Entropy.

Creativity is almost never as good executed as it is in your head, unformulated. Someone once told me, "I have this awesome idea for a story, but I don't want to tell anyone because i can't do it justice right now." I think that it probably has something to do with entropy.

I'm not very good at explaining things like this (I took Physics 10, aka "Physics for Poets"), but I'll try to give this some context. I apologize if I offend any Physics (PhySUCKS) fans out there. From what I understand, when you're doing something, and it takes energy to do it, entropy is the stuff that you can't use to do what you want to do. It's increasing inefficiency. According to the second law of thermodynamics, entropy is always increasing within an isolated system.

Well, I figure that an idea, that perfect idea, is in this little isolated system in your head. When you want to write, this idea has to get from your head to paper. Your vision has to go through a series of transformations before it can be realized, and everytime it undergoes a transformation, from this vision of perfect clarity to your outline to your dialogue, to agonizing over every word to get the tone *just* right, your idea gets a litle muddled. It gets a lttle chaotic. Suddenly everything isn't as crystal as you thought it was. When it's done, maybe you're a little let down that the execution of this awesome thing brewing in your head wasn't as you pictured it.

Often what I see in my head doesn't translate as well onto paper. Hell, this post looked a lot better in my head ( I was more coherent, and WAY more knowledgeable about physics), but that doesn't mean it's bad. It's just different. The work that you put out is imperfect. It's been affected by your experiences, your moods, the people you surround yourself with. It was influenced by the egg you had for breakfast and the bum you saw on the way to work. This thing, this physical manifestation of your thoughts may be flawed, but within its flaws is something beautiful.

So yeah, entropy rocks.

Oh, and the german word for poison is Gift. Effin' Germans, man.

Dancing.

I think giving up dance was one of the biggest regrets of my life.

I started dancing really late, age twelve or thirteen. Before, I was a proud tomboy, and shunned dance as a pansy sissy past time. I went to a middle school that had a huge emphasis on performance arts, but I requested a PE class instead of the Pre-IB Dance Class. Somehow, I got bullied into going to an audition by my one friend in seventh grade. Even back then, when I had this wannabe tough gal persona, dance was so easy to fall into.

I remember the first time I danced. It was an afro-haitian fertility dance, lots of body isolations and rhythmic stomping and feeling the percussion through to my bones. Man, it was an awesome feeling. It was like crack cocaine. I wanted more! Give me afro and Irish! Lyrical and tap! Modern and swing! I didn't touch ballet though, because ballet is intimidating. Ballet is all rules. Ballet is for girls who took classes from age three, not someone who got in so late that she lost all her flexibility (to this day, I can't do the splits). Ballet girls scared me.

They still scare me.

Yeah, I wish I stuck with dance. I wish my mom enrolled me in baby ballet, I wish I wasn't such a stubborn boy-girl. I wish I could see my old friend from seventh grade, and tell her thank you. Maybe I can go back in time and tell myself young self to stick with it, even if what's-her-face is sniggering at my arabesque. And then I'd go and kick what's-her-face in the fork. I wish, I wish, I wish.
...
Well, one of my wishes is coming true. BEST SHOW EVER COMING BACK ON FOX. Tune in!

Get your shit together, BROTHER!

There is a very real chance that I may not pass all my classes this quarter. This is bad, because that means I don't graduate and I bought a cap and gown and special grown up clothes (a hat that says "grown up") all for nothing.

Got a new phone! Yay! Same phone number! Double yay! Unexpected financial expenditures!?! Boo!

Getting life back on track feels subtley good.
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I'm a big fan of that show on vh1, the one with Hulk Hogan and his family. He's so cool! Really strong, but mellow and an all around good guy. He reminds me of really strong, mellow good guy Mr. Knudsen, my old biology teacher. I don't really think of him as The Hulk anymore; in my head, I call him my friend Terry. Today, Terry realizes that he's too old for wrestling and that selling energy drinks may be a more lucrative creative outlet. Good for you Terry, good for you.

Making things work.

I have an addiction to trashy blogs. Seriously trashy. I love celebritiy gossip blogs and fashion blogs and he-said-she-said blogs. I often waste hours reading these things instead of updating my own. Here are some of my favorites:
Bryanboy
Go Fug Yourself
Hollywood Tuna
Highly addictive!
I've been trying to figure out what makes these completey different blogs so entertaining, so that I can apply them to my blog. Here are some things I've noted:
-Pictures. I need more pictures. Preferably of skinny blonde girls and things/people I can make fun of.
-Links. I need to link more often to dumb news stories, gay people blogs (for some reason gay people have the BEST blogs. I LOVE reading them), and funny pictures. I should be as link friendly as Fark.
-Disdain. I need to be really mean. But funny "Oh my god you're wearing last week's Fendi and it's not even cute young Fendi it's old used to like Chanel but can't afford it now Fendi." Right now my funny is at a "Your mom" level. Must up the catty in my funny.
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My phone died. Like, literally. I was crossing the street and the phone fell out of my pocket. Before I had a chance to run back and get it, a car hit it and smashed it to pieces. Then a truck came by and smashed the pieces into tear sized shreds. Once again, I will be very difficult to contact until I get this resolved.
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My Thursday exame is not actually a Thursday exam; apparently it's a Tuesday exam. In other words, shit is hitting the fan RIGHT NOW.

Catching up.

I am the most awkward phone person in the world. I hate hate HATE talking on the phone. I'm just no good at it. The awkward pauses, the telephone hum in the background, the "ums" and "ahs" as you try to think of something, something, ANYTHING to say is worst than a visit to the dentist.

So it's a very special person who can keep me on the phone for thirty minutes at a time and leave me thinking, "Thank goodness they called."

Religious stakes.

"I call your Virgin-Mary-burned-into-a-slice-of-toast and raise you a koranic-verse-embedded-in-tuna-scales."

As a passively amused (and Buddhist) observer, I often have many questions for my God-loving friends. Why do they love him so much? How does He improve their day-to-day lives? And why does he keep leaving signs of himself all over the place? Is he trying to teach his flock about everyday miracles, or is he just a lazy deity who won't pick up after himself and thus leaves vaguely religious residue all over the place? Maybe he's too lazy to do real miracles, like making the earth stand still. I can't blame the guy. After millennia in the same profession, he's bound to want to slack off a bit. I think maybe I'm thinking about this too much like a Buddhist.

...God needs a vacation.

New things I have learned.

-Adam Baldwin of Firefly fame? NOT a Baldwin brother, despite the name.

-Trying something new means risking falling flat on your face.

-Loss of visual acuity may be due to diabetes. Get checked NOW, especially if it runs in your family.

-Baby rabbits are called kits. Bunny is just a cutesy nickname for rabbit.

-Bravery is putting your feet back in the water, especially if you know there are alligators waiting, they've already got one of your toes, and you're scared as a Mcdonald's hamburger on 29 cent Wednesdays (does anyone else remember that promotion?).

-I am not brave. Not yet.

Newsie Shoesies.

What is wrong with these shoes? I mean, sure, they're a little dirty, a bit scruffy, they may have seen better days. But serviceable, right? That's what I thought. These are my favorite shoes in the whole world. I wear them almost every day to almost every occasion.

I guess that may have led to their faster-than-regular wear and tear. I mean, sure I wear them to class, to work, to clubs, in the rain, on the beach, while fighting crime, etc. They're easy to slip on and off, they're comfy, and they're so cute! But come on, does it really explain this?








Boo.

I'm so sad. I have to find a new favorite pair of shoes now.

Wheels.

I recently got myself one of those wheeled carts. You know, those carts that blue-haired women fill with leafy greens and daisies at the Sunday Farmer's Market. Those big black carts with cushioned handles and a wide turn radius. I'm going to trick mine out with spikes and a troll doll.

I got a new back pack too, also wheeled. It's gray and orange. I'm trying to find a picture of it, but it seems to be a discontinued color. This makes my bag twice as cool. I now understand why some pianists prefer classic ivory keys and why my dad finds turtle meat so delicious.

I need to find a third wheeled item, so that my wheeling trifecta is complete.... Chess would look awesome in one of these:

Toilet humor.

"She hasn't been peeing."
"What?"
"There aren't any pee spots in her tub. She hasn't been peeing."


Peeing is cleansing. Peeing carries away all the poisons and toxins that your kidneys have filtered out of your blood. Peeing carries away all the waste your cells make while doing their day to day job of keeping you alive. Peeing is a good thing!

Yes, when you are a pet owner, you worry about things like pee spots. Well, I guess if you have kids you kinda worry about pee spots too. If your hamster/small child has not peed in days, this is a bad thing. You may think it's a good thing, because there's less to clean up, but in the long run this is a bad thing.


When a loved one stops peeing, make note. When a love one starts peeing again, rejoice. And then change said loved one's bedding. Because as wonderful and healthy as peeing is, it's still very gross and smelly.

Kimmie: Updated.

UKS: culture show
I've been helping UKS (United Khmer Sudents, for the uninitiated) whenever I've been able to make it. I gave some writing notes for the script and helped with the blocking for a couple of rehearsals. Carol asked me if I wanted to be noted as a Co-Director and Co-Writer in the program. For some reason, that made me very uncomfortable. It took me a while to figure out why. I realized that I just wanted to help out in my free time. The director/writer of the script is very dedicated to this event. Everyone involved is busting their butt to make this show happen. I wouldn't be able to match their commitment level in any way, even if I wanted to. I couldn't in good conscience accept that. I asked Carol if they could just put me under the "Special Thanks" section of the program (you know, where they put ORL, any funding organizations, yadda yadda yadda). I think that's where I belong.

LCC: writing
I have not written a scene for the group in a very long time. I think I wrote when I was afraid that we wouldn't have enough material to put on a show. That fear gave me the gumption to turn in stuff, flaws and all. Right now the group is in good hands; they're working with some pretty brilliant material, so I don't really feel the need to turn in the stuff I write. I don't feel fear needed to make my writing better. I don't feel the need to make my scenes stage quality. Sometimes I wish that fear was still there.

LCC: directing
I love the scene I'm working on right now. The script really inspired me, and I find myself using it with a minimum of revision from the writer. The cast is pretty amazing. There is a lot of intricate blocking and dance, so I'm asking a lot of them. For a cast with varying degrees of movement experience, they're really holding their own. I think a big part of it is their willingness to try anything. They don't know that they shouldn't be able to do Graham-inspired post modern dance without rigorous training. I'm always amazed by how much people can accomplish when they don't know that they're not supposed to accomplish it.

Sixteen again.

I got to see my brother march for the first time a couple weeks ago. Unfortunately he was a center (the person in a rank the entire line of marchers try to stay in line with), they were marching really fast, and my camera does this weird thing where it takes an entire ten seconds to take a picture, so I couldn't catch a picture of him. However, I got this awesome picture of the Titans' letter line.




My brother and his girlfriend of six months. They look like they've been married for ten years.... My brother's hairline looks as if it's aged ten years too.


Probably one of the coolest parts of the visit was seeing Mr. Coleman again. He was my band director at Hamilton Middle School and is the new band director at my brother's high school. He's pretty awesome. However, seeing him is a little bit disturbing for me because his hair is now salt and pepper and he forgets things sometimes. And then, I think "Well, of course he's not going to look like he did when you were in seventh grade, Kimmie, that was almost ten years ago." To which my mind replies "Oh my God, that was almost ten years ago." And I then feel old and stiff.

Reconciliation.

My lappy's back. I thought a lot during our time apart. I didn't treat my lappy very well. I was rough with it, I took it for granted. When it started showing signs of wear, I got angry instead of remorseful. Lappy did very well during the break too. No more rubbed out letters, no more stuck keys, no more furious tabbing between applications. It's like taking her out the box for the first time again.

"Hi Lappy."
(Whiiirrrrr....)
"I missed you too."

Oh, me.

Taken in CS50. My heart goes out to whichever pre-med undergraduate gave out this silent cry for help.

...phonetically, it sounds like "Oh, Kim."

On a break.

In the past couple of weeks (usually as I'm working on my script or an expedited safety report for work...or updating this blog) the the F2, Tab, and 2swx` keys on my lappy would stick and cause it to wildly switch from window to window, typing gibberish into random text boxes and preventing me from getting any work done. I said "Well, to hell with this!" and threw said iBook against the wall. No, I didn't do that. I'm not an abusive person. I passive aggressively let my laptop know I was upset: I used it less every day, I spent more time on my desktop at work, I even tried out some of the PCs at Powell Library. Still, the problems persisted; if anything, they got worse! I decided to seek professional help, but alas, even the geniuses at the UCLA computer store told me that there was nothing they could do. We had to resort to drastic measures: a temporary separation. Hopefully when we're reunited in 7-10 business days, it will be back to its normal functioning self. And maybe, I'll learn to better appreciate its efforts to perform well for me.

Things that make me feel good.

-Seeing my brother play timpani with his high school winter percussion in championship competition. The Caeser Chavez Marching Band will be performing at Disneyland this April 11. How exciting! I'll be ditching school to catch their performance. I mean, really, how often do I get to go to Disneyland? Not often enough.

-Reconnecting with people I haven't seen or heard from in ages, a la MySpace. A fair number of them are now married and/or pregnant. At twenty two! Wow. To be fair, we did grow up in Stockton. Many a young blood in Stockton spend their Saturday nights making a difficult decision: eat at Denny's, shop at Walmart, or go neck...you know, now that I think about it, not too difficult a decision.

-Knowing that even though I have a cell phone again, I can always turn it off. That took a while for me to figure out. I think I have it now.

-Getting to a point at work where I am actually knowledgeable enough to know about what I'm not knowledgeable enough.

-Mocha Lattes.

You can't get this in LA.

Interstate 5 is the main artery between Northern California and its southern counterpart. It is the most direct route to Stockton from Los Angeles. It is also one of the most boring six hour drives in America. For three hundred miles, there is nothing but brown grass and the occasional cow sitting forlorn on the landscape. Usually I find myself looking forward to the next “__ miles until Rest Area” signs; they were the only things to break up the monotony of the view.

However, there’s a tiny window of time, between the drowning rains of March and the scorching heat of May, when I-5 gleams. Mustard grows wild in stretches miles long, and the yellow looks like a thick blanket. Bushes grow thick and tall; in two months they'll be tumbleweeds, but for now they stand pretty. Roaming gangs of sheep and steer loiter at leisure in the fields and cherry tree orchards, nipping at a grass blade here, a bloom there.

There was a moment while I was driving, when everyone else in the car had fallen asleep. The sun made natural spotlights in between the clouds, and the mist made the hills look lush. I crested a hill and out of nowhere a herd of shorn sheep glowing white against the green came into view. I stared for a good two seconds, then the car whizzed by and the entire scene dropped out of view. I turned and "Hey, did you see tha-?" and realized that our car was the only car on the road, and I was the only conscious person in the car. It may have been the most perfect thing I have ever seen, and I was alone. It made me feel like that section of I-5 was put there just for me.


Even through a dusty windshield on a cell phone camera, you can see the clouds forever. You can't get this in LA.

Beautiful Days.

I like spring. It's a time for ausipicious beginnings and fresh starts and airing out the old so it seems brand spanking new. What have I done in honor of the season's arrival?

I made my room look different. Well, my half of the room. I got an urge to make it look, you know, inhabited. New color scheme, new shelving, new sheets. It feels good to be in there. Maybe I'll actually spend a night or two in my own bed. You know, instead of the couch.

I talk to my mom more. I call her maybe once a week, and when she calls me, I actually pick up! This is a vast improvement over our previous record of never calling/maybe returning the phone call if she threatens me via voice message.

I go to farmer's markets. I'm sad, because the farmer's market in Westwood may actually lose their street closure permit. That means no more fresh veggies for Chess on Thursdays! I guess I'll have to visit the Sunday farmer's markets more often instead. I really like the one in West LA, behind the Santa Monica library. They had a petting zoo the first time I went! Also, this nice man named Joe gave me free incense with purchase of incense holder and taught me a cool handshake.

I try new things. I played my first video game to completion. I made scones. I nailed stuff to my walls (and it only took me two hours to do two shelves!). In honor of spring, I will continue to try new things. I will meet new people. I will see new sights. I will read new books. I will get new hairstyles. I will have new, different, novel experiences because I am young and unfettered and free.

Well, I'm free until Chess gets hungry. Then I have to get home and feed her. She's a growing gal!

Progress.

Scaffolding creeps up the buildings walls and green tarps ooze around its edges. It's a little bit of an urban jungle, more dangerous and without the risk of malaria. Ever since the Barnes and Noble on Pico and Westwood got the boot, I've recovered from many a socially awkward moment with rampant speculation about its usurper. Mayhap a grocery store? A dance club? Dare we dream, a Target? Rumors can be put to rest. A giant banner covers its north face, smothering the wild mess with sleek catchy slogans and brand name identification. Yes friends, the great hulking beast to replace the chain bookstore Barnes and Noble will be...

A chain movie theatre.

You know, we need another movie theatre in the Westwood/West LA/Santa Monica area. Especially another Mann theatre. Because Westside Pavilion doesn't already have a movie theatre five hundred yards away (which will probably put out better movies than whatever Mann will regurgitate). And the busy Westwood/Pico intersection will give Mann theatres the exposure they desperately needed to grow as a fledgling business.

Sometimes, civility is over-rated.

What happens in Vegas.

The last time I was in Las Vegas, I was underaged and unable to do, well, pretty much everything (geez, you need to be twenty one just to stand next to the casino floor?!). There were some pretty depressing moments on that trip that left a bitter taste in my mouth. I swore to myself that I was going to go back and gamble, drink, see strippers, hire escorts, watch racy shows. I wanted to party like I was going to prison for being too prudish.

Well, I went back this weekend. And, let me tell you, whew. What a weekend. Yeah. Wow. ...Yeah, except for a drink while waiting for a dinner table, I didn't do any of the above. Not even a nickel at the slots. I think the previous trip was so disappointing because I was bothered that I couldn't do certain things, even if I wanted to. I think if I took this trip immediately after I turned twenty one, I would have made good on a lot of those personal promises. I think I've had time to realize that it's OK to do things that I enjoy, as opposed to doing things that are expected of me. So, instead of gambling or partying, I took in the sights and caught a show with a good friend. I window shopped. I read and ate at great restaurants and saw the Las Vegas Winterguard regionals. I felt good the entire weekend. Maybe the next time I go back, I'll be able to fulfill some of those personal promises I made two years ago. Until then, I take comfort in knowing that even if I didn't, I would be OK with it.

And really, it's not as if I didn't do anything Vegas while in Vegas. I definitely took advantage of some excellent buffets. One had a chocolate waterfall! Now that's sinful.