Saturday, December 26, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
9-18-08
Sitting in Warren in front of the post office. there are two white girls talking about food. One is bragging about all the posh spots she's been to. The other claimed she had only been ordering late night pizza and Chinese food: "I LOVE CHINESE!" The other inquires as to her meal. "I had this fried rice and chicken thing, SO GOOD!" Courtney Wu is next to me, I turn to her and mouth the words, "I LOVE CHINESE!" and lick my lips. My God these women are so vain, seriously, the affluence of the students here is sickening, it's not even their affluence that's so bad, it's the affect its had on their attitudes. Being rich doesn't inherently make you a douche/bitch, but it almost does. These people have never seen the rest of America, or the rest of the World, at least not through the eyes of the rest of us. I'm sure they have had more posh vacations and travelled more and further than I ever will but they've viewed the world through the priviledged, tourist, sheltered lense, hardly counts as a knowledge of the world. I've known people who truly believe that the average household income in the U.S. is 100k or more. Six fucking figures, my father is lucky to make 40,000 to support the both of us. these people don't know what saving even means, they splurge, eat out, and burn every fucking -- don't know what I wrote, I guess I was really angry. Every fire drill on campus can be attributed to some dumb bitch burning popcorn, they've never had to take care of themselves. Even a lot of the minorities here are like that. I heard one black girl go "That's why I like being black here, there aren't a lot of us. I don't even feel black anyways." Jesus. They're fucking OCD about their bodies too. I can't count the number of bitches here with eating disorders, or Spartan workout routines and diets. There are more --can't read it-- than their caloric intake for a month. They're so fucking racist, too, or well, that's harsh. They're just ignorant as fuck. Of course there are the rednecks who've never seen black people, I can forgive that, but then there are the super rich kids out of NoVa who have definitely seen black people, they just treat them as a scarey, exotic species of hooligan not to be interacted with. Some are straight scared, other poke fun at their vernacular and mistake it for ignorace. the biggest, most noticable cue as to the racial ignorance is this: NO ONE WILL ACKNOWLEDGE WHITE PRIVILEGE! Oh, for God's sake, people! Black people don't keep themselve down, nor do brown people. There is a fucking system in place that the people here just refuse to acknowledge. Whatver, fucking pawns, sheep, dicks, what have you. At least I know what's up. END RANT.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Freewrite 9-16-08
I'm chillin in the east campus library, the so-called "ECL." This place owns, the third floor, has study rooms with white board. The common areas have super comfy couches and chairs. There's a Java City on the main floor. There are a ton of PCs and Macs and multiple PC labs. Naturally I'm here with a bunch of asians. By a bunch I mean a ton. It's interesting really that people walk by and take note. A similarly large group of white people goes unnoticed but we are noticed more so. Can't blame 'em, we are called minorities for a reason. I've been in here every weeknight sans Fridays, studying Pychology. It's rather interesting stuff, but it's quite longwinded. I get bored easily because I know quite a bit of it, just not all, mainly the little stuff, details, including the cruicial details. I have a tendency to shun an entire section or zone out if I read something I already know, in the process missing important information. I've no problem at all, however, comprehending principles as a whole. God I'm hopeless. I'm interested in the idea of everything but completely put off by the details of anything. Well, I'm done now anyways. I'm just sitting here with Karen, rea, and Diana while I write. Rez is down on the PCs. Actually she just came back up, so I guess I'm done. Dipset.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Most people...
...see me as the kind of guy who always seems to say the right thing at the right time. Sometimes smart, sometimes witty, sometimes funny, all the time well said. They think I spend my days reading, thinking, contemplating the world and observing people. I'm middle of the path, never make a wrong decision.
Sure, that's part of me, but the real me remains a child playing with toys and imagining a world outside, or even inside my reality. As a youngster I played with Legos, but I didn't just build things, I created universes. My Lego planes had pilots with names, ranks, individual voices and characteristics. My Legos were drenched in spit from my constantly making machine gun noises and the like, but also from my mock stories, full dialogue with consistent characterizations.
My stuffed animals were much the same. One of my favorites was a tiny panda with a Santa hat that my Ate Margie gave me. It had short hair and was constantly covered in lint and drool (from me sleeping with it) and I named it Furry (I guess in a sort of primitive ironic sense, given fur was the last thing you could call it's covering). I could have conversations with hours with Furry, my mother would observe the fluctuation in my voice when switching characters.
One might imagine a mature college student to have outgrown these stages but, alas, old habits die hard. Sure, I've gone from changing the tone of my voice to changing my accent, and I've ditched the toys for imagining arguments between a gangsta-me and a douche bag or imagined myself talking with Genghis Khan, but I'm the same kid, sitting in my old room with my eyes closed in another world.
Now, I've found a woman, and you might think I'd drop it for real but, again folks, old habits die hard. Fortunately these habits need not die, because I've found a woman with an imagination just as rich, if not richer. We each brought a favorite stuffed animal to school this year. Hers: a black panther, mine: a huge bottle-nosed dolphin a la sea world. Neither had names, but upon arrival they became Isabella Esperanza (Izzy) and Samuel (Sammy). At first they just adopted the names we had thought of for possible children (don't judge, you all do it too!), but they soon became much much more.
They became little kids, perhaps how we were when we were children, or perhaps how we imagine our progeny to be, but they became real, they became ours. Izzy is the sassy older sister, independent, strong-willed, ready to joke, but equally ready to lend a helping hand. Sammy is the easily influenced younger brother, sensitive to Izzy's snaps but friendly and protective of family.
It didn't even end there, a tiny origami crane smaller than my pinky nail became Rily, a tiny younger sibling whose name stands for Reza I Love You. An ugly origami frog became Hippity, and a smaller, but much cooler looking and jump-able origami frog became Hoppity, a favorite playmate of my girlfriend's through boring lectures. An origami mouse became Bonafacio the reading mouse, his time spent folded up in books as a place marker has left him with an endless knowledge of the world and hunger for all things book. Hell, we even have a retarded child with no name, a green balloon I stole from JMU's clubhouse, that somehow still has air in it despite being months old.
I once received a phone call from my girl when I was with family. She asked me who was taking care of Izzy and I told her, "It can take care of itself, it's a cat." Without even thinking, I had given into my fear of being ridiculed. Just being around people who could possibly judge me had compromised my character. I realized it too late, I listened, seemingly in slow motion, as the words slipped out of my mouth but too late. She hang up, agitated and annoyed.
I love them, I really do. They're as much a part of what makes me me as my jokes, my computing, my gaming, my writing, my education, my friends, my family, and especially my woman. Oftentimes I'm confronted by how silly it may seem to others, how crazy I might look, but fuck it. I've made the mistake of dismissing them as mere child's play, and I'll never do it again, because I'm nothing without my imagination. I won't abandon Izzy, Sammy, Bonafacio, Lt. LegoMan, or even retarded green balloon just to fit in.
Sure, that's part of me, but the real me remains a child playing with toys and imagining a world outside, or even inside my reality. As a youngster I played with Legos, but I didn't just build things, I created universes. My Lego planes had pilots with names, ranks, individual voices and characteristics. My Legos were drenched in spit from my constantly making machine gun noises and the like, but also from my mock stories, full dialogue with consistent characterizations.
My stuffed animals were much the same. One of my favorites was a tiny panda with a Santa hat that my Ate Margie gave me. It had short hair and was constantly covered in lint and drool (from me sleeping with it) and I named it Furry (I guess in a sort of primitive ironic sense, given fur was the last thing you could call it's covering). I could have conversations with hours with Furry, my mother would observe the fluctuation in my voice when switching characters.
One might imagine a mature college student to have outgrown these stages but, alas, old habits die hard. Sure, I've gone from changing the tone of my voice to changing my accent, and I've ditched the toys for imagining arguments between a gangsta-me and a douche bag or imagined myself talking with Genghis Khan, but I'm the same kid, sitting in my old room with my eyes closed in another world.
Now, I've found a woman, and you might think I'd drop it for real but, again folks, old habits die hard. Fortunately these habits need not die, because I've found a woman with an imagination just as rich, if not richer. We each brought a favorite stuffed animal to school this year. Hers: a black panther, mine: a huge bottle-nosed dolphin a la sea world. Neither had names, but upon arrival they became Isabella Esperanza (Izzy) and Samuel (Sammy). At first they just adopted the names we had thought of for possible children (don't judge, you all do it too!), but they soon became much much more.
They became little kids, perhaps how we were when we were children, or perhaps how we imagine our progeny to be, but they became real, they became ours. Izzy is the sassy older sister, independent, strong-willed, ready to joke, but equally ready to lend a helping hand. Sammy is the easily influenced younger brother, sensitive to Izzy's snaps but friendly and protective of family.
It didn't even end there, a tiny origami crane smaller than my pinky nail became Rily, a tiny younger sibling whose name stands for Reza I Love You. An ugly origami frog became Hippity, and a smaller, but much cooler looking and jump-able origami frog became Hoppity, a favorite playmate of my girlfriend's through boring lectures. An origami mouse became Bonafacio the reading mouse, his time spent folded up in books as a place marker has left him with an endless knowledge of the world and hunger for all things book. Hell, we even have a retarded child with no name, a green balloon I stole from JMU's clubhouse, that somehow still has air in it despite being months old.
I once received a phone call from my girl when I was with family. She asked me who was taking care of Izzy and I told her, "It can take care of itself, it's a cat." Without even thinking, I had given into my fear of being ridiculed. Just being around people who could possibly judge me had compromised my character. I realized it too late, I listened, seemingly in slow motion, as the words slipped out of my mouth but too late. She hang up, agitated and annoyed.
I love them, I really do. They're as much a part of what makes me me as my jokes, my computing, my gaming, my writing, my education, my friends, my family, and especially my woman. Oftentimes I'm confronted by how silly it may seem to others, how crazy I might look, but fuck it. I've made the mistake of dismissing them as mere child's play, and I'll never do it again, because I'm nothing without my imagination. I won't abandon Izzy, Sammy, Bonafacio, Lt. LegoMan, or even retarded green balloon just to fit in.
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