One Interesting Lesson to Salvage an Uninteresting Task

As I climb back onto the LSAT horse, I've been erasing the work I did in my old books. Foolishly, I didn't think to make copies before I wrote on the exercises. And since the books I had are the most recent publications, there didn't seem to be much point to buying new ones (either less recent, or else exactly the same as mine). Thus I undertook the incredibly dull and surprisingly difficult task of erasing. I've been making use of the time I spend on the trains and subway to work - thus ensuring my place among the "eccentrics" of public transportation.

One and only one mildly worthwhile observation rescues some meaning to the work: by far, the questions I miss most are the ones whose answers are supposed to be A. This means that my eye basically skips over all the A options, and by the time I finish reading all the others, a choice like E starts to look right. The lesson to take away from this is to exercise greater vigilance at that middle point in the question, rather than rushing to get to the end.

The Best Halloween Costume

I'm flashbacking to 9th grade, because since then I haven't seen a costume that beat what my English teacher, Mr. Desmond, cooked up. He wore a white shirt and taped a stuffed penguin to his back. When we asked him what he was, he hunched and said he was an iceberg.

The Best Part of Halloween

is the frightfest of scary movies on tv. I've missed out on almost all of them, between my personal low threshold for gore and horror (an old childhood trauma) and the objective fact that a lot of scary movies (I'm thinking in the Alien vein) are kinda stupid and sucky.

These Halloween telethons are giving me a great chance to catch up. It seems that I've mostly recovered from my trauma of horror movies, and at some point I've started to enjoy them. It probably has something to do with all the B movies I've been seeing in the interim, so that I've gotten better at picking up the natural thrill and humor of this genre. My tastes haven't undergone a complete revolution, as some of the scary movies I've been watching are still truly forgettable (Constantine, for example), while others sitting on the awesome/eh fence (Resident Evil). But I've also had a chance to catch up on the greats, which I wouldn't have had the guts to see on my own: chief among these is Silence of the Lambs. A melange of history's serial killers (Buffalo Bill) and a supreme original supervillain (Hannibal Lecter).

Let's also not forget my insuperably favorite zombie movie (it's to the zombie genre what Psycho Beach Party is to the beach party genre), Shaun of the Dead. This excellent cinematic tour de force was playing on Comedy Central this weekend.

The vintage horror movies on TCM are also a mixed bag. I saw an old 50s (moralizing) haunted house movie called 13 Ghosts. Interesting as a documentary on the history of cinema, but also consummately boring.

On a less related note, I must make one last mention about regular tv. Mondays no longer suck, for one reason only: Dr. Steve-O. At the cost of sounding redundant, Steve-O is the best thing since sliced bread! Last week was my favorite: he made a recluse challenge himself in socially by walking up to a (large) guy, saying, "hey man what's up?" and then picking up that guy's hamburger and eating it. They called it "hamburgling," ha! But the best part about Dr. Steve-O is a bit more psychologically sophisticated. I've observed that I have trouble watching regular programming because it drives me crazy to have to wait a week to find out what happens next (South Park, Ugly Betty, Heroes); or, alternately, you get so drawn into the story that you have to watch the whole thing even if you're only moderately interested (Law and Order, as much as it kills me to say it). Dr. Steve-O doesn't have either of those problem. It's half an hour of perfection, and after that you're good for the week. You're happy to see it again the next time it comes on, but it doesn't create angst having to wait for it.

Wedding with the Jesus Freaks

If there was ever a wedding that needed alcohol, it was my Jesus-freak second-cousin's dry-as-a-bone wedding. Wow. Just on every level. I want to be happy for her, because it looks like the two of them are in love or something, and I'm trying not to be hostile to other people's happiness, even though I have this nagging feeling that I'd have every right to - but seriously, torture is just plain torture. I'll even skip the part where the whole event was planned on a budget from hell (to illustrate: the reception was in the church's gym, ie surrounded by basketball hoops and florescent lighting), because I maybe can respect that you have a lot of friends even if you don't have a lot of money, and I'll skip onto the rest of the ridiculousness.

1. The ceremony started about an hour late. Why? Because the bride's mom left her dress at home and had to drive back to get it. There's a Korean expression my mom used for people like that; roughly translated, "thirsty," ie watching that person fumble makes you thirsty. I don't think the Korean is referring to an alcoholic beverage, but insert that idea in there and you'll more or less get the sense of it.

2. The bride could hardly say her vows, for all her crying. Soon various other friends and relatives in the pulpits were crying too. It was like I was at a damn funeral.

3. The "now you may kiss the bride" moment? CHEEK KISS.

4. They didn't take RSVPs from their guests, with the result that there wasn't enough seating (in the basketball court). There was a little sign that reserved a table for the bride's family, but it got overrun by a bunch of church brats. We had to elbow ourselves in with some strangers. As my aunt observed, it looked like every deadbeat churchgoer in the parish showed up for a free dinner. Several guests were wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

5. The food was served buffet-style, which meant that half the guests were done and leaving even before the wedding party made their entrance. When the bride and groom finally did show up, they had their first dance...TO KENNY G. No doubt precipitating the mad dash for the doors.

6. But I stayed on bravely through most of it. The final straw, the last torture that made me say "Enough is enough!" was when these two emcees came up and started saying things like, "What is the meaning of love?" ARRRRRGH! I made like a banana and split.

7. When I came back about 10 minutes later, the emcees were still at it, but now doing a quiz show. "What did was the first thing the bride's dad said to his future son-in-law?" "What was the bride's least favorite subject in grade school?"

And that, my friends, is how Jesus freaks do weddings.

I Don't Get It

I was watching an old Chappelle's Show sketch about a hypothetical "race draft." It's modeled on the way sports teams draft their new players, ie draw lots to see who gets first picks for the most sought-after players. For example, the blacks get the first pick and claim Tiger Woods; henceforth he's officially black (instead of mixed-race). And so on and so forth. It's hilarious - there's this part where the whites try to get Colin Powell, and the blacks object, and they finally resolve their differences: the whites can keep Colin Powell if they'll also take away Condoleeza Rice.

Then comes the joke I didn't get at all: the whites are about to claim Eminem, which draws a reaction from the blacks. The blacks then concede that the whites can keep Eminem IF THEY CAN KEEP OJ SIMPSON. I guess this is more covert inside joke, because I never knew that OJ Simpson was in danger of not being black, much less that he had any merit that would make either group want to claim him.

Solace in Unlikely Sources

Omg, when you think you have problems, the universe shows you, emphatically, just what a novice you are. I've been so crippled with problems this past week, that I'm barely now starting to crawl into recovery. One thing is certain: I suck at life. I used to think rock bottom was for bad people, and yet here I am. I'm smart, hard-working, and conscientious, so why does shit keep happening to me?

Here's a quick recap. I can't dwell too much because of the pain:

1. my new $1250 coaster = My $1000 computer Pubes, with a $250 warranty, needed an $825 repair that the warranty doesn't cover, no matter how much I argued to the Applefucks that the way they do math is economically retarded, and certainly fatal with respect to enlisting returning customers.

2. A myriad of boss' personal crap that I really resent doing. Not only did I have to clean up after his disorganized mess, but I also got yelled at for making a mistake. Then he threw another fit about how the dishwasher spits out dirty dishes. And then about how the conference table has crumbs. Jesus Christ.

3. LSAT dreams didn't come true
- canceled all plans, from brunch on Sunday to San Francisco in November to the J-O-B
- back to the books for another few weeks
- dream of staying in California potentially threatened
- panic attack, loss of confidence

In sum, rock bottom, suck at life. I couldn't even leave my bed on Saturday because everything just went black. It's a terrible thing for someone so susceptible to self-pity. And mood disorders. I'm really starting to consider if I'm bipolar. I used to dismiss it on the grounds that I'm not manic. But then I noticed that the depressive episodes are getting worse, and that it may be the case that I have even more problems when I'm not depressed. Chiefly, I've observed that I have a real problem getting along with people, wherever I go. In manic terms it might be called a rage issue.

But I digress. I was about to get to the part about the solace. First, the most surprising source of solace was quitting my job. The first few hours were fraught with anxiety and alarm and self-doubt, but D walked me through it (thanks!), and now I can calmly appraise the choice as liberating. Under the banner of "working for a good cause" this job really did subject me to a certain lack of basic respect that is dehumanizing, and that tried to make me into a drone.

I realized how much I had changed when I saw (1) Point Break Live! (AWESOME), esp. Bodhi's monologue about fucking the system, and (2) season 1 of the Office, and it suddenly made so much sense! It can only be because there's now a little bit of an automaton in me.

The second source of solace came yesterday, from ADD Boy, of all people. I was feeling pretty hopeless and friendless when he called; misery does this funny thing sometimes, where it makes you want to shun friends so as not to pollute them. But I care a bit less about what ADD Boy thinks about me, so I was glad to cry and complain to him. It's fascinating how much comfort an uninvested listener can provide. ADD Boy also has that unique simplicity that, while infuriating when you're trying to date him, is just what you need to put things back into perspective.

It's a Man's World

One of the things I like to complain about about my workplace is our implied sexist way of life. It's not so bad, and some may argue that it's only a symptom of our merit-based hierarchy, but let me present the facts: 2 out of our 11 attorneys are women, and 1 out of the 5 partners. All the assistants are women, the librarian is a woman, and the two paralegals are men. The assistants get kitchen duties, the paralegals do not. The LIBRARIAN also gets kitchen duties. During the infamous 3-hour lunch breaks, all the attorneys round themselves up, like a big frat, and go out to the restaurant. 3 of them regularly stay behind: one man, and gasp! the two women. The man doesn't eat lunch. One of the women eats lunch in the kitchen. The other woman, when she's around, orders lunch with us staff folks.

The one who orders lunch with us, the partner, is the craziest person I ever met, so I'll even allow that she's an exception to any rules about social conduct and group bonding.

But even with that exception, the facts are disturbing. I'm really, really, really trying not to adopt the "I'm too good for this!" attitude, but let's be honest, the kitchen duties irk the hell out of me. I can understand that in a cooperative living situation, it makes sense to assign someone to oversee the final cleanliness of the space. But everyone still has to clean up after himself!! Even if each person thought he was doing 100% of his share, believe me, there would still be trash left behind. So imagine how gross it is when everyone does 0-50% of his share. Seriously, people leave coffee filters and wet paper towels in the sink. So it's not just loading the dishwasher, which I find outrageous enough; it's WIPING THEIR ASSES LIKE I WAS THEIR MOM.

So I complain, and I hear that it's still a man's world, for all we've progressed since the bra-burning days. But as I hear about the wives of these attorneys, I'm starting to revise my thesis. At least two of the men are married to extremely high-powered women, one a doctor/scholar and the other an entertainment lawyer. The latter's husband is proverbially poked at as a Mr. Mom figure - let him do this thing on the side so he can feel like he's helping, but really his job is to take care of the kids.

If it's do thoroughly a man's world, in what world are these women making the top ranks? Clearly their husbands aren't really sexist, because they're being totally outranked by their wives. Then I had a thought: what if the fact that they're not dominating at home MAKES these men act even more macho in the workplace? That would not be unheard of. Maybe that's the history of male sexism: an emasculating complex, leading to all sorts of suppression and domination. If you look back to my favorite topic in literature, cuckoldry, there's ample supporting evidence. Most women in literature are there sheerly for the sake of causing anxiety to men; being unfaithful mostly, but also to make them make up for some inadequacy (= heroism).

"You are as funny as you are relevant"

What a pithy insult, and surprisingly handy. It was coined by Lisa Lampanelli during the Flavor Flav Roast on Comedy Central, in reference to Bridgitte Nielsen's most unfunny stand-up bit. Now every time I hear Kevin and Bean's morning show, I think of it, along with, "Who the hell listens to this??" Their topics are sub-mental, their personalities are those of dorks and losers, and worst of all, they're so self-righteous about it: "All you buttwads who get offended with our jokes about gays and blind people are ruining are show, because you're making us take out everything funny!" Ha, beg to differ. Then for a while I thought there might still be some value because they occasionally still play music in the mornings. But while their taste might have been relevant 15 years ago, such is no longer the case. Kevin and Bean, in their infinite coolness, play only stuff like Nirvana and Bush; or, when they take that rare venture into the 21st century, has-been supergroups like Audioslave, or else completely stinky irrelevant bands like Incubus.

So you think, maybe they're starting to target an older group, ie my age, ie the people who were listening to Kevin and Bean 15 years ago when they might have been cool. But that doesn't seem to be the case - take me, for instance. Plus, all the callers seem to be kids, and the stuff they promote, like breakfast with My Chemical Romance, are stuff that only kids would enjoy and/or be able to participate in. So who the hell are these kids who consent to to all the other dorkfest-irrelevant crap that Kevin and Bean dump onto the air?

Ryan Seacrest is even worse, as unbelievable as that is. But at least his problems are only his personality; the music he plays is at least relevant, even if not quality, and there's some value to his celebrity "news," unlike the buttplug self-indulgent meaningless junk Kevin and Bean report.

Big Boi is the opposite: the content is as fluffy as Kevin and Bean, but at least he's funny. They need to get more than 3 songs on the turntable, though.

NPR - all this leads inevitably to the fact that NPR is simply a godsend.

Severely Depressed

Yep, it's here. I guess I'll be (even more) absent from the blog for a couple days, until this passes.

Slump

The test is done and I'm over my cold - I thought those were the things that were holding me back from getting things back to normal, but apparently those weren't my problems. It's frustrating that the same obstacles persist. My social life died effectively over the months, as I found out when none of my fair-weather friends came out to see me for a post-lsat outing. So I thought, fuck em, I'm renouncing them and getting new friends. But where does one get new friends? So for now I'm still a loner, even more than ever.

It's a period of transition, and it's difficult because I'm not making any changes to my life and I think like I'm the same person. But I'm not. Living at home, I'm not a social animal; any outing has to be highly organized and planned ahead of time - and my old modus operandi was "seat of one's pants" par excellence - and the time I used to spend hanging out and doing stupid stuff is now spent at home, with my parents or in front of the tv. On top of that, I don't have anything important/urgent to do on my own. It's strange. I have a new persona merging, but I'm carrying on as if I weren't.

The result is a deep dissatisfaction with my day to day. It's not quite at the stage of depression yet, since I still feel some interest in doing stuff (I just don't know what), but I feel it coming soon. It's time for a turn--around. I'm going to start dancing again. I started looking into getting therapy, something I've wanted forever. Speaking of therapy, it totally outran the rate of inflation. I remember getting some quotes around 3 years ago, and back then it was $80 for a psychologist and $40 for a licensed clinical social worker. It was too steep for me back then, but man oh man should I have taken it! Making some calls today, I learn that a psychologist in LA is $160 for the first visit and $125 for subsequent visits, while a licensed clinical social worker in Chino is $200 for the first visit and $125 for subsequent visits. (Don't ask me how that works.) My insurance will cover 1/5 of that. So here's the crazy part: I'm still considering doing it.

The Front

Holy cow! What a wonderful movie. Woody steals my heart again, and he didn't even write or direct this one.

The Bicycle Thief - Terrible, awful, a downer. I like tragedies as much as the next person, but not when it's about the downfall of a six-year-old. I don't understand why Netflix thought I'd like it.

World's Ugliest Shoes

Oh, the things you see on the subway: it really is a cross-section of the city. Sometimes it's the crazed vagrant who starts yelling out random Asian greetings in your direction so that you'll notice...oh wait, that seems to happen anywhere and everywhere. Other times it's the weirdly sane vagrant who's giving you advice about vitamin C, or a toothless vagrant giving you his unopened bag of cheetos, and saying that when he gets his implants, he'd like to get a big-toothed, toothy smile like yours... And then there's the person who looks more like a forest ranger than a vagrant, and seeming to be reasonably sane, except that she smells like pee and is carrying around a bag of cans.

I've stopped sitting on the subway seats, when I can help it. I've seen one too many people rest their can-bags on those seats. I've also stopped using the handrails because people's hands are notoriously germy. I try not to lean on the walls either. So between all that standing and stumbling around and dirt-phobia and the dirty underground air, my half hour on the subway each day is a pretty fucking uncomfortable experience.

But I digress.

I saw one member of this cross-section wearing the most astounding shoes; I couldn't stop staring at them, and it was a lucky thing her back was turned toward me. I think the the shoes can best be defined as Gladiator sandals, but they arrived that effect by borrowing the character from so many other kinds of shoes. The sole was soft and flat, like ballet slippers. The toe was strappy, like some Eastern-inspired hippie Birkenstock thing, except black and leather. From the ankle upward it was a straight up motorcycle boot, complete with straps and buckles and reaching the mid-calf. To top it all off - and this is so wonderful that I still can't believe my eyes - the woman was wearing these thick, flesh-colored, closed-toed stockings. With knee length shorts and an emsemble that basically looked like she was going to a PTA meeting, or gardening.

Oh, oh! It's too much! Too much.

Where Have I Been?

Saturday was the LSAT, and after that I got sick, and then I was having an unusually busy week at work, and then I got even sicker, until today when I threw in the towel and took the day off from work. This would be my second absence in less than 3 months on the job! What a gem I am.

A lot to catch up on, so I'll get right to it:

1. I had this thought yesterday: since I've been out of school I've become a bigger dork. It's paradoxical, because grad school is for the dorkest of the dorks, and yet. I feel I've been having a harder time keeping up conversations, both with strangers (this happens quite a bit on public transportation) and with old friends. Maybe it's because everyone is in my life/age group is getting dorkier; I've definitely had that impression before. But the difference now is that I can't carry the burden of conversation, whereas before I didn't mind it so much because I felt I had a lot more I wanted to say.

2. Dr. Steve-O - Steve-O is back on the air! This time it's like a Jackass-version of Fear Factor: he makes a bunch of "wussy" guys face their phobias, like bees, public speaking, and meat (?). It has more of the human interest to it, because it's about normal people, but it also has that consequence of making Steve-O look even more like a cokehead than his already did. When he was surrounded by the other Jackass cokeheads, he didn't stick out so much, but on this show, when you see him slicing his tongue with a piece of broken glass (as he does on a promo to an upcoming episode), it really hits home how much of a weirdo he is.

3. Rock of Love with Bret Michaels - I wanted Heather to win, because she was hands down the alpha female of the house, but of course she never had a chance. Why would Bret Michaels bang a 32-year-old when he can bang a 23-year-old? It's simple math. Even so, he's a huge fool, and it's no wonder he's still single. You'd think by the time you reach 45, you'd be smart enough to know that the only excitement you can hold for a 23-year-old is the thrill of the competition. You should know that what a 23-year-old wants, you can't give. She'll leave him as soon as her own fame starts taking off, or once she realizes, outside the pressures of the competition, that she really doesn't want him. Heather, sure, also had a bit of a phony love for Bret that had to do with fame, but I think she would have stayed true to him just because she's kind of washed up herself. He would have been a kind of hero to her, rescuing her from the depths of stripping. There's a love story for you.

4. Which reminds me of the Wedding Date, starring Debra Messing. I saw this a while ago, but wasn't really inspired to make commentary at the time. It started out well enough, but then spun into this really implausible "huh?..." Girl must face her ex-fiance at her sister's wedding. Girl hires Boy to be her date to make said ex jealous. Boy is the perfect package: good-looking, charming, considerate, perfectly tactful, because he's a professional. Boy and Girl sort of bond. Boy and Girl have falling out. Girl realizes she's in love with Boy. Boy says, I'd rather be fighting with you than making love to anyone else.

What?? WHY? The movie fails to explain what possible charm Girl could have had that would have made this date different from all the other business-as-usual dates. I think they were relying on the shallow Pretty Woman assumption that a hooker/escort has no chance against falling in love with a john. But Pretty Woman really was about a hooker who was searching for a different self, whereas the Wedding Date was about a guy who already had it all; he was getting his doctorate at Brown in comparative literature, and he was just moonlighting as an escort on the side. Was he really having such a hard time at finding Ms. Right that he would weaken while on the job?

5. Blades of Glory - What is it about Will Ferrell movies that shouts out, during the opening credits, even before Will Farrell makes an appearance, that you're about to see a Will Ferrell movie? This time it was Napolean Dynamite's character, as a child, skating figure eights and executing the double sow-cow.

6. Night of the Living Dead - The original zombie movie! It was a little slow. They spend about 15 minutes arguing whether they should hide out in the cellar or stay above ground. The production values are also a little funny: the zombies just looked like regular people.

It reminded me of that academic point I made about a year ago, when my Aristophanes class was reading the Frogs, and we were studying Bakhtin's observations about the Carnival, while I was watching TCM's documentary on the history of zombies in film. Bakhtin says that the Carnival is the collective ENJOYMENT of ritual license; my instinct says that the Carnival, like chaos or license itself, is a scary experience (clowns), and that the enjoyment lies in that very fear. Night of the Living Dead made me think some more about the relationship between fun and fear. It seems to be the case that the exact same elements contribute the experience of both. Specifically, there are two points in the movie that I thought worked even better as a joke than they do as horror.

First is when Barbara stops being catatonic. She spends most of the movie in a state of shock, and everyone else in the movie has to take care of her. Then she has a transformation when she sees the other woman about to get devoured by the zombies breaking down the door. In a moment similar to Kirsten Dunst in Spiderman 2, when with grim determination she resolves to stop being such a goddamn useless damsel in distress, and picks up a metal beam to whack Doc Oc while he's not looking - a moment that is meant to be funny - Barbara finally snaps out of it and rushes to help the woman hold up the door. I really expected this to be the turning point in the movie. After all, Barbara was the first character we saw and sympathized with, and I thought not only would she stay alive, but she would also learn something (feminist) from her zombie experience. But the movie defied all my expectations: Barbara rescues the woman, but gets devoured by the zombies herself. This is what her bravery amounts to! It was both hilarious and horrifying.

The second such surprise is the way Ben dies. He is the lone survivor after the night's attack. He's holed up in the cellar, where he had to dispatch the couple that got killed by their zombie daughter. Morning comes and the rescue team with their dogs finds this enclave of zombies. Ben thinks it's going to be over. Cautiously he makes his way out of the cellar, and sees dead zombies at his feet. From a distance, a member of the rescue team...shoots him in the head! He was mistaken for a zombie, after everything he'd been through, and the closing credits roll over images of him getting cremated in a pile of zombies.