Hear/Say

“the Random House Treasury of Best-Loved Poems”…

There was a young lady of Ryde, Who are some green apples and died;
The apples fermented
Inside the lamented,
And made cider inside her inside.
By anonymous

Graceee

The garage sale was fantastic– in the context of profit. People were surprisingly snide about how my clothes wouldn’t them (there were a lot of “if I were twenty years younger…” “if I were as tiny as you are…”), but I assumed that was an attempt at self-deprecation rather than a rude display of defense against innate jealousy.

Men looking for tools didn’t find what they wanted; although, I did sell a snowboard + shoes to a dude who was buying for his son. Sweet.

In this semi-purge (it was a great purge, but I say semi– because the mass in my closet seems to have stayed the same), the spiritually liberating process of shedding belongings is bittersweet; I find it rather odd that my relationship with items has sort of weirded me out because I’m selling them to other people. When a person places their hands on something I (used to) own, and I see it from a stranger’s perspective– rather than That-Shirt-I-Bought-That-Year-Because-Of-This or I-Remember-That-Summer/Winter/Spring/Fall– well, the memories sort of get in the way of realizing that they’re just objects, and that the sentiments I create are my life, rather than ‘its’ life. To them, the item is reduced to aesthetic and practical value, compressed into how much of a bargain it is (everything was practically $1). Anyway, when you’re left with what you think you need versus a superfluous silo of junk, it’s like the spirit of your past has resurrected itself and embodied itself in the stack of science-fiction and fantasy novels lining your desk, your packed itself into your bookcases, hanging themselves in your closet.

And in these flashes of memories, the replay and rewind of instances in your mind inevitably attracts the concept of mortality; that time passes, that we grow old, that certain items of yours become living thoughts of your life because of how they have accompanied you through the ups and downs and the unexpecteds… you begin thinking of items that could guard you through your future, your unknowns. What you will pass on as part of your legacy… to the unthinkable heirs and grandchildren whose spirits lurk beyond the pale of the present.

My mom’s vintage Rolex… it might be real. Even if my dad used to make watches and made boku bucks on being a watch salesmen/designer back in the day in Taipei– I can see him making this grand gesture.

Cartoonishly, stereotypically Asian, I’ve remembered this rice-cooker box my entire life. It’s always been our photo-box, where we store the multitudes of pictures that date back to my parent’s youth. Probably because it’s a sturdy, nicely square size– I don’t even think we still have that rice cooker. Cos it’s white. Ours is an olive green, hahaha.

The camera of my youth… my parents have used this camera since forever. Still in great condition… we used to drive to the arboretum behind my grandparent’s house in Illinois and take pictures in the park in the fall.

New things to make your own: I found this adorable night light at the goodwill, and it feels like something I’ll have forever…

GPOYW on a Monday. Dressing up for kicks and giggles. I love this shawl I scored at a Goodwill a few months back; others were skeptical of the purchase, but it’s such a bright, burnt gold with a fully endowed fringe… too FUN!

My jewelry box runneth over… but it’s not filled with jewelry. I found some cute perfume samplers in a bag of my sister’s stuff in the garage, and my diploma for UW is still rolled up and chillin’– I haven’t actually seen it yet! I think just having it is enough. The small wooden panel on the left with Chinese on it was from a very old Japanese temple in HuaLien, Taiwan. A guy was writing Buddhist scripts out and whatever you choose, he relates it to you in a way to give you a sort of fortune/ future advice. I won’t go into the meaning because it’s too heavy and deep.

Found in the rice-cooker-box-of-memories, a photograph of my dad in his white VW that he drove across the country with my grandparents.

My very first trophy, bestowed for winning third place in a poetry contest in 5th grade. Apparently the ballad of “BOB, who needs a JOB” was a semi-success with the judges. I didn’t win anything but the trophy; strangely enough, they awarded my teacher with 25$. My grandpa gave me $20 for winning, and because he loves me.

A Don Quixote wooden figurine I found at Goodwill…

My aunt made this for me, without measurements! She’s a seamstress, and is probably the most stylish out of everyone on my dad’s side. I love the print… so Miro-esque!

Since I was little I had always wanted to live in a library… so since I was little I’ve been collecting the books I’ve read. Especially Piers Anthony books– a sort of geeky, dorky thing to do as his fantasy novels are primarily based on puns. My friend’s mom totally digs him too, and I have an autograph and letter from him instructing me on my “thees” “thous” and “thines”…

I guess I’m sort of at the point where I could always go shopping, but I wouldn’t really buy anything anymore. My shop-cceptable quota is thoroughly saturated, which is a good thing, but I still have an addiction to VHS tapes and books. Anyway, it’s been strange realizing which items I will want forever and that mean so much to me– even if they’re just things. Personal symbols of a lifetime. It’s cheesy, but surprisingly comforting.

Graceee

Recently, the luxury goods industry has reached out to those with irresistible urges t0 recklessly slide credit cards everywhere– as well as title the campaign as a public service announcement. Not only do they call it that; it’s reblogged as such by influential bloggers JAK & JIL as well as Bryanboy. The loophole to call consumers to arms as a public service? It’s supporting the retail industry that ranks as the second largest industry in New York City:

The goal of Fashion’s Night Out is to celebrate and support the fashion and retail industries with full-price shopping.

Not only does this sound like BS to me, this sounds like BS to me.

I was also mistaken: this is a global celebration. Aka: luxury goods holding companies and department store empires (see: Nordstrom) see fit to pull together in a giant “Gee public, you’re stupid” stunt to  ”celebrate fashion” as a good service. This is terrifying. While New York City is a focal point for this “global celebration” to occur, Bellevue’s own Nordstrom is taking part while inviting “prodigious tweeter Lily Jang” to join as special VIP guest. And there’s going to be tweet trivia, oh boy.

While the “PSA” for New York City does mention charities for the 9/11 memorial and a city-wide clothing drive, I don’t trust the “good” of supporting an industry– it’s not like the banks or financial service industries can pull a thing like this. And who says the rest of this “global celebration” will have any charity to represent, rather than “THE GOOD OF EMPLOYEES OF THE FASHION INDUSTRY?”

Why isn’t anyone doing something for newspapers, or a functional news system?

PHUNK.

Graceee

PS: On the “positive spin” of things, it’s ingenious. Bloggers would reblog the term, and because the organization of these powerful companies officially use it, it would naturally be assumed that it is, in spirit, for the good of… people. It’s the profit that leaves the bad taste in my mouth– especially because many others are suffering as well.

Coincidentally, stumbled upon this! (“coincidentally”, referring to my previous post on two Batman movies)

Waaah!

Graceee

Today I had a discussion about high school reunions with a neighbor/ g-sale patron. He was telling me how the 20-year was the big “gasp!” of high school reunions, while I suggested that perhaps the gasp has been stifled, now that we’re already on the up-and-up on everyone’s lives via FB statuses, photos, profile pix, etc.. So maybe reunions will be kaput, once everyone already knows the gossip, and doesn’t want to spend the time to talk about what they discovered on Facebook IRL… ?

Yes, this is another FB post. But it’s lolz ish. Promize.

via peterandrewhart.com

Andrew Hart is an old classmate of mine from UW– impressively, he is part of the Seattle Times New Digital Media Dept. Ah, successful youth.

Graceee

I can’t help but reblog this fantastic fellow shot by the Sartorialist. Can’t tear my eyes away. I’m not even usually one for bling, but… he dunnit so gooooood…!

yum yum.

Graceee

So lately, being unemployed and bored, I’ve taken to watching dozens of movies in my cave of a room. Cave!? I should say comfy den; now that I have my own bathroom, I don’t have to leave My Premises.

Also, been celebrating the VHS. Because you can get any movie made before Star Wars Episode II (which is why I can’t find it anywhere on VHS), and flicks created in that great era are usually more interesting and sophisticated on the story-telling level anyhow (this is a giant blanket statement; although, I can definitely say that Adam Sandler’s movies have only gone downhill from Billy Madison, which– even as a celebrated movie– is sort of sad. I guess the baby-talk just wears people out). PS: not all of these are on VHS.

Batman
Starring Michael Keaton as Batman/Bruce Wayne, Jack Nicholson as The Joker and villan-turned-Joker Jack Napier, and Kim Basinger as the geeky but sexually appealing freelance photographer Vicki Vale.

Michael Keaton has pouchy lips.

It really works with the old school Batman costume– think of how well Christian Bale does it with the new Batman gear– his lips are pretty sharp (as are his teeth); his nose is pretty angular now that I think about it, and it goes with the sleek facade of the newer, darker version of the superhero. Anyway, Keaton’s pouchy lips are so 90′s. Like poofy scrunchies. And it’s like he’s throwing out Zoolander’s “Blue Steel” look 24/7.

See? Quite masculine, sharp-cornered lips, a nicely accented philtrum (I looked this up: the dip right above your lip), excellent, excellent, Christian Bale. Keep up the intensity.

Jack Nicholson… plays Jack Nicholson. On acid.

Batman Returns

Michael Keaton plays Batman/Bruce Wayne. Christopher Walken as villainous politician/profiteering power-plant magnate,  Danny Devito as the slobbering Penguin (Oswald Cobblepot), and magnificently sexual beast Michelle Pfieffer as magificently sexually deranged Cat-Woman.

First of all– what a great movie. Danny Devito is fantastic, and I’m so glad he’s totally playing up his typecast (creepy, weird, sexually frustrated stout short guy) as George Costanza Over The Edge. This should also say something about our society and our inherent prejudice against short, stout people, but who cares, because Danny Devito plays it up. Wow. His penguin flippers. His sexual innuendos and obscene gestures with his penguin flippers. The fuming, the spitting, the rage, the utter frustration of being him. I watched a few It’s Always Sunny episodes before this movie, so it was really a fascinating juxtaposition.

You’re so very welcome:

And Michelle Pfieffer? As geeky meeky turned desperate, schizophrenic seductress because Christopher Walken shoved her out the window, and cats nibbled on her fingers??? Thank you, Tim Burton. Also, thank you for that rockin’ “HELLO THERE” neon pink light in Cat Woman’s room (she really shouldn’t have smashed it). There is a point in the movie where she literally licks her latex uniform and pretends– no— actually grooms herself like a cat.

Christopher Walken was Christopher Walken as BP embodied in a person that looks like and talks like Christopher Walken.

I also enjoyed the penguin extras. Darling.

The Beauty and the Beast

You know the story. I cried when the Beast died, because I always do. It’s hard to be ugly.

The Most Dangerous Drug in the World

A National Geographic documentary on meth. They emphasized more than several times that the high lasts for up to 12 hours, and interviewed the creator of the “FACES OF METH” campaign. Takeaways? Meth is Gross. Meth is gross. Meth is really really sick. The scabs aren’t from the drug; they’re from people picking their own skin due to paranoia. Meth is gross. Meth gives you meth mouth, where your teeth rot and fall out and your gums rot and your teeth fall out years after you were a meth head and your jaw becomes deformed. Meth is gross.

Aside from the grossness, what is fascinating about meth: it’s so “effective” because it’s molecular structure is so similar to dopamine, which is the pleasure-flow that jumps between synapses and makes you feel good. It overloads your brain with so much dopamine that you’re body can no longer produce it automatically without the drug.

The drug was invented by the Japanese to help soldiers fight days and nights on end, and pump those kamikaze suicide bombers up to … well, fly into things and blow –ish up.

Until recently the drug was legal in Thailand, and frequently used by sex workers and laborers to boost their time-shifts, and thus, their paycheck. While violence due to crazy meth heads exploded, the government finally took action and illegalized it– in a brutal fashion. Many were killed as sketchy government tactics were utilized to target and eliminate meth movers and users. Many still smoke or ingest meth anyway, because they still have to competitively earn their money.

Second moral of the story: don’t have casual sex in Thailand.

Also, it just reinforces my belief that the people I used to live over were totally meth heads. They exhibit all behaviors and all strange appearances in which meth heads are usually suspect.

I Love You, Man

“I love you, Tycho Brahe”

I definitely laughed louder the second time I watched it.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail

All I want to do is hang out on their set. Coolest geeks ever.

Yoinks.

Graceee

My ears are glowing, my ears are glowing, so are my cheeks, I don’t know why, but they’re glowing and toasty.

This happens a lot.

Graceee

Today was the family field trip to Point Defiance Park, Zoo/ ‘Quarium.

Ah, the little monstrosities they call children.  Maybe on their own (when they’re shy and intimidated) I can actually like them– but in packs, it’s just like stepping on an anthill. There’s no way to brush them all off at once.

I’ll keep the actual animal pictures to a minimum…

There were baby tiger cubs that were like giant lethal puppies dressed in ravishing stripes… momma had custody, apparently baby daddy tigers like to impregnate their women and GTFO… to the neighboring cage.

HAI, ‘lil seaho’s…

Funny useless fact: I’ve seen this Mr. Walrus (the) Sea Lion several times in my life as a child, though I’ve never been to Point Defiance Zoo. He was sold to Pt. Defiance from Chicago’s Brookfield Zoo in 2006. I’m sorry to say his place in Chicago was way swankier. And isn’t that a weird, depressing thing to pop into my head…

Soaking in the icewater…

The zoo wasn’t as big as I thought it’d be, so we got done earlier than planned and ended up exploring the beach and gardens of Point Defiance. The rose garden, in particular– how can you avoid the now cliché dreams of Alice as you weave about the flowers? And there were a great many variety, none painted, and some with interesting strain names…

“Livin’ Easy”

“Fame!”

“Chihuly”

“Sexy Rexy” wasn’t so sexy this year. No blossomz.

“Diana, Princess of Wales”

“Lovestruck”

“LeeAnn Rimes” wasn’t so impressive. Figures.

… but “Ingrid Bergman” was so Ingrid Bergman

The Rose tunnel…

Owen Beach park was also quite nice, it’s too bad they have skull and crossbones everywhere to warn off oyster/shellfish diggers. Apparently they have a toxic build-up…

Mt. Rainier was sunning itself today,

Tomorrow’s when I start clearing out the garage for the weekend sale. It’s going to be a terrible task, and since my brother’s taken to being a brat again, I’ll probably be cracking the (proverbial) whip.

GRACEEE

So I know I haven’t been firing out posts for the past few, but it’s because I’m actually enjoying my unemployment. Which reminds me, I should totally be filing for unemployment and reaping some monetary benefits.

Instead, I’m busting my butt gathering stuff for the garage sale this weekend, and soaking in the last few warm days of Seattle summer before the 60′s set in. I’ve been drawing outside, which is slightly unnecessary only because I don’t really draw what’s in front of me, but I enjoy the atmosphere of outside-happy-beach-ness while I’m drawing. I don’t do landscapes or “life portraits”– I’m terrible at that, and my skills restrict me to the rules of my limits. It’s more like a hobby, and I’m nowhere near pro. This may sound like modesty to those who have sincerely paid me compliments, but it’s because I have a friend named Mihai who draws like Jesus wills the life and beauty onto the canvas/page. There’s drawing, and then there’s a recreation of life– Mihai, being meticulous, sensitive, and incredibly talented–has this power.

Either way, I thought I’d post some stuff I’ve been working on. Most aren’t finalized, and need a bigger scanner to digitize and post onto my Imagekind gallery.

I have no idea where I got the idea for this, I merely followed the pen’s suggestions:

Again, these aren’t full scans… this one had to do with Foucault, and I remember being pretty angsty/pessimistic about the world when I drew this… coloring it was fun.

Some unfinished emo self portrait:

I had bought a set of pencils because I wanted to try something more than cartoony. My dad gave me a short tutorial, and I think this was my second attempt from a magazine or some blog picture… the lower right hand attempt was supposed to be a friend, but it came out wrong.

This one took forever, but it was my favorite to draw– the kitten that I had for a month, Sultan, and his solemn face. I drew this from a picture I had taken before I had to give him away…

I did this one today, and because I wouldn’t budge until it was done (due to conditions– i.e. lighting, whatever), my back is now seriously sunburnt. Doesn’t really look like me.

The big one I’m working on right now involves a fat lady, a hole in the earth, a llama, and fog. No joke.

Graceee