tomorrow's itinerary: night flight to summer 2010

If I had a sitcom, one of my catchphrases could be "I call SHANanigansssss" and all the other characters would frown at me disapprovingly. I would be that guy. . . ....I feel like somebody would tell me right about now, "Shan, you already are that guy."

No judgment please, but I am in the mood to watch one of those old Mary Kate and Ashley movies where they TRAVEL ABROAD. You know what I'm talkin bout. Oh my God, I really might download one. I can't even remember which ones I've seen. They're all roughly the same anyway except the locale changes--Australia, Italy, London, blah blah. ((HOLD ON, POP CULTURE EMERGENCY, my 18 year old brother's talking to me right now and he doesn't know who Katy Perry is. What?)

So I'm traveling tomorrow. Again. I like to do that. Actually between my LA excursion, hoboing around at Rutgers, going to Connecticut avec Jackie for a weekend of chillaxatives, und zees, zees beeeing a trip to North Carolina, I have been relatively busy and entertained. Relatively. Since the beginning of this year my room has been in a constant state of chaos, caused by repeated wardrobe analysis and packing. See, my 2010 really is proving to be a fantastic travel year.

So! I'm going to visit my pals over at Duke, who I met last summer in Germany :) :) :) I booked a round trip flight from Newark last minute for a reasonable $140, and it takes just a bit longer than an hour and a half to get there. I'm of course stoked to see mah people againnn (it's been like... 8 months? sacre bleu!) but I've also never been to North Carolina before, and I'm always eager to check another state off my list. Or rather, that's something I started telling myself the summer my family went on a road trip to Michigan. Passing through Ohio. To be honest, I was not a huge fan of Ohio.

Actually, if I think... if I really try to imagine seeing all of those guys again, I get really ridiculously excited. I said before, what was it?--if I could crush that summer in Berlin into a powder and snort it, I'd be happy the rest of my life. But everybody who travels knows that a place is only as good as the people you meet and the company that you keep. Berlin was great because it was Berlin, but also because I had these great people to drink with at wine bars. And eat schwarma. And go to the zoo. And get rejected that one time at that really popular overpacked full-of-itself asshole club that hates Americans. And get yelled and told to move while laying on the grass outside of a palace, which I suppose was still part of the general palace... property. (See pertaining photos)

Do you suppose it's maybe inappropriate to put any pictures of people on here without their consent? Ermmm... Anyway! I hope to do a lot of reminiscing down there. Hahaha. Well, for now I have to worry about packing... I am really tired of packing, to be honest. Even if it's for a mere couple of days, meh, I don't want to deal with it. C'est la traveling vie. (mon Dieu,I need to get on the French thing. This is just sad.)

rain, rain

It's pouring outside and it's just so beautiful and soothing and it's another little taste of the spring that is to come.

my bon voyage party!

Today I painted my nails, unfortunately. I realized too late the nail polish color looks like it could be called Prostitute Pink or Pepto Biznatch. While it beats out a shade I once saw and described as Glitter Poop (alternative: Ke$ha Poop), I still feel a deep regret in my soul. Yes, I can just remove the polish. And no, I won't, because I've made my choice and even though it makes me nauseous, I feel kind of obligated to see it through, like a lot of my meals, or college.

Parenthetically I think nail painting is pretty dumb; I decided maybe a year ago it was one of those things I just didn't need to waste my time doing anymore, like dying my hair (dye free since '08). You know why? I will proceed to tell you why. Weirdly they both make you look (arguably) more polished and pretty, but only for a little while. And then they make you look worse. Immaculate nails say I am put together, but then that first chip comes in and before long you look like the sad shell of a woman who is probably too busy and stressed to bother with her nails. Roots coming in can also look pretty offensive.

Meh, these nails are obnoxious. They're ruining my blog focus.

I am going to now change the topic. So! A long time ago I must have made some weird pact with the devil, the details of which I can't remember, because I have an awful memory (speculative: maybe those were terms of the agreement?? I would give up my ability to remember things?). I know this had to have happened as, inexplicably, there are people in my life who care about me and fill my life with happiness, even though I kind of bring nothing to the table friendship-wise. I was talking to excellent friend and fellow trailblazer Alex about this and actually said, in earnest, "I don't know how I have friends. I don't have a boat." Not only do I not have a boat, I don't have a hot tub either. Worthless!

But life works in mysterious ways. I dunno. Nonetheless I have friends, proof being that they arranged a bon voyage party for me last Saturday! Isn't that the best? Although I am ignoring the fact that it was a month premature and does that mean they're in a hurry to get rid of me??? but really they are such dears, darlings, very kind of them. Yes yes.

Russia, gay Mexico, India, France, Egypt

    The theme--why bother to have a party without one? SERIOUSLY, WHY BOTHER?--was something like "partying around the world." In other words, an "errybody dress up in offensively stereotypical costumes representing different countries" party! In other other words, MY IDEAL PARTY.

The German beer maid costume I wore on Halloween would have been "too easy" and too repetitive, so instead I decided to go for a probably offensive approximation of a person from India. It was great. Not to get all Eat Pray Love but India is at the top of my list of places I want to visit. Additionally the costume enabled me to a) perform my own (again probably offensive) approximation of Bollywood dancing, and b) occasionally speak in an entertaining (and definitely offensive) Indian accent.

So, we spent the night doing awesome things like dancing in the manner of MC Hammer and playing the UN version of survivor flipcup. **highly recommended

Agata got a little crepe paper happy

And you really can't beat that.

"Shan in Japan" today, "Shan in France" tomorrow?

Hmm it's been a little while since I've talked about my impending trip to Japan. Well now. The latest news with that is... for starters, it's looking like my flight (and my mother's--she's coming with and sightseeing a week) will be booked soon, and I also don't believe I will be taking any side trip to the Philippines. So that is slightly disappointing, naturally. But we couldn't figure out a way to do it without spending a fortune. And did you know that flights in Japan are crazy expensive in August (when I'll be returning)? It's a madcap time for travel there.

But there's no way I'll have to wait another twenty years before seeing the Philippines, right? And when I do go I want my mom to be there with me--I think that's the most important thing. For me the whole point of it is to understand my mom's past and the place she lived for like, 27 years. To literally and not-so-literally understand where she comes from, and get some insight into this woman who gave birth to me and has marked me with her fingerprints. Whatever else I could get out of it would be icing on the proverbial cake (acceptable icing: the gorgeous white beach of Boracay).

Second matter of business is housing news: I have four chicas as roommates. Two Japanese girls, a Thai girl, and a French girl. It feels weird to think I am the "American" one. That can't be very exciting for them, having an American thrown into the mix. Nothing exotic about that. But I'm very thrilled to be living with them, and I just know I'm going to bug all of them with questions about languages and cultures. The French girl better watch out too, I have to say, because I've officially chosen Francais as the Next Language I Will Learn. Whenever that will be.

The overwhelming impression I get is that it's a real betchface of a language to learn, which I don't doubt, but I'm also a little bit nuts... so who's to say it wouldn't work out for me? Un deux trois! Even their numbers are fun to say. In German you can describe the weather with "es regnet" or "es ist sonnig", which sounds so boring. But with French your mouth almost spits out the words "il pleut" morosely, pregnant with ennui, as though you were a disaffected youth plucked out of Paris. And then if you utter the words "il fait du soleil!" it's as though you've morphed into Amélie herself, and everything tastes wonderful and nostalgic like champagne at sunset.

You know how I know I need to learn French? The French are responsible for champagne's existence. Done and done.

I wish I had taken up French earlier, but it is never too late for anything. Anyway, studying France/Francais is definitely interesting coming from a German background--as neighbors, they have quite the past, and they both are responsible for so many of the world's great thinkers. But even the Japan-France tie is compelling. You get into things like Japonisme or writings like Madame Chrysanthème, from which inspiration was drawn to create Madama Butterfly. Also very interesting (to moi): the Japanese love crepes. Love 'em. As do I. Really, they are serious dessert and pastry connoisseurs over there; I'm just as excited about trying their stuff as I was in Vienna.

Hello Kitty gets shwasted off this shiat

Oh God, talking about various countries' desserts deserves an entry of its own.

Ooh! I just remembered something. I bought two bottles of some really girly, flower-y sparkling sake called "Hana Awaka." Picked it up, along with some made-in-Okinawa beer, from Mitsuwa marketplace, the Japanese haven in Edgewater, NJ (I love that place. It is my happy place). But really, how could I have forgotten?? I should have brought that to Rutgers last weekend.

There were oodles of alcoholic beverages in really neat bottles. One bottle looked like nothing less than a science experiment ready to go.

But, as usual, I digress...

"Shan Nayyar" does not really have a ring to it

Good: I woke up at 7:15 today
Bad: I have been laying around in PJ pants watching season 4 of The Big Bang Theory. Drats.
Well, it's been that, along with looking at the twitter accounts of some of the TBBT cast members (God, I hate when I start looking at twitter accounts. Last week I was trapped in the tweet vortex of Community's Donald Glover).

Okay okay, I was primarily creeping on Kunal Nayyar, whose unfortunate wardrobe on the show betrays the fact that he's actually smokin'. Actually his wardrobe really is upsetting because it's so sweater vest heavy (and nothing makes me swoon like some sweater vest action, am I right ladies?) but it's always clashy on purpose, and they layer him up bulkily. I think concealing goodlookingness (see: Matt Damon in The Informant) and abusing sweater vests are among the GREATEST OFFENSES in the world, but I understand that they're dressing a character. A character that likes Bridget Jones' Diary, I might add.

Yasee, what happened was, after watching however many episodes of the show, I came to the epiphany that "Dr. Rajesh Koothrappali" is actually crazy crazy adorable, did my internet creeping, and then I delighted in the fact that my suspicions were totally correct. There are few things more satisfying than being proved right. But I'm also aware of the fact that I'm gushing like a little girl, so I will promptly desist.

Right after I express that for years I have been convinced there's no way an Indian accent could ever be sexy. I thought it was one of those universal truths like Cheese Improves All Foods. So now I'm biting my tongue, and conceding the fact that sometimes being proved wrong feels so right.

Okay, lastly an actor-y soundbite from the dude, who was born in London, raised in New Delhi, and moved to the US for college. "...I'm this world citizen stuck in the middle. You're always one foot in, one foot out. I've traveled the world; I can speak different languages. I get along with everyone, every single culture, but that's one thing I've found about myself, that I'm always slightly stuck in between." Ahah, see how I somehow managed to make girly gushing fit in with my blog's credo?

favorite quotes 1 and 2

I think I'm going to make a regular thing out of posting some favorite quotes from film and books. Feign excitement, someone. Lol. Whatever, it's mah blog.

"They looked and saw each other, saw each other entirely. It was a mere moment of deep understanding, but it was enough to keep them happy together for a decade or so. He was just a selfish man; she was a selfish woman..."  

-Eileen Chang, Love in a Fallen City

I was in love with those words when I read them two years ago, asking myself if, when it comes to relationships with other people, perhaps that's all we get? Just a few rare moments of lucidity. The rest of the time we don't see each other, or we don't really see each other, but we coexist. And it can be a happy coexistence, no doubt but...

One quick flicker of clairvoyance. But that moment fades and you skate by on the shadow of it for as long as you can.

And as far as selfish people seeing eye to eye, it makes me think of Rhett and Scarlett, before it all turned sour. Now, I'm a selfish girl, and I know it, but if I'm lucky enough to find a Rhett to love me, I would make sure that he didn't go all "frankly, I don't give a damn" on me, no sir.

Somehow, in a similar vein, that brings me to quote numéro deux.

"He died, in the mud in France. A good, solid man. You would call him dull, no doubt, but he smiled whenever he saw me and we could've built a life on that."

-Miss Pettigrew, Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day


If I could find love, and in that love just one moment of true understanding, followed by a lifetime of smiles, yes, it would be enough. It would be more than enough.

LA stuff, part deux

In the mornings there is usually a big loud struggle to get my brother up and moving. Four out of five times my brother does not actually make it to school (is that an exaggeration, you ask? I assure you it isn't). So that's the reason I'm awake in the seven o'clock hour, which is a vile, vile hour. I am the opposite of jazzed about it. In other words I am zzajed.

It was annoying me that I had a "part I" for my LA pictures, so here are the rest. I realized it's not much in fact, just some shots of Venice Beach and Angels Knoll, featured in the movie 500 Days of Summer. It's where they play the Penis(!) game and where that iconic bench overlooking downtown LA is.

It was a beautiful day, a beautiful beach, and of course I laughed unapologetically thinking of the tremendous snowfall back home.

Hmm. There is something almost ...annoyingly too perfect about pictures of the beach, you know? It's like you can never really take a bad shot. Or maybe that's just LA. To wit, this statue in Glendale:

Ew, I say.

So Angels Knoll--

Why these people wanted a picture of the front of the bench is beyond me.

Right, but as you can see it's all just as it appears in the film. So I thought this was pretty cool shiyat.

Zoomin' in on the hotel Tom Hansen talks about.

I had my camera with me when I went on a double decker bus tour of Hollywood, Beverly Hills and such but, L oh L, it was the morning and I was utterly exhausted (slash hung over--aren't 23-year-old cousins the best influence?) and did not have it in me to play tourist. I was all oh sweet Jesus, what am I doing on this bus?

But you know what, I don't think it matters that I haven't any pictures for posterity. Because I think Hollywood is a sad place. Sure, there are your success stories. One "noteworthy" location on the bus tour was the Pollo Loco where a not-yet-discovered Brad Pitt was working, dressed as a chicken. But then you'd hear other fun facts like "this is the hotel where so-and-so overdosed and died." Hollywood reeks of desperation and failure... the foolish quest to be "make it", to be an icon, to be immortal. And it just made me laugh, driving through the rich, hoity-toity shopping parts of LA, to hear that "celebrities are often seen here! They love to come here!" because it's not like I did see any celebrities. Hearing them talk about it like that, I might as well have been on a tour of a ghost town. You can talk my ear off about the rich and famous, but when I look out that window all I see is a wandering homeless person.

The one time I saw an actor was in 2007, in some hip store in Little Tokyo. (aside: my cousin's friend, who brought us to Little Tokyo/downtown LA, called it hipster central and went on about the gentrification of the place, and I loved him for it. Isn't it fascinating though, you start out with some rundown undesirable area, then the poor students and artsy young people come--it becomes bohemian paradise--and that is the beginning of the end. Then it's the nice middle-class families...) Anyway, I saw a pre-Sulu John Cho, aka Harold of Harold and Kumar. In the store I just kept pacing around suspiciously, sneaking glances at him, since I was such a fan of the stupid/awesome film. And this was even before the sequel came out.

Well, to conclude, what I learned from this trip was that LA is most certainly not for me. It is just a totally different world over there.

St. Valenpoop's

Wishing a happy Valentine's to happy couples and a tolerable one to everyone else!

Apart from a mysterious shooting pain in my left elbow right now, I'm doing not-so-bad. There are worse ways to spend V-Day than, um, at a Chevys with your parents and brother (I don't know why, but my parents like celebrating traditionally couple-y occasions, like V-Day and their anniversary, with their children). OK I know that sounds bad. But I do like going out to dinners, yes, even with my family, and besides, Chevys is delicious. I had fish tacos, still in keeping with my pesky pesce diet. And I had fried ice cream! Things aren't so bad!

But the highlight of my day might have been when I went for a quick run. A run in February! Who'd have thought. Indeed the weather today was unbelievably springlike, as if winter is cruelly trying to lure us into thinking it will be kind to us from here on out. What sheer baloney/malarkey/poppycock that is. Well anyway, I was wrapping up my run when I spotted an innocent pink carnation laying on the sidewalk in front of me. It was near the high school so someone must've dropped it on the way home. It goes without saying that I took it home. So now I'm a girl fat on fish tacos, whose night stand is housing a copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, on top of which there is a secondhand flower bequeathed to her by a sidewalk.

No big deal. And as Liz Lemon would say, it's not V-Day anyway--it's Anna Howard Shaw Day, people.

The flower really did make me happy. I'm all about my facebook statuses so I put "on my run just now i found an abandoned pink carnation laying on the sidewalk. shoutout to my secret admirer--the universe." It felt like the universe, despite all its senselessness and absurdity and cruelty, was trying to send me some (really lame) message. Maybe it was a reward for all the self-love and taking care of my health recently. Or maybe it was just subtle encouragement to a girl who never had those carnations sent to her in high school.

In fact, there was a really excellent online journal entry I wrote on Valentine's Day 2004, unfortunately long ago deleted, in which I describe "love and quiet giggles flickering across the room", or something like that, and (because flowers were passed out first period, in this case geometry class) how "finding the angle of hypotenuses (hypotenii?) couldn't heal the pain in my chest, and even if it could, I suck at math." It's so MELODRAMATIC, and actually, I was awesome at geometry so I don't know what I was going on about.

Valentine's Day can really suck. But it doesn't suck the most for people like me--it sucks for those going through painful breakups, or even still holding on to the residual pain of one. Or worse, it sucks for people like poor Liam Neeson, whose wife passed away at the age of 45. The love of your life is gone, but you still have to put up with this tiresome, obnoxiously saccharine pink-and-red holiday.

So while I can and have pulled a Bridget Jones before (in spirit, but not yet in spirits, i.e. drinking wine all by myself and singing "All By Myself") I know it's idiotic, too. After all, I'm young and my pathetic love life still holds potential, at least. I am both young and an incorrigible romantic whose heart is (embarrassingly) convinced that one day I'll be 1/2 of an annoyingly in-love couple, and I'll have lame Valentine's dates, and I'll buy right into this tiresome, obnoxiously saccharine holiday. For single people is this day all about being as bitter as the darkest of chocolates or is there a way to make it about hope? (Ugh, the question at the end makes me sound like a second-rate Carrie Bradshaw). Psh, in an hour this day will be old news anyway. But I am in the mood to watch Bridget Jones' Diary all of a sudden.

taking the me out of meat. mabes.

So it has been almost exactly one week since my last non-pescetarian meal. Soooo, the trial's over? But, perhaps surprisingly, I find myself at a loss for what to do now. I don't really want to stop but I don't know that I could really do this for the long haul.

Well, my reasons for doing it in the first place: curiosity, just for kicks (I guess I have to say that, since under my new no-swearing policy "shits and gigs" is verboten? FROWN.), just to see if I could, and a vague concern for my health. Well, also a vague concern for the negative environmental impact of the meat industry (I don't know the details per se, but I know it's bad. Like cow farts = methane etc. etc.). Maybe a teeny tiny piece of me is worried about animal cruelty and such, but I'm sorry to say, not a great part. I'm a stone-cold biznatch in that regard, maybe. If I get my little mind a-pondering about it, it's just very natural for animals to eat other animals, and humans are of course animals--so that checks out just fine.

I will admit though, that every once in a while I might be nibbling on a delicious fried chicken wing when it suddenly dawns on me oh my god I am nibbling the meat off of a dead animal's disembodied arm. And this is coming from someone whose favorite food for a long time was hot wings (before that, it was probably steak). Another example of meat bugging me out would be the time I was at the dining hall maybe a year ago. I started to dig into their veal parmesan, but was ultimately too freaked out that I was eating a poor baby cow. Although maybe if the parm was more delicious I might've been able to overcome this. I'm not sure.

Anyway, I mostly don't have qualms about eating meat. But, but I know that, at the very least, I should eat much less of it. Because, in this, er, one week journey I have come to realize that I have a bit of a problem (of course, a very Liz Lemon-y problem). My problem is that I eat sketchy foods a little too often (Liz Lemon eating cheesy blasters, anyone?), and in doses that are probably not acceptable. The fact is, these sketchy foods are always sketchy by virtue of their meat.

death in patty form

I mean, I just get this whirlwind visual of questionable sludge-looking containers of "chili"--that I devoured, avec tortilla chips, obviously--or a grocery store-bought package of supposed Jamaican beef patties that my roommate Agata and I shared, much to the horror of the other roomies. That whole affair was actually a riot because Agata and I were so enthralled to see the patties in the frozen food isle, so psyched to eat the first patties, and then so, so alarmed when mysterious hard objects were found in the "meat"(?). But because we were such TROOPERS, or rather, we paid good money for a whole box of ten, we continued to torture ourselves by harming our bodies and ingesting them. It was probably after enduring three of those demons that I heated one up, stared at it with pure loathing in my heart, and then immediately had to throw it in the garbage. Anyway, I've since moved out of the apartment but I've been informed that there is still totally a patty left in the freezer, if anyone is interested?

Well, point is, I was really flabbergasted, finally realizing this sad, sad fact about my eating habits. And once I've reached that point, I'd like to think and hope that I might be able to turn a corner. And so, pescetarian for a week. Now maybe what I really need to do is not say Nay to meats, but just be much smarter about what I do eat. But it felt right to go cold turkey on it. Because, honestly, I think I'm a "give an inch and I'll take a mile" type of gal when it comes to crap foods. It's easier to say NO MEAT, NO NO NO and have it be black and white, cut and dry, because as soon as the rule becomes more abstract ("don't eat... so much meat... and don't eat sketchy meat especially... so much" I'm worried I'd bust into a Chick-fil-a and go nom nom nom on a thousand nuggets. Their nuggets are so good, by the way.

It's a bit of an extreme example but it makes me think of Craig Ferguson talking about his past alcoholism, and how he realizes, as anyone should, that alcohol isn't inherently bad, you just need moderation... Yet he knows himself by now, and he knows that he personally isn't capable of moderation. "Just a glass" will inevitably multiply and before he knows it, he's waking up god knows where, soaked in his or someone else's urine. Um. My point being maybe I don't have the self-control to eat meat responsibly??

Oh, by the way, I chose to keep eating seafood because it is on the whole a lot healthier than them cows or chickens or pigs. Plus that leaves me with so many food options still, and I don't feel as tremendously constrained. Not to mention, shrimp and salmon and crab? Deliciousssss. No, I couldn't give that up.

All this said, I think maybe I'll just... try for another week of this. I'm already a little surprised at how relatively easy it's been (who would have thought that Shan could go longer not eating meat than not cursing? Yes, I've slipped on that just a few times, teehee) (but if you think about it, how much easier is it to accidentally say something than it is to accidentally put something in your mouth and swallow it?) There have been some struggles, forsooth, and I think my family is still weirded out by this change in me all of a sudden. But they've been pretty accommodating too; today they nearly bought fried chicken for themselves, and I was all melodramatically "please don't do that to meeee," which convinced them (I don't think I'm strong enough for that kind of temptation yet), and my mom has made a shrimp version of the Filipino dish sinigang (though it wasn't as good as the beef version, I admit). So yeah, it aint easy, but so far it's been doable.

Naturally though, to think of trying something like this in Germany, land of the Wurst... my soul weeps. And oh, those döner kebabs! My sweet darling döner. I would break any vow to eat one of those things right now. See, this raises the issue I have with cutting out meat... I feel like I am missing out on a lot of culturally important things. And I just can't do that. Can I? IT FEELS SO WRONG. Half of the allure of going off to foreign lands is to eat their specialties. But this is an issue I can ponder another time.

The döner kebab is proof that God loves us.

In other news, this picture is truly upsetting me.

One more week. And if I'm already feeling so much healthier, what will another week do for me (and my tummy--here's hoping)? Already the thought of eating meat again turns me off, just a little bit (if I picture a decapitated cow head with vacant eyes, it helps especially). In any case, I'm pleased to be trying something new, especially something that I thought I would never-in-a-million-years even test drive. It's exciting when you realize that what you are is simply what you think you are; it isn't set in stone. For the longest time I always thought of myself as this super-inactive lazy person, but then how is it I got into hour long running a year ago? Riddle me that.

My vow to stop swearing? Also, WWTFD (what would Tina Fey do)

About a month late I have (in this state of idleness) come up with a few new year's resolutions of various levels of attainability and seriousness. Partly (mostly?) in order to... I don't know, give myself something to do. They came out to be:

1. go pescetarian (no meat except for seafood) for a week
2. stop swearing like such a g*ddamn sailor
3. drive more often and possibly LEARN TO DRIVE STICK SHIFT??
4. limit drinking to beer (I mean limit alcoholic drinking to beer. Not ALL drinking. That would be unwise, and, er achieve the opposite effect that I want)

The idea to try out a pescetarian diet came first, when I was at the tail end of my stay in LA, and then the others sort of came along after that. I guess the whole thing I'm trying for is to create a healthier body and mind. It's funny, though, all of these things... anyone who knows me well enough (ok, mostly the roommate Jackie again) would say that it'd be a joke to think I could do any of these things. BUT YOU UNDERESTIMATE MY WILLPOWER.

The pescetarian thing deserves a post of its own, but as far as the other stuff... okay. Swearing. I once described myself as "speaking as though I was raised by Kathy Griffin and Triumph the insult comic dog." That's just not the kind of image you want to project, generally. My brother gives me grief about it especially, citing the time we were eating at Wendy's when I said something proper ladies should not say and a little kid nearby repeated it. And then his mom smacked him :| I am a little uncertain as to the validity of this, but my bro swears it happened.

Aside from preventing future child abuse, I got to thinking about how my adaption of good, positive words and thoughts, not foul language, would be such a change for the better, not just for myself but for the people who surround me. Ugh, that sounds cheesy. But yeah, positive ...energy. And stuff. I don't know what I'm trying to say--it just feels right. But obviously I can make exceptions. For example, if a giant anvil falls out of the sky and onto my house. That's just f*cked up.

What really took me from "haaa, wouldn't it be funny and futile if I tried to stop cursing" to "maybe I'm serious about this" was the realization that my personal hero, (whose character on TV I strongly identify with/possibly am) Tina Fey, doesn't swear. She is clever, fantastic, successful and seriously funny without swearing. (Makes me think of Will Smith, WHOSE AWESOMENESS IS UNPARALLELED AND IRREFUTABLE, rapping without swearing.) As Jackie pointed out to me, part of what makes Tina funny is actually what she says in lieu of swears. "Nerds!" or "BLERG" or, the one I use way often, "What the WHAT?" The fact is, she is, well, wholesome. So if I aspire to be anything like her--and oh, I do--then I can go without f-bomb and co., can't I?

Except I'm not sure where to draw the line yet. Like "ass", is ass ok? I think the occasional ass will be ok. I mean, Conan regularly refers to himself as an ass (I base all my decisions off of Tina Fey and Conan O'Brien--you got me). "Shit" might be sketchy. I feel better about using "shite." Also I kind of really love the word "whore", but I should probably scale back on that one...

By the way my self-improvement kick has "Liz Lemon" painted all over it. She's all "I'm trying new things" and "One of my New Year’s resolutions is to say YES." She also does pretty much whatever Oprah tells her to do. Which is funny since it was watching the recent Oprah episode on veganism that inspired me to try out a diet change. Cough cough onceagaindon'tjudgeme cough.

I leave you with a prime example of why I feel I am Elizabeth Lemon

Shan. Domestic goddess, fitness expert.

Yawwwn. Am I allowed to yawn after not having left the house all day (and, um, waking up at noon)? Don't answer that.

The day hasn't been a total bust. For instance, as part of my eternal struggle to see my weight dip below 119 pounds and stay there (reminder that this is a 4'11'' I'm dealing with) , I subjected myself to a Jillian Michaels workout DVD. Not the pansy ~20 minute workout one I've done a couple times before (30 Day Shred) - not that there's anything pansyish about it; it's just short. And actually the "level 3" thoroughly kicked my ass the last time I tried it. As in, I stumbled away from the TV "gargling my heart" as Jillian puts it, workout unfinished.

imminent pain

At least today I was able to last through the 40 minute circuit workout, with only the occasional break to grab a swig water, or weep uncontrollably about my tattered limbs. Now, whether I am masochistic enough/desperate for a hawt bod enough to do the thing again, we'll just have to see. Even if I am, that day will probably not be tomorrow, since I get the feeling that I'm going to be sore for a while. Everywhere.

Would I recommend her DVDs? Well, yeah, if you're trying to find a workout DVD. Honestly at-home DVDs/workouts are kind of the bane of my existence but I don't have much of a choice right now. I'm not living at school at the moment, so I can't use the gym, and with all the snow on the ground I can't exactly go running either, unless I'm all about surfing that black ice and getting a concussion. I miss running a lot--it really is my exercise of choice--but at least I took advantage of the LA weather a bit and jogged in the California sun, past the palm trees (now if I had jogged right along the water at Venice Beach, I would have been one truly happy girl).

Really though, I'm just a Jillian Michaels fan. I don't watch The Biggest Loser terribly often, but I've caught some episodes of her show Losing It and approved. You really get to see her at work there, getting into people's heads therapist-style and shaking up families' ways of eating, moving, and thinking. Yes, weight loss shows are totally exploitative and prove the unsavory fact that we have a national obsession with watching the obese. Without a doubt there is plenty to critique about these shows, and yet there the inspirational and motivational are found there too. So, why not?

Anyway, Jillian Michaels builds her rep on being both a hardass and badass, even though she's tiny, so I can't help but love her for that. Also it only recently occurred to me that wait a minute she's probably a lesbian? So I did a little google search and apparently in an interview last year she casually let it be known that she's looking for a healthy relationship, be it with a man or woman. I think I love her even more for that, because if you think about other famous bisexual chicas you get, what? Megan Fox? Lindsay Lohan? Gag.

The other event of the day ... dun dun dun. I finally put to good use the, er, VeraBradleyapronIboughtcauseitwascuteandonsale. That's right, I do not cook things, but I did buy the apron as motivation. Say nay if you will, naysayers, but this method works for me, or at least it did when I bought myself a pair of running shoes that were on sale! Maybe step one to being the person you want to be is dressing the part.

Anyway the pasta dish I made was totally nonlethal and actually kind of tasty, according to my parents. I pat myself on the back for this and plan on cooking again soon. Muahaha.

LA stuff I did, part I

I am nocturnal. I don't like it, but it's not something that you can easily break out of when you have no obligations in life. No class, no work. Essentially I'm on winter break until ~March 25 when I leave for Japan. All things considered though, I don't feel that unproductive. I have been keeping myself busy in a few moderately impressive ways (more on that later). For that I give myself a pat on the back since more often than not, if facing an extended stay at home, I will spend days on end in a bath robe and ugg boots, sipping wine coolers and marathoning shows like Lie to Me, or 30 Rock. Don't judge me.

Anyway, I figure I should put my nocturnal energy to good satisfactory use and get some kind of LA post up in this business while I still have the tiniest desire to do so. Well, good thing I didn't take too many pictures?

Pretty sunset @ JFK just because... it's pretty

First time flying Virgin America (I think I've mostly taken US Airways), so it was good fun to find the cabin unnecessarily similar to the inside of a Tokyo nightclub. Especially traveling with my 81-year-old grandparents. I felt so hip.

If you are visiting LA you must visit the Griffith Observatory, overlooking da city. It is free and not disappointing, unlike visiting Hollywood only to realize that it is a friggin shady place, i.e. if Charlie Sheen were a location. This was taken on the walk to the observatory.

Thar's the place

oblig. Hollywood sign pic (this is the closest I've been to it)

(I took a bunch of pictures of the city. Unfortunately I am in a lot of them, thus ruining them.) That quaint little clearing of tall buildings is their downtown, oft used for filming "New York" scenes, since their downtown ordinarily passes for a (creepily devoid of people) NYC.

 
Good stuff, blah blah blah. Before I end this post, how about some things that I ATE (in this case I definitely disappointed myself by not taking more pictures).

1.For the sake of getting out of the apartment, the cousin and I went to some mall, the Glendale Galleria. I perused zero shops, as I was feeling rather uninspired to try on dresses with my male cousin in tow, but the outing was a victory in that I got to try this Korean dish bibimbap for the first time. It makes me sad, but my experience with Korean food is shockingly, inexcusably limited.

Bibimbap jams everything that could be separated into one superdish of meat, vegetables, some pickled things? I think they were pickled, is that seaweed on the top there?--on top of a salad (health!), on top of white rice. And there was spicy sauce on the side. Look, I'm not really sure what I ate, and I'm not a food critic, but it was delicious. Nothing has ever felt so right.

2. Go to a Big Mama's and Papa's Pizzeria and order the 60 slice pie. I DARE YOU.

3. The Farmers Market by The Grove has this Brazilian barbecue (churrasco) place. Another learning experience, and what I learned was that I have never tasted meat so heavenly. I am now depressingly hungry, by the way.

for people who like staring dramatically out windows

Everyone knows that when your life feels so devoid of intrigue and romance and beauty, one of the best thing you can do is watch a good film. Especially a good period drama. The age we live in, unfortunately, is not one we equate with romance. What hope is there of locking eyes with a stranger in a crowded ballroom? Or writing to your lover off at sea? (okay, the latter scenario, ridden with sadness, is perhaps less appealing). I've complained a thousand times before about how unromantic modern dancing is (although I find "krumping" hilariously awesome, and mention it whenever I can. Also do not get me started on MC Hammer style dancing--Love.) So what we have... well, film, and books--our escape. And imagination.

But music too. Sometimes all you really need is a good movie soundtrack. Often heavy on the classical, the dramatic, the emotion-wrought, they're wonderful for getting introspective about your own life. Turn up the volume and let it sweep you away. As Jackie, longtime roommate, can attest to, I'm a big fan of staring out of windows dramatically. All the better, of course, if you're listening to heart-wrenching soundscapes, especially if it's on a train, watching the world around you speed by. (I heavily romanticize train travel and the age of steam, in general. Because when you are aboard a train, you almost aren't anywhere at all, but you're in a perpetual state of going somewhere. And you yourself don't control where the train goes--it's out of your hands--so you just sit there, turning over this thought and that, awaiting your arrival.)

Anyway, one listening recommendation I can make is from Ang Lee's 2007 film Lust, Caution, which I watched a number of months ago.  There is not only a great soundtrack but ESPIONAGE involved (everyone loves that) and it is based off a story by Eileen Chang. I read her short stories in "Love in a Fallen City" and just adored them, despite how truly pessimistic the woman is about love.

 (I love that during this time women were so astonishingly stylish in their body-hugging cheongsams and painted red lips, while men wore sharp Western suits. Of course, neither look is complete without cigarettes/cigars, glamorous and unhealthy).

Well, here--because wikipedia does such a good job of explaining the allure of Eileen Chang: "She is noted for writings that deal with the tensions between men and women in love, and are considered by some scholars to be among the best Chinese literature of the period. Chang's portrayal of life in 1940s Shanghai and occupied Hong Kong is remarkable in its focus on everyday life and the absence of the political subtext which characterized many other writers of the period."

I can't recommend her work enough. Although, because I am probably an eternal optimist at my core (people might not believe this about me. I do have pessimistic, cynical tendencies, I admit, but it's a shield of sorts), it is no wonder that my favorite story of hers is one that offers a "happy" ending for its characters. I should say, Eileen Chang's version of happy--dubious, transient, and unsettling happiness. Similarly, I love E.M. Forster's A Passage to India for an honors seminar I took freshman year ("Romantic Love, East and West") but I really love A Room with a View, which is considered his one non-pessimistic work. It's like I appreciate and understand the "let's face it, life is brutal and unkind" attitude, but when even the most hardened types can admit there's a flicker of hope and happiness sometimes, well... how can I resist? Talk to me about it again in 30 years, when perhaps life's gotten the better of me, and we'll see if I've changed my mind.

Oh goodness, there are a million digressions in this entry. I just get so excited about this sort of stuff. And I'm glad I can be excited about it, because it lets me know that I picked the right major. Even though I sort of picked "East Asian Studies" haphazardly, not really knowing what it would entail. And even if I'm not really sure what I'll do with this major, or German Studies, either.

So, sidenote #29382: I love something about British imperialism, whether in Hong Kong or, as with Forster's work, in India. Imperialism in general just intrigues me. I guess that explains my love for Out of Africa as well.

Without further ado, from the Lust, Caution soundtrack  by Alexandre Desplat (of course, if you're going to compose glorious soundtracks for films, you should be French).



The film, by the way, is good although rather sexually graphic. But I can save my discussion of Ang Lee films for the future, haha.

post-California dreaming

Still terribly jet-lagged; keep waking up at ~2pm (not acceptable), although yesterday I woke up at 8, inexplicably. That aint right.

Just thought, for kicks, I should note some of the dreams I have, since more often than not I dream of really bizarre things. Quite often the dreams are mid-apocalypse or post-apocalyptic, filled with natural disasters, or, as is very often the case, zombies. I don't know what that says about me psychologically. So last night I had a really jam-packed dream. It was another post-apocalyptic type one, except Jon Hamm was in it (second time I can remember dreaming of Jon Hamm; I have been blessed). He also called his co-star, January Jones, "totally gay" and I think I attempted to flirt with him--I give dream Shan two thumbs up for having the nerve to do that, haha. (sidenote: I am still eagerly waiting for Matt Damon to show up in a dream. That is almost all I want from life.)

In another part of the dream my mom was, for whatever reason, totally high, and I had to babysit her. That was weird.

Weirder still, in another part of the dream I'm a sensitive short story-writing type (still apocalyptic world). I write my stories about love and life on loose leaf paper, and I'm dating some guy but somehow, I really do not know how, he ends up a girl, and I end up a guy. And I'm all "oh my God, is there something wrong with our love?" and he/she's all "I don't know, and I don't care" and we're happy. At least I think that's how it went.

That's some decent Asian drama fodder, that last bit; in fact, maybe it's already been done. But could you imagine it? You're in love with someone of the opposite gender and by some plot device that I can't yet come up with you switch genders. Do you still love each other? How does the dynamic change? I think we've all wondered what the opposite gender equivalents of ourselves would be like. Personally I know I would abuse the word "bro" and all its variants even more than I do now (sorry, I drink a lot of bros equis). So, I see a lot of potential for such a story to be both hilarious and awfully interesting. If I were the creative type I'd start penning a tale right now, haha.

Deep down in our souls I'm sure we don't have gender, but it's just so--abusing the word again--interesting because the facets of our personalities, our own intrinsic personalities, will manifest themselves differently, depending on whether we're born male or female, and depending on society around us--the kind of environment we grow up in. So If I were born a man would some at-present untapped part of me have been nurtured--would I have totally different aims than I do now? But that's something I can never know.

back in NJ, raving about my laptop

Picture aken at Venice Beach. I only half meant it --------->

So I am back in New Jersey, the astonishing reality being that I am actually glad to be back in New Jersey, after what was a minor hiccup in my return (flight cancellation thanks to the sweet winter stormage going on). My little psuedo vacation time/purgatory in LA had serious ups and downs, to be sure, and I'll get around to talking about that for my 2 loyal subscribers, ahahah.

I mean, mostly I'm glad to be back for two highly important reasons, the first being sleeping in actual bed, not a couch, sweet Jesus, and the second, because I am reunited with my dear sweet baby Toshi, i.e. my dearly missed, not-cleverly nicknamed Toshiba laptop. Like really, my baby. When I pulled it out of the box for the first time, there was a tender embrace, and a quiet understanding between us that we'd be traveling the world together.

Ordinarily I'm not gung-ho about new technological things. Because if something is perfectly functioning I just don't see a need to replace it, plus I am extremely picky about what I want. If I'm getting something new, it has to be perfect. I mean, I was the proud owner of an iPod mini years past the point of it being socially acceptable to still have a mini. And let's not get started on the cell phone I've had for the past two and a half years; it only rarely makes any noise and it is very apparent that a piece of it broke off and was lost forever (despite my genius method of taping it back on). So when I finally am psychologically prepared to buy new technological stuff I get really intense and focused about it, going to cnet.com for reviews first and foremost, and then finding peripheral sources.

I was pretty jazzed about finding Toshi. Its battery lasts something like 6 hours, plus it makes my previous laptop, which was already 14'', look like a behemoth. Toshi's screen is just a skosh smaller (13.3), but it's so much more slender and lightweight, at less than 3 pounds. Which is awesome, because I can just move it here and there, one-handed if I desire, effortlessly. So not only is Toshi kind of adorable, it's all sleek and black, which makes you take it seriously... refined but dangerous, like James Bond drinking a martini.

I sound insane right now but I like it. Anyway, I got Toshi a couple months ago, the interesting bit is that after a couple weeks there was a a hilarious but stupid incident involving salad dressing, and I had to send Toshi away to be fixed... aheh... But that's why I pay extra for insurance from Best Buy! To help prevent further damage to my child, I bought this Built laptop sleeve for $20 off of amazon. If there's one thing I love, it's bold, punchy bursts of color, like so.

This post has actually nothing to do with LA, does it.