11-30-02 12:34 AM
I made a small change to my poem, Delay, if you care. Now it makes slightly more sense.
11-30-02 12:21 AM
Like at least one of my fellow webmasters (see his November 3rd post), I love watches; not coincidentally, they are the subject of today's post.
As a gift from my grandparents, I ordered a new watch today: The Swatch Diaphane Automatic "Gravitation". I think that this watch will serve well as an less formal alternative to my ESQ 9500SLX, which has been my only watch since my Bar-Mitzvah. However, in some ways, this new watch is superior to my older timepiece. While most watches, like most people, try to make up for a lack of substance by maintaining a pretty appearance, this watch proudly flaunts its internals for all to see; the 21 jewel automatic movement is visible both through the small window on the front, and through the clear, or "skeleton", back.
(For all of you non-watch-aficionados, an automatic movement is a mechanical movement that is wound by bodily movement; as long as the person wearing the watch keeps ticking, it keeps ticking. Although not as accurate as a quartz movement, automatics make up for their lack of accuracy with their mechanical beauty. At least I think so.)
Anyway, don't you wish that more people were like this watch: it is not out to fool anyone; from one look, you can tell what makes it tick. But, no, most people, not unlike most watches, hide their guts from view, inside some fancy titanium / carbon fiber shell, ashamed that they are powered by the human equivalent of a 50 cent Chinese quartz movement. I know that I, for one, belong to that ignoble category of shell-wearing losers.
But maybe you are better.
I ask you: would you be confident enough to show off your internals? Unless you are one of a select few (like my new watch), the answer, I suspect, is resounding "no".
11-29-02 3:20 AM
I just came back from a walk.... wow the world is different at 3 AM. Surprisingly, though, there were people outside. I guess that they were just finishing their Thanksgiving parties or something. Anyway, I wanted to make a post about pain, since what motivated me to take a walk at 3 am is a whopper of a headache, but I can't really think of anything to say. Pain sucks.
I realize that that was a pointless Blog-esque post, but I can't think of anything else to do at 3 AM; nobody is on AIM, nobody updated their websites, and I can't watch TV (I don't want to wake up my family).
So have fun sleeping. Now that I took Excedrin, I won't be doing any of that, so I'll go revel in some delirium-inducing agony. Goodnight.
11-28-02 6:15 PM
Damnit … it’s back. I know that it is back because I have returned to my old habits.
I have again reached a state so low that I now voluntarily do activities which I don’t enjoy, just to stop thinking. For example, today, I played pool with Kangho. I hate playing pool; I suck at it. Playing against Kangho is particularly painful, since he is really good. As I thought about going, I knew that all that would result was frustration, aggravation, and loss after loss after loss. But I went anyway. Why? Well, I will do anything to distract myself. Because when I am not distracted, I start to think. And think and think and think... I’m slowly driving myself insane. Since my thoughts won’t go away on their own, I drown them in meaningless activities. But although I kill as much time as I can, there is always more of it waiting for me, smirking.
And so I slip farther and farther. You’d better hope that I regain a foothold soon, or else I fear that time isn’t the only thing that I will be killing.
Ok, ok, maybe that’s an exaggeration. But doesn’t it sound really cool? I think it does.
On that cheerful note, I’d like to post something which I wrote while in ISS a few weeks ago. It is titled: On Human Speciation. I tried to get it put in the school newspaper, but someone thinks that it is inappropriate. I don't see how, but whatever.
Also, while trying to figure out where to post it, I realized that I needed a section more general than Philosophy. So I added a section called Prose, and made Philosophy a subsection of that.
Enjoy.
11-28-02 12:11 AM
Happy Thanksgiving.
That being said, I wrote a short poem, titled Delay, which I will probably expand later. I posted it on my newly revised poetry section, for anybody you cares.
Now for today's actual post.
Today, I realized today that I need to be depressed in order to be able to write well.
For reasons not entirely known, even to me, I came out of my weeks-long quasi-depression today. For those of you who were blissfully ignorant of my emotional state, yes, I have not been myself lately. Well, I'm back. And you know what? I CAN'T WRITE. Without the fuel that a state of hopelessness provides, I have nothing to go on; I just can't write. In order to complete the meager substitute for a poem that I mentioned earlier in this post, I actually had to force myself to feel depressed. (This wasn't too hard, I just though about my life.)
So, being that I can't write right now, I'll stop. But check back often: I have a special post coming soon.
11-26-02 7:40 PM
I must give credit where credit is due: The idea for my previous post was originally Jono's. Being that he is an attention hungry egomaniac, he made me acutely aware of my failure to cite him. So here it is Jono.
11-26-02 7:09 PM
Although I vowed to never let this website degenerate into a filthy blog, I am forced today to make a blog-esque post. Why? Because what happened to me today is representative of my entire life.
I strode into school today, as usual, feeling pretty good about myself. Like I always do, I strutted about, acting pretty arrogantly, and making my usual inflammatory wisecracks. After some time, however, I became aware that the entire school seemed to smell like shit. So I thought, in my usual accusatory manner, that the smell came from the fact that the school is, in fact, and decrepit shit-hole. And now we get to why today represents my life: The smell came from me, as I had apparently managed to step in the rankest dog-shit pile known to man on my way to school.
So there you have it: my life; I stroll around insulting other things and other people, and I have shit on my shoes.
And it gets better.
So I changed into my gym sneakers, and rinsed most of the dog shit off of my favorite shoes. Not being able to really get them clean, I deposited the soiled footwear into a thick, opaque plastic bag, and sealed it tight. Of course, being that I am as absentminded as a certain physics teacher we all know an love, I left the bag in the cafeteria after lunch. When I went back to pick them up, I discovered to my amusement and chagrin, that SOMEBODY HAD STOLEN MY SHIT-SMEARED SHOES.
Ok, ok, I don’t actually know if they were stolen, but either that or they were thrown out. Either way, I lost my favorite shoes.
So there you really have it: my life; I stroll around insulting other things and other people, and I have shit on my shoes, and then I lose them.
I’m sorry, I just had to get that off my chest.
11-25-02 1:00 AM
I have added a new Philosophy section to my page. I am sorry for the grandiloquent title, but I could think of nothing better to name it. I just thought that I should separate my specific analyses of particular topics from general observations and musings on life. This section will have a different format than the rest of my site. I will divide it into discrete topics, and will not update them on any regular schedule. Also, if I make a general post and later decide that it belongs in the Philosophy section, I will repost it there. So enjoy, but do so on an intellectual level, for I guarantee that the Philosophy section will not be funny.
11-24-02 5:59 PM
Jedwin took this personality test and posted his results. I'm sorry .. I just couldn't resist doing the same. By the way ... I wasn't surprised at all.
11-24-02 2:11 PM
I hate college applications.
Yes, I know … Everybody hates college applications. But if you are anything like an average person, my hatred is deeper that yours. You hate them because they are tedious, because they are daunting, and because you are afraid. I hate them because I understand that they are inadequate.
I know that when some bureaucratic admissions officer reads my application, he will misinterpret me. He will look at my high SATs and low GPA and say, “This is an average kid who studied really hard for his test.” The only way that he could be farther from the truth would be if he said, “Wow, this kid really loves college applications.” So they claim that the essay will really show who the applicant is. Yeah right. If I wrote that I really love school, and that my only goal in life is to please my teachers, they would really have no way of disproving me. All I would need to do would be to carefully select teachers that hardly knew me for my recommendations, and the colleges would never find out that I am a school-hating, disrespectful jerk. So they try to make up for the essay’s unreliability by recommending an interview. True, it is harder to lie in person than in writing; it is also true, however, that most people are completely inept at judging truthfulness. I am going to make a leap of faith and say that the people in charge of admissions are not idiots; this being the case, they know that the essay and interviews are basically worthless, and rely on numerical evaluations for most of their decision making. Regardless of what propaganda they publish that they really care about the whole person, the only way that they can remain fair is by heavily weighting the numerical scores. And being that numerical scores often fail to convey a reasonable picture of an applicant, the entire college admissions process is flawed.
By this point you might be thinking, “Stop bitching. If you’re so fucking smart, why don’t you come up with a better idea.”
Well, I can’t. That is the problem. There is no way to accurately judge an applicant’s merit while maintaining a reasonable workload for the admissions department.
However, ignoring reasonability, there is an ideal method for judging an applicant: spying. By covertly observing an applicant while they were still in school, the admissions officer could develop a vivid picture of that person. However, this observation would have to go on for a number of months, because it would be unfair to extrapolate a person’s entire character based on a mere glance. Furthermore, the candidate would need to be monitored by multiple observers, to eliminate the possibility of bias. Only after a long discussion involving all the observers could a justifiable decision be made about any particular applicant.
When this ideal scenario is compared to what is now being used, the inadequacy of the current system is made glaring. However, the current system is already too time-consuming and tedious, so it would be ridiculous to make it more comprehensive.
So what is my point? My point is that college applications are incorrigibly flawed. They are unending, torturous time-vacuums, and yet, they are nowhere near detailed enough. Therefore, being that they cannot be fixed, and cannot be abolished, there is only one thing left to do. And I do this thing with passion.
I hate college applications.
11-21-02 10:28 PM
Today, as I do almost every day, I took a long walk through Frost Woods. Now, I know that Frost Woods is more accurately called a landfill than a forest, but the physical surroundings are unimportant. I don’t even see the scenery; the important thing is what else I don’t see: people. It is this solitude that has a powerful effect on me.
When I am isolated, all emotional ambiguity disappears; anything I feel, I feel extremely. Because there are no distractions, my mind is fee to race; to analyze my past; to speculate about my future. Obviously, I won’t elaborate upon what exactly it is that I think about; it is, however, my only opportunity to think about these things so fully. My thoughts are unadulterated by the expectations of those around me, nor are they abbreviated by remembrances of my responsibilities; I am isolated both from other people and from the rest of my life.
I was made particularly aware of the effect that isolation has on me, today, when it was suddenly broken. Usually, the transition from by thoughts to reality is gradual; today, however, I was unceremoniously jerked back out of my mind by the ringing of my cell phone. The transition was remarkable. While only seconds before, I was wallowing in utter hopelessness (my thoughts are actually quite disconcerting), I was now back to normal, and had forgotten why exactly I was just pre-suicidal. I don’t think that I can accurately convey the extent of that instantaneous change here, but trust me, it was incredible.
The point is, if you want to know how you really feel about something, to find out what it really means to you, you have to think about it while away. Away from your friends, away from your responsibilities, away from your life. You have to be completely alone.
I know that every self-help quack says that “You might find out something about yourself that you never knew”, but in this case, the cliché is true.
So take a walk… just not in Frost Woods. You don’t want to encounter the real me.
11-20-02 8:04 PM
In school today, I was reminded of the complexity of a seemingly simple tradition.
Some group, presumable in order to raise money, was selling flowers (quite successfully, in fact). Obviously, males were supposed to buy these flowers and give them to females (don't even start your feminist crap ... you know that I am right). Anyway, many guys did buy flowers to bestow upon their female of choice, and, expectedly, the girls seemed to welcome this gesture.
Now, on the surface, it all seems to make sense; superficially, flowers are beautiful, so why wouldn't a girl enjoy receiving one. However, digging down one level reveals a preposterous aspect of flowers-giving. Flowers, in fact, are the reproductive organs of plants. They are severed plant genitalia. How's that for romance.
Imagine if, instead of plants, we chose animals for this tradition. Can't you just see the glowing smile of love on that special someone's face as you hand her the disembodied penis and testicles of a donkey. Or perhaps she would swoon with ecstasy at the sight of a dissected dog uterus, floating merrily in a preservative solution. I think not.
It would be naive, however, to end our analysis here; if the practice of giving flowers is merely ridiculous and repulsive, then why is it practiced all over the world. The answer is found by digging further.
The purpose of giving flowers to a girl is to win her affection. And although we often try to distance ourselves from our baser instincts, we must admit that the ultimate purpose of winning her affections is reproduction. I won't attempt to prove this here, as it has been done; so don't be mad at me for stating the obvious. I'm just science's messenger; I'll let the romantics and dreamers toy with the concept of pure love.
Anyway, if the goal is to get the girl in bed with you, then you have to suggest sex .. but only suggest it. And that is the purpose of the flower. While a blatant picture of human reproductive organs would get you a slap on the face, a flower, which imitates both in form and function the human reproductive system will do the trick.
If you don't believe me that a flower looks like its human reproductive counterparts, look to the art world for proof. O'Keefe's paintings show the flower as the female organ, while Mapplethorpe's controversial photographs show it mirroring the male's.
So there you have it, the seemingly simple flower: On the surface beautiful; under the skin, grotesque; at its core, erotic.
11-19-02 7:32 PM
Something occurred today that has made it clear to me that I must change the basic purpose of this young website.
Today, I was reminded that being funny on command is excruciatingly difficult; it is best left to those who are naturally inclined to do so.
This realization occurred after school, at Clarion, when I was told to write something for the humor section. At first, I was supposed to write about "senioritis", but this has been "done to death" (as has been this very phrase). In light of my incessant whining about being forced to write on such an overused topic, I was granted the opportunity to pick my own subject. The only criteria, said "The Leader" (Asya ... I'm just joking), was that it is supposed to be humorous.
Oh boy.
Instantly, my mood went from light-hearted to miserably depressed (my mood-swings put PMS to shame). The only thing that I found even remotely amusing at that moment was that everybody in the room was blissfully ignorant of the meaninglessness of their existences (see yesterday's first post for elaboration). But it wasn't "ha-ha" funny; I wanted to cry. It ruined my day. The more I tried to think of something funny, the darker my world-view got. Everything that once amused me seemed frivolities, and all I could think about was that life is useless. But I still wanted to be funny. In fact, I tried so hard to think of a humorous idea that I developed a throbbing headache, which I promptly smothered with Excedrin. Only under the artificial stimulation of Caffeine did I recover from my temporary depression.
What's the point, you ask? Well ... the point is that humor can't be forced. The harder you try to be funny, the less you will succeed. I mean, sure, it might work for a short while, but you'll soon run out of ideas, and this will only make you bitter and depressed.
As you have probably surmised by now, this has already happened to me. Unlike some people, I am not naturally funny. Sure, I can get a reaction from a crowd, but it is not because I am humorous; according to most, I am more accurately described as disturbing. Therefore, I'm dropping the act. Instead of shamelessly imitating Jedwin and Jon, who have impressively managed to maintain a decent level of self-deprecatory humor for many months, I will take my own course. Occasionally, I might produce something that you may find humorous, such as my letter to Jed; however, don't expect this everyday. Instead, I will post exactly what is on my mind, regardless of what particular mood I am in. Although such a juxtaposition of gravity and facetiousness may be awkward, I will trust that my precious-few readers have the mental faculties required to distinguish one from the other.
So, if you are here expecting potty jokes and sexual innuendo, you will find some, but on the whole, you will be disappointed; however, if you are actually interested in how I think (I know that this list of people is barely existent), check back often. In all seriousness, it may be beneficial for you to experience the world from my perspective. I may be strange, but I'm not stupid; there is usually some merit to what I write.
So, disagree with me if you want, but ignore me at your own risk.
11-18-02 9:43 PM
Completely ruining the serious nature of today's previous post, here is an open letter to everyone's favorite flip/flit, Jedwin.
11-18-02 7:18 PM
The purpose of art is to "hold a mirror up to nature." If this is true, then nothing I have read recently is art. For my life is nothing like the books I read. They are interesting, they are dynamic, they are alive. Paradoxically, my life is dead; it's gray, it's bland, it's nothing. And it will always be so. When I tried to make my life interesting, to make it like a book, I was faced with the inevitable: failure. In attempting to do so I was only deceiving myself. We have to realize that our lives will never be like those in a book. Never. Ignorantly, we suffer though each worthless section of our lives, clinging to the irrational hope that the next segment will be meaningful, will be fulfilling. And guess what? It never is, and never will be. You'll finish High School, and then what? Do you think college will be any better? Do you think that, at that point, life will somehow cease to be worthless. Keep dreaming. Just as you now hate school and look forward to college, you will hate college and look forward to a "real" job. And you will graduate, and you will find work. But will it be meaningful? Will you finally be content? No. So you'll slave away for decades, looking forward to retirement as your perpetual summer break. You'll tell yourself "finally I'll be able to be myself ... no worries .. I'll soak up the sun." Bullshit. You'll be 65, probably in failing health. There will be no summertime bliss, no youthful joy ... just dotage, and the inevitability of death. But NO, that won't shake your insufferable optimism; you'll think that there will be something to look forward to in death. You'll lie on your death bed and wait for some moment of realization, wait for your ascension to God. But you'll experience nothing but a moment of pain, and then ...
11-18-02 12:07 AM
Yeah ... it's tomorrow ... wait ... that doesn't make any sense does it. Oh well.
11-17-02 9:09 PM
WOW. I just realized that all my dates were wrong. Boy do I feel like a fucking idiot.
Yes, I know that this is my fourth post today, but I have to make up for lost time. Also, I have another reason for posting this often ... read on.
Well ... the grotesque welt on my head is swelling to epic proportions. Soon I'll draw a happy face on it and call it Mr. Haney.
Those of you who care (that is read "nobody") will notice that Jedwin is bitching about how my and Shankar's posts are more interesting than his. You will also notice that the length of Jed's posts have increased dramatically since the introduction of these two upstarts. Jedwin ... are you trying to compensate for something. Lack of quality, perhaps? Well, I have a deal for you ... if you fight me, I'll make Shankar stop positing. Deal?
Man, do I hate college apps! I'll use this website as an excuse not to do them, and then I'll blame Jed and Jon for giving me the idea. And then I'll kill them. Yeah ... that's what I'll do.
Also ... there is a new, wondrous gateway into my soul posted on my poems page. It is from 5th grade ... enjoy.
Back to the fucking Columbia app ... bye.
11-17-02 7:55 PM
I am officially a fucking idiot. I just did the stupidest fucking thing ever .... EVER. I was trying to open a door, but instead, I smashed the door into my forehead. Now I have a huge fucking welt, the size of a goddamn golf ball. It looks like I have some sort of horrible cancer on my fucking face. FUCK. I'll just tell people that it was from a fight with a seven foot tall black guy ... and that I killed him.... yeah ... that will work.
Also ... I misrepresented Jon's philosophy.. it turns out that he hates himself, not just everyone else. Sorry for making you seem a better person than your despicable self.
11-17-02: 5:15 PM
There are some people (Jon) who take the completely unreasonable attitude of hating everyone except themselves. Being the reasonable person that I am, I take a far more human approach: I hate everyone except two people, including myself. As long as I leave room for one other non-hated person, I retain the possibility that I will not end up like a certain physics teacher whom we all know and love.
On to things that make sense: DDR. Wow, I love DDR. I know, I know ... I'm not allowed to play DDR because I am not Asian. I apologize. But since I play Ultimate Frisbee, I think that I am entitled to participate in other Asian activities. Anyway, DDR is great. This "morning", I was awakened at ~1:30, and forced to go play at Sports 'n Stuff. There is nothing more rewarding than running in place until you feel like you're going to throw up... really ... nothing at all. But it's really embarrassing when you can't do a song, so you quit, and some 11 year old Asian kid completes the song for you. God-damn squinty-eyes ... taking over the country .. I'll show them. Never mind.
On a pragmatic note... my links page is no longer retarded, since it now opens the link in the top frame, not in the little frame on the right.. sorry about that.
About my hip-flask ... wow ... I love the thing. I don't even have to drink from it; just having it my jacket pocket makes me feel better. I wholeheartedly recommend buying a hip flask to everyone.
In other news, I realized that I am completely addicted to endorphins; if I don't go to the Gym, I feel like shit. It doesn't even matter that I'm so fucking weak that I'm out-benched by middle aged women ... I still enjoy it.
So, I'm off to do college applications .. the fucking pieces of lumpy shit ... I'll kill those dirty fucking bastards ... never mind.
Oh ... and if you think that I overuse "..." ... well ... "fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you're cool, FUCK YOU ... I'm out."
11-17-02
Getting my inspiration from the absolutely terrible websites of Jedwin and Jonathan (see my links), I have decided to write about my life on my page.
First of all, yeah ... I got a 1600 ... and I'm proud of it ... and, yes, I am bragging. And Mr. Kenny, maybe I will tattoo it on my chest, and maybe I will have it engraved on my tomb, and maybe it will be what I use as a pickup line.
To congratulate myself (as this is the only sincere type of congratulation), I bought myself a hip-flask. It's shiny, metal, and now is full of whisky. I bought it at Brookstone. In fact, I wanted so badly to get away from my computer, that I was willing to drive 40 minutes each way in the rain just to buy a flask. It's really cool ... it came with a funnel to fill it, and shot glasses to drink from. Anyway, now I can drown my sorrows whenever I want, not just when I'm at home.
On to other things ... college apps are an absolute bitch. I want to hack the Columbia website, and then I want to hack apart the person that decided to make their application contain a nearly-infinite amount of little essays. Anyway, hopefully they will ignore my GPA and my arrogance, and focus exclusively on my amazing and wonderful 1600. Yeah ... that's right ... I made it bold ... because I'm an asshole.
I started a new poem today. It's about rain. What a surprise ... have you been outside ... it feels like London out there. Hopefully, I'll finish it tomorrow night, and I'll post it on the poems section of my site. Oh, and if you think that my poems are shittier than those of an average whining teenage girl, well, FUCK YOU. I hope that my flagrant use of profanity will get my site banned by the school. I don't need my teachers reading it.
So there ... my first shitty post ... unfortunately, it will all go downhill from here.