...one has so many more opinions about what has gone wrong than what was perfect. -Nick Hornby
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
A poem by Miller Williams
Listen
I threw a snowball across the backyard.
My dog ran after it to bring it back.
It broke as it fell, scattering snow over snow.
She stood confused, seeing and smelling nothing.
She searched in widening circles until I called her.
She looked at me and said as clearly in silence
as if she had spoken,
I know it's here, I'll find it,
went back to the center and started the circles again.
I called her two more times before she came
slowly, stopping once to look back.
That was this morning. I'm sure that she's forgotten.
I've had some trouble putting it out of my mind.
When I was in 2nd grade I was making this science project that involved creating a magnet using a large-sized nail, copper wires and one of those small square batteries. To add on to it, I was going to attach a switch that would turn the magnet on and off. I got the supplies together but forgot to get a switch when I went to the store with my grandmother. I didn't realize that I didn't have the switch till I started working on my project. I threw a fit and cried as I always did (and often still do) as characteristic of being the youngest, wanting to get the switch right there and then. No matter how hard my grandma tried, she couldn't appease me and eventually gave up and walked out the door without a word. Without even saying anything, I knew that she left to walk to the hardware store to get me the damn switch.
Of all the things she would remember in all of her 97 years of living, that moment would probably not be in that list. She would remember her wedding day and giving birth to each of her five children. She would remember the day when her oldest son died and several years later the day her oldest daughter joined him. She would remember the days of the war and the Japanese occupation. She would remember my grandfather's final confused silent nights, spent in the cold concrete hospital. If she were to remember me at all, I hope it would be the day I made her a christmas card and water formed in her eyes.
But that moment when she walked out the door to get me something that I didn't even need at the moment I wanted it, still haunts me with guilt. It's interesting what stays with us. How something we did to affect someone else can end up affecting us even more.
Listen
I threw a snowball across the backyard.
My dog ran after it to bring it back.
It broke as it fell, scattering snow over snow.
She stood confused, seeing and smelling nothing.
She searched in widening circles until I called her.
She looked at me and said as clearly in silence
as if she had spoken,
I know it's here, I'll find it,
went back to the center and started the circles again.
I called her two more times before she came
slowly, stopping once to look back.
That was this morning. I'm sure that she's forgotten.
I've had some trouble putting it out of my mind.
When I was in 2nd grade I was making this science project that involved creating a magnet using a large-sized nail, copper wires and one of those small square batteries. To add on to it, I was going to attach a switch that would turn the magnet on and off. I got the supplies together but forgot to get a switch when I went to the store with my grandmother. I didn't realize that I didn't have the switch till I started working on my project. I threw a fit and cried as I always did (and often still do) as characteristic of being the youngest, wanting to get the switch right there and then. No matter how hard my grandma tried, she couldn't appease me and eventually gave up and walked out the door without a word. Without even saying anything, I knew that she left to walk to the hardware store to get me the damn switch.
Of all the things she would remember in all of her 97 years of living, that moment would probably not be in that list. She would remember her wedding day and giving birth to each of her five children. She would remember the day when her oldest son died and several years later the day her oldest daughter joined him. She would remember the days of the war and the Japanese occupation. She would remember my grandfather's final confused silent nights, spent in the cold concrete hospital. If she were to remember me at all, I hope it would be the day I made her a christmas card and water formed in her eyes.
But that moment when she walked out the door to get me something that I didn't even need at the moment I wanted it, still haunts me with guilt. It's interesting what stays with us. How something we did to affect someone else can end up affecting us even more.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Rob surprised me with this when I got back from SD this weekend. It's a cooling pad for your laptop! I've been wanting one since I saw my coworker have it. It's great cause I usually use my laptop in bed and it gets super hot on my lap. The most ingenious thing about is that you can connect it to your usb port to get the fans running. In addition, you can conveniently hide the usb cord underneath the pad when you don't want the fans on. Although it's actually a little small to fit my humongous 15" computer, it's still great and I recommend it to everyone.
Monday, September 07, 2009
how great are dryers?
I can't think of any country I've ever been to where the locals didn't dry their clothes by hanging them outside. Americans are notorious for using the energy-wasting, and highly unnecessary machine dryers to dry clothes. I think about saving energy and preserving the environment as much as the next guy. I've even started limiting myself to 5-min showers everyday (due to California's drought situation). But as much as I know I should give up this one American luxury, I really don't want to. One of the best things in life is the feel of warm sheets fresh from the dryer. I love how I don't have to iron my clothes because all I have to do is hang them right after they dry. I love that my jeans shrink back to normal size after I've stretched them out just by wearing them. I love the smell of dryer-clean clothes, not the smell of hang-dried clothes with a hint of grass, wet dog, or motor oil.
I've dried clothes before using the primitive (and environmentally friendly) way in the Philippines, Thailand, Spain, and yes...even Australia. I wish I could do more to help the environment, but dryers would definitely be last thing I would give up.
Saturday, September 05, 2009
I tried to drown myself in self-pity and cried for days, unable to get out of bed that time. The length of time I cried was probably longer than the actual days that we spent together. I listened to nothing but Dashboard Confessionals.
Chris Carraba kept telling me...
But you're chasing the ghost of a good thing
Haunting yourself as the real thing
Is getting away from you again
While you're chasing ghosts
I believed in you so much...I could die from the words you say.
...as I, in my state of mourning, forced myself to feel as sad as I could possibly feel. How wonderful it is to be human that a certain melody, a scent, the feel of a humid air, can ignite a million emotions of a series of events in your memory. Today I can no longer listen to Dashboard Confessional without thinking of him. It was mine and he took it from me. I don't miss him at all anymore, I miss the moment when I cried over him a lot more. I have nostalgia for the aftermath, and not the moments we actually shared. Is that strange? Today, I'm thankful that I chose Dashboard -- an adequate but not exceptionally significant musician as the backdrop for that period. I'm thankful that it wasn't Postal Service, or Ryan Adams or the Cure. He can have Dashboard Confessionals. Such Great Heights, Somehow, Someday, and Feels like Heaven are reserved only for those truly special.
Chris Carraba kept telling me...
But you're chasing the ghost of a good thing
Haunting yourself as the real thing
Is getting away from you again
While you're chasing ghosts
I believed in you so much...I could die from the words you say.
...as I, in my state of mourning, forced myself to feel as sad as I could possibly feel. How wonderful it is to be human that a certain melody, a scent, the feel of a humid air, can ignite a million emotions of a series of events in your memory. Today I can no longer listen to Dashboard Confessional without thinking of him. It was mine and he took it from me. I don't miss him at all anymore, I miss the moment when I cried over him a lot more. I have nostalgia for the aftermath, and not the moments we actually shared. Is that strange? Today, I'm thankful that I chose Dashboard -- an adequate but not exceptionally significant musician as the backdrop for that period. I'm thankful that it wasn't Postal Service, or Ryan Adams or the Cure. He can have Dashboard Confessionals. Such Great Heights, Somehow, Someday, and Feels like Heaven are reserved only for those truly special.
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