn - meaning, when my body becomes lax and I simultaneously shut my eyes and stretch open my mouth to suck in air, my elastics, being elastics, snap. Now that is very unpleasant. I can already see the comments in my report card.

"Student yawns incessantly during class and sports scary, fang-like elastics which cause a distraction for teachers as well as classmates. Parents/Guardians are advised to make an appointment with the administration to discuss the possibility of an oxygen tank and of an alternate orthodontist treatment."

Tuesday, November 18, 2003


I discovered that I have files of old, random ‘diary’ entries taking up a lot of space in my computer. This is an effort to solve the problem while keeping an outlet for my occasional ''creative bursts'' as I like to call them, since it makes me sound intellectual, creative, and well, burst-able. It's for myself really, not that I can see anybody else reading this. I need to write down my thoughts, read them, and convince myself I'm not that crazy - all without using precious room on my computer.

To begin, a very nice thing happened to me today. I was waiting at an intersection with my cello, dripping wet, freezing, looking homeless, when a middle aged lady walked up to me and put her umbrella over my head. At first I didn't register her or her umbrella, I only felt the absense of rain. There was no longer the little raindrops bouncing off my head, and the sound was dampened. I've never felt such gratitude from such a simple gesture. She didn't make a big deal of it either. She merely said, after my many thank you's, ''You're so wet already.'' She walked with me across the road and then we went our separate ways.

Thank you.

The reason why acts like 'let's share an umbrella' are rarely performed is that we're too suspicious, too cynical, too homophobic. The 'we' includes myself. Had a funny smelling man with long hair done that to me, I would have reacted differently. Nothing against men with long hair of course.

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