Sunday, October 29, 2006

Chapter LXXIX: Detritus

Image of the Day: Powerlines: digital camera + photoshop
Strange things written on scraps of paper around my desk:

[Sheet 1] There is a troll under the bridge
. Linear Underground. Cause of Death: Dividing By Zero. Blue green algae. One way to emphasize something is by making it LARGER. Chthonic. One way to deemphasize something is by making it invisible. 15 meter buttresses. 90 meter spire. 226 foot towers on the west facade. rose window 10 meters in diamter. nave 130 m long. 48 m wide. Notre Dame Cathedral. 16 meter lancet windows. Emperor Palpatine died yesterday after moping around in the corner. The mighty internet said that maybe he was constipated or had Ick.

[Sheet 2] D666. Basilica San Pietro. The Erotic Gherkin (towering innuendo). Hollenbeck. Romanesque. 4:17 AM. Merry Christmas. Happy Birthday. Go to Hell. Insouciance. THE INIQUITIES OF EVIL MEN.

[Sheet 3] Why does blood changes color when it dries? Pain is truth is beauty. [Message to the roommates]
You can't rescue Sudanese refugees. You can't find the cure to cystic fibrosis. You can't clean up toxic waste, or dig up landmines. But you CAN wash the dishes. Do your part to make the world a better place. [Prospective fish names] Quinn, Brian; Abel, Cain; Hamlet, Othello; Lenin, Stalin; Rosencrantz, Guildenstern; Smeagol, Gollum; Prismacolor, Crayola; Sprite, Pepsi; Semicolon, Ampersand.

[Sheet 4] Stupid is as stupid does. Countenance. Insanity pleas are bullshit, but what do I know? I'm crazy, after all. Calligraphic.

[Sheet 5] Shellicopter. Peut-etre. Huh? Babylon. Queen Deuce offsuit. Memento Mori.

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Chapter LXXVIII: Mother Dearest

Image of the Day: My candle from the dollar store
I once surreptitiously watched my mom type in the password to her email account. She had told me to close my eyes, but I only pretended to (this is easy when you're Asian).

J-E-R-R-Y, she clicked laboriously, and I wondered what strange word she was making, until... Hey, that's my name! I remember feeling warm and fuzzy at the time, that Mom used my name as her password, rather than either of my siblings'.

That was several years ago. We don't really like each other anymore (though, supposedly, we still love each other).

My email address is still on her contact list though. At least once a week, she forwards me--and 500 other people--dumb "inspirational" emails. You know the kind I mean. The ones that get passed around so many times that the body is completely unintelligible from all the wierd indenting. Just looking at the mess makes me feel dirty inside, like I'm going to get Internet herpes from touching something that's passed through so many inboxes.

It's been months since I read any of these emails so I only vaguely remember what they say. One of them had a bunch of pictures of teddy bears and was about "true friends" or some schlock. And another one had a 5 megabyte powerpoint file entitled "Is Your Life a Carrot, Egg, or Coffee Bean?"

God damn, it was stupid. When you a boil a carrot, it becomes squishy and weak, so you don't want to be like the carrot. When you boil an egg, it becomes hard and mean, so you don't be like the egg. But when you boil the coffee bean, it gives off a pleasant aroma and becomes even better than before, so you want to be like the coffee bean. The powerpoint file contained some animation to illustrate this trenchant commentary.

Also, most of the emails use the 'Traditional Chinese' character set, which I don't have installed...and wouldn't be able to read even if I did. Just another travail of being trapped halfway between two cultural identities.

So basically, I delete all my mom's emails without opening them. Hotmail being the way it is, I'm unwittingly forced to read the subject lines. The latest was "³oºØ¤ñ³ë ~~ ¤Ó¬r¤F½}!" whatever that means. I thought of Jodie Foster in Contact: "Hidden within the message itself, is the key to deciphering it. We now know the basic equations for true and false..."

She had it easy; aliens from Vega make more sense than my mom.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Chapter LXXVII: Missed Connections

Image of the Day: Completely Unrelated to the PostI went to Bali's Frozen Yogurt last night to get some creamy goodness. My usual selection is vanilla, with a spray of pokies on top (pokies are offbrand m&m's), and a morsel of fudge brownie.

I almost forgot the brownie last night, and only remembered after the line had already moved past it. I had to turn around and lean across two girls scooping skittles and gummy bears, respectively, in order to grasp the claw thingy that would enable me to acquire some of the gooey precious. Reaching out with my arm caused the back of my shirt to ride up slightly, and I think I might have mooned half the store since my jeans are a little low and I didn't have underwear on (it was laundry day). Oops.

I got my fudge brownie though, and really, that's the important thing. The line moved forward and the generically good-looking guy in front of me put his cup on the scale while I glanced at his calves. Nice. "Two forty-four," stated the wiry bald man behind the counter, with a dragon tattoo on his forearm. The guy with nice calves paid with a five, got change, and left. And then it was my turn.
"Two forty-four," stated the wiry bald man behind the counter (with a dragon tattoo on his forearm).

"Huh?" I thought. "But didn't that guy just..." Yes, he did. As it turned out, our orders both weighed exactly 9.76 oz. So that was kind of nifty.

In the end, an unremarkable incident--coincidences happen every day--but it reminded me of the silly things people write in the Missed Connections section of Craig's List. I was picturing it while I walked home today.

----
YOU: Guy at Bali's on Tuesday night. Brown AE polo with white stripes, cargo shorts, flip-flops, nice calves. You got lemon yogurt with Oreo bits and chocolate sprinkles and it came out to $2.44.

I was standing behind you in line.
You might have seen my ass. I got vanilla with pokies and a morsel of fudge brownie and it was exactly $2.44 also. Crazy, huh?

Anyways, you're cute. Let's go for yogurt sometime.
----
Then I thought about it some more. Lemon yogurt with Oreo and chocolate sprinkles? That sounds disgusting.

Friday, October 06, 2006

Chapter CXXI: Matt

“Cute lighter,” I say.
“Shut up. I got a pack of twelve of them for my birthday and pink’s the last color left,” he says. “Anyway, you just suck in really quick, and hold in the smoke for a few seconds. Breathe it in. Then you let it out.”
Matt hands me the cigarette and I bring the filter to my lips as he holds the lighter alarmingly close to my face. The flame flickers wildly in the wind, an epileptic ballerina with one foot nailed to the floor.
It’s my first time smoking and I inhale nervously and then immediately cough, choking on the superheated smoke. I nearly drop the cigarette, but Matt deftly rescues it.
“You have no idea what you’re doing. Give me that before you hurt yourself.”
So much for the iconic post-coital cigarette. I suspect he is less concerned about my well-being than the travesty of "wasting a cigarette."
Even so, I let his hand find mine and, for a moment, we watch the sputtering Christmas lights on the dilapidated house across the street. Matt takes a drag and breathes out slowly, and the smoke hangs in the frigid December air before dispersing like a cloud of tiny white butterflies.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Chapter LXXVI: Kafkaesque

Esoteric--The Metamorphosis, by Franz Kafka

Image of the Day: Floorplan of Samsa Residence






















"When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dream
s, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin." Thus begins Franz Kafka's often parodied, rarely understood monument of absurdist literature.

I had studied it in 12th grade and already knew all the important stuff, so when it was assigned in my English 350 class last week, I spent most of lecture time figuring out the floorplan to Gregor Samsa's apartment instead of listening. A daunting task, to be sure, as details were sparse, vague, and often contradictory (not unlike absurdist literature in general).

The first step was to determine what the major spaces were. The text explicitly mentions Gregor's room (3), Grete's room (6), the living room (9), the kitchen (12), the foyer
(12), and the stairwell (15). Numbers in parentheses refer to pages in the Bantam Classics edition, translated by Stanley Corngold.

The existence of the parents' room is implied. After all, if even Grete--the youngest child--has her own room, then certainly the parents do also, given the norms in 1915. One can also conclude that there are no other major spaces than the ones enumerated above, since after a room is rented out (43), Grete must sleep in the living room (52).


I began the arrangement with Gregor's room, which is described as having "four familiar walls" (3). Gregor accesses the living room directly several times (14, 34, 45) through double doors and Kafka refers to a side door (5) and then the "other side door" (6) for a total of three entrances.


On page 9, Gregor is in his room and hears his father and the manager behind the "door on the left" and Grete, behind the "door on the right." Gregor's mother--also behind the "door on the left" communicates with Grete "by way of Gregor's room" (12). The door on the left is demonstrated to be the door to the living room since Gregor opens it and sees the manager and his father (14) while his sister sobs behind the door on the right (10).

The door on the right is a side door to Grete's room. This would seem to imply that Grete's room does not adjoin the living room, or else Grete would just open that door and shouting through Gregor's room would not be necessary. On the other hand, when Gregor sneaks into the living room in Chapter III (45), the renters are hurriedly shooed from the living room into their own room--which I take to be formerly Grete's room since she was displaced to the living room after they moved in (52).

Thus, I devised the arrangement of doors such that despite being in an adjoining room, someone standing at Gregor's living room door would have to shout through Gregor's room to communicate with someone at the door from Gregor's to Grete's room. This arrangement satisfies the right/left details if we assume Gregor was facing northwest during that scene.

The living room adjoins the foyer and the foyer the stairwell, since Gregor is able to see through the door to the foyer, and into the stairwell (15) while standing in the doorway from his room to the living room. It was tempting to place the foyer and stairwell directly west of Gregor's door, so that the living room door, foyer door, and stairwell door line up horizontally, but this could not be.

The reason is that in Chapter III, when the renters are eating in the living room and Grete begins playing the violin in the kitchen, the renters press their ears to the door from the living room to the foyer, implying that that is the closest they can get to the kitchen (45). Thus, while the living room adjoins the foyer and the foyer adjoins the kitchen, the living room does not adjoin the kitchen. Gregor is able to determine the music is coming from the kitchen as well, indicating his other side door leads to the kitchen (otherwise he would not be able to tell if it was coming from the foyer or the kitchen). Putting the foyer and stairwell on the west side of the living room would necessitate having an unrealistically huge foyer that wraps around the southwest corner in order to meet the kitchen adjoining Gregor's room.

Some indeterminacy exists since when Gregor dies (50), his parents get out of their "marriage bed" (52) and open a door into Gregor's room. Assuming they were not sleeping in the kitchen, that means they were in Grete's room. This indicates that the renters in fact rented out the parents' room, whereupon the parents moved into Grete's room, who was then pushed into the living room. Grete's room, then, no longer necessarily adjoins the living room (since the evidence was the renters being shooed into their room from the living room, and I thought they were living in Grete's room). However, if Grete's room does not adjoin the living room, that would mean the only way for the parents to get into their new room would be through either Gregor's room (not a viable option, all things considered), or through the renters' room, awkward at best.

I also placed a couple windows and bits of furniture.

Whew.