| Bright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed |
[May. 25th, 2006|11:05 am] |
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Hello Mikey,
Two years ago today we met each other for the first time. The meeting place was Washington Square Park, under the Arch that serves as the centerpiece of Greenwich Village. The weather was good that summer and regardless of all the steel and asphalt that New York is known for, the city was especially green from all the trees. I had just taken off my gloves from the lab, and was taking the elevator down to meet you. I didn’t really know what to expect. I had just about given up all my faith in boys, and the only expectation I had was for you to show up. I came there and I couldn't find you. I thought that you would be waiting directly underneath the arch. I called your cell phone and instead you came out of a shaded corner, looking timid but very handsome. We had dinner at a sushi place then and we went to see a quirky independent movie afterwards. Do you remember that one: Mi Madre Gusta Las Mujeres? We talked for a bit and I showed you a couple of historic sites of Edna St. Vincent Millay's Greenwich Village. After that, you wanted to see Central Park. It was late then, and it had become cold and quite dark. The advantage, though, was that it had driven most other people away and we had parts of the park all to ourselves. ...That was probably one of the happiest moments of my life.
It's been two years since then, and who knew we would last this long? Since then, I've graduated from college, you had just graduated from high school, and I began (somewhat prematurely) graduate school. I knew you from your first two years of college, I saw you get drunk for (what I think was) your first time, and, well, we've shared alot of firsts together, haven't we? So, yes, it's been two years and that is definitely something to smile about. To many people you act funny and impersonal, like a porcupine, but to me, you've always been a dear. You've never done anything to cross me in any way, and you're like the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Mikey, who brightens up any day. (Now I know where that saying comes from. It’s you. ^_^). It's been two years, but time doesn't work the same way for me as it does for anyone else. When I'm happy it goes by quickly, and when I'm sad it lingers on slowly. These two years have gone by pretty quick haven't they?
Love,
Noely |
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| A-tisket a-tasket/ A green and yellow basket/ I wrote a letter to my love/ & on the way I dropped it |
[May. 15th, 2006|10:43 am] |
So, tomorrow’s my birthday. When my sister asked me this weekend what I wanted for it, I realized that my wish list is rather small. As a hobbyist and an aspiring engineer, most of the things I want are beyond what people can give me. Yet, I’ve narrowed down the list to a few several things.
1. An iPod. An Apple iMac without an iPod is like Dorothy without the Ruby Red Slippers. It’s just not right. I don’t need much storage space because I don’t listen to much music (I have a one-track mind and it gets in the way of engineering work), but it’s nice to have for those long journeys back home. A cheaper iPod shuffle ($99), or a contribution to help me buy an iPod shuffle, is just fine. Of course, if I do get a larger 30GB iPod ($300), I could use it as a portable hard drive…
2. A copy of Microsoft Office created before 2003
3. Money to help me buy data decryption software ($100), but of course I can’t speak too much about this… all you have to know is that I can decrypt things for you as well once I get it…
4. Old computers: Parts can be salvaged. I know.
5. Old software disks: to run on said old computers, or just because the newer versions of some software that are coming out sometimes do less than the old ones because of pesky corporate lawyers.
6. Links to or copies of video game system emulating software. (I can probably find this online myself, but I’m too lazy to and I don’t always have the best copy or version).
7. If you’re at all inclined to gaming, I would seriously appreciate it if you would play World of Warcraft with me on the Proudmoore, Draenor, or Bleeding Hollow servers. I have two friends at Penn who play, my sister and her boyfriend play, and after I get him the disc, my brother will be playing as well; but this is the type of game that gets more fun as more people become involved. Seriously, if you want to play this game, I will BUY the disc ($50) for you. That’s how much I want you to play. I’ll even protect your character, as I’m gaining levels quickly and can help you while your character grows.
With that said, I’m turning 22! I’m going to celebrate by buying some strawberry cordial, to serve on the brand new cordial set my sister just gave me… |
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| Passing the Year |
[May. 4th, 2006|07:48 pm] |
My exams are finished. I have a wonderful job. It lets me interact with people and do my work without being too demanding of me. I have an apartment, and my loans are steadily being repaid. My sister and her boyfriend have now moved to Philadelphia, offering a familial presence in this city. My parents are moving to a new house. Although some of my friends are graduating, I still have many that will be left here. Small things matter too: this new computer that I’m typing on, and the new toys that occupy my time. My work has been handed in. It’s done. I feel like my back is broken, but my soul and my will are being renewed. I’m done. Done -- that word feels like honey to roll off my tongue… I have the summer to look forward to, and at the end of it all, the handsomest boy in the world is waiting for me back home. At the end of the night, I think of his face, with his blond hair and those baby blue eyes… god. damn. I could just die…
Paean
So one year passes and here I am,
No worse for the wear,
Tracking the streets
Like a contented fox
With his belly full.
It doesn’t matter necessarily
Who or what incarnation I am or
Where exactly this destination lies.
Nose down and feet pitching forth,
Leaves turn over like yesterday’s dream.
I could go on and lose myself forever.
A year, a city, passes by so easily,
Like a breath or an exalted sigh,
And I hesitate just momentarily to take stock
And feel for the presence of this wayward soul.
Beat, come, and let the steady pulse sing to me,
Press your hand upon this restless heart,
For I am real, and you are there,
And beneath this scrim
Of heart beating, arteries pulsating,
And breath riding in and out,
Lies a treasure, real and tangible.
Hold your breath still and watch!
(Who cares if nothing gold can stay?)
No sense in killing the moment out in measured time…
(I pray never to lose this sense of childlike wonder.)
--Noel Darlucio Pura
Philadelphia, 2006
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| Pleasant Diversions |
[Apr. 28th, 2006|02:55 pm] |
The idea of an alternate reality will always appeal to me. To be able to change bodies and consciousnesses at will seems like something that would be superior to mere experience. Yes, it would be like something out of a science fiction novel, but what’s the harm in diverting the rational mind, no?...
Well, to make a long story short, and to nonetheless return to the mundane, my entire existence outside of work has more or less been sucked completely into a certain virtual product by Blizzard Entertainment called World of Warcraft. I started playing it as soon as I established my internet connection. I blame Derek for this, but then again, I’ve always had a certain proclivity for fantasy. It was just waiting for the right time (that is, free time) to come out.
(If you’re reading this, and if you happen to play, be sure to give me your server, faction, and name. Maybe we can go on a quest together. I have four characters on four servers so far, and I’m reading the novels too. I finished one overnight. God help me.)
In terms of other news, my sister moved to Philadelphia yesterday to begin her new job. She has a beautiful apartment on Jeweler’s Row, in one of the nicer parts of Philadelphia.
I’m to go to Jersey City this weekend to help my parents move out of their house. I have a nice package for my dad. Hopefully he’ll appreciate it.
Next week I have exams, and then Sarah’s thesis defense on James Joyce to attend.
Mike had a music recital yesterday, that unfortunately, I couldn’t attend. I want to hear him play again soon.
I started tests on a new cancer patient. She recently had her entire nose removed, and invokes much sympathy to look at, but hopefully it will be reconstructed again soon.
I can’t get too close -- just skim the surface, be objective, and move on.
I need to start studying again, lest this laziness get ahold of me. I have been writing some poetry recently, but I need to make the leap back to engineering again before this exam. At this point, it’s like entering another world. I’ve been so removed. |
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| Booting oneself up by the bootstraps… |
[Apr. 14th, 2006|02:16 pm] |
Fine, I’ll admit it. From the look of the screenshots, the new version of Microsoft’s Windows, Vista, is beautiful. It’s enough to almost make me want to buy it. Almost. Even at academic pricing, Vista is going to cost a fortune. I don’t know if and how all of my friends will be able to afford it. It’s enough to make me want to stick to Linux and only Linux altogether.
I need to say something about Windows XP. When Mac OS X came out, it made me lose all love for XP altogether. The OS X Tiger was a huge incentive for me to switch to Macs. I don’t regret that decision. OS X is far more beautiful and far more secure than XP. Just look at all the malware, spyware, and adware out there and you’ll know what I’m talking about… Granted, I did silly things with XP that I probably shouldn’t have, but it was the first operating system I really got to know. For that, I at least have some fondness for it. (…For those of you reading this who don’t know, I had a very late introduction to computing because my parents are fairly computer illiterate [some would say downright fearful] and never saw fit to have a computer in the house. I only started learning right before I went to college…)
The Mac OS X just beats Windows XP, but when Vista comes out, I may change my mind again. Luckily (or perhaps, disagreeably), Apple will be releasing their new Mac OS X Leopard at about the same time Vista comes out (late 2006 / early 2007). Knowing me, I’ll probably end up lusting after and buying both. I just don’t know how I’m ever going to afford it. This will probably be one of the few times I’ll relish being a student. Academic pricing is a huge deal when you buy as many computer products as I do… Upgrading hardware is going to be an issue too. Vista will use up a whopping 256 MB of RAM, which is pretty much all that my 2002-purchased laptop has. It won’t be running on that computer. By the time Vista comes out, I should have a whopping monster gaming rig that will rival most business-class computers. Of course, there is a solution from having to having to spend so much on software:
And here he is:
Tux, the Linux mascot. |
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| Macmaker, Macmaker, make me a Mac... |
[Apr. 11th, 2006|08:50 pm] |
I'm so happy. A certain long awaited-for package just arrived in the mail today. I'm going to spend all night playing with it... (What am I still doing here after class?) Bye!
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| The Makers Speak |
[Apr. 7th, 2006|09:52 am] |
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Apple Bootcamp
Apple has just released a dual-boot for Intel Macs, or to put it in other words, Macs will now be able to boot Windows. My mind is blowing. Is it the marriage of PCs and Macs? Just about, in my humble opinion… I still can’t wait for the iMac to arrive… It won’t have an Intel processor, but I’ll get one eventually, you’ll see. …I’m also going to get my hands on a copy of the Linux OS this weekend. I met a great gamer (Derek) at Penn yesterday, and if I fall in love with this MMORPG as expected, I may just get / build a fourth computer to use as a gaming rig. It will be a massive Franken-Mac-Monster. I’m dreaming of having one computer capable of running Windows XP, Mac OS X, and Linux. The possibilities are endless. |
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| Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue |
[Apr. 2nd, 2006|04:09 pm] |
New things will always continue to surprise me. These past few weeks have been a time of many “firsts,” and things have been so spontaneous and lovely these days, I haven’t even bothered to record them all.
First, Sarah finally came to visit me after many months-- nearly a year actually-- of not seeing me at all. The last I saw of her was before my graduation, and then we were consumed by academic life. I contacted her out of the blue to tell her about the Margaret Atwood event, and to my surprise, she came! …It’s so lovely to see old friends. It melted my heart a little on the inside, and then she had to go back home.
Margaret Atwood was lovely. She started the talk with jokes about Canada and feminism, very casually to my surprise. She carries herself so well, so effortlessly, as if floating on clouds. It is interesting to know that one so sharp and witty can be so disarming in person. I would have never thought such a small, sprightly woman could write such incisive, dystopian, and at times, romantic prose. …One more thing… but this will have to come later (you’ll see).
What else? In the past three weeks, I’ve bought three computers. These are three more computers than I’ve ever bought in my life. The first was a gift to Mikey, an IBM laptop that I bought him for his birthday. The second was an iMac flat-panel G4 that I bought for myself. It was a compromise between the price and the newer G5, but I’ve always wanted a Mac, and this one is beautiful. Powerful too. I can’t wait for it to arrive in the mail. The third computer was a much older PowerMac G3, that I bought yesterday from a local merchant for a sweet deal. It’s definitely not powerful enough to do what I anticipate on doing, but I wanted a cheap Mac I could disassemble and play with. I cracked open the case yesterday and the internal architecture was beautiful …spectacular …breathtaking. I’ve never had the élan to open a computer before, and now that I’ve been studying computers so fervently, each step took on new meaning. I’m going to upgrade everything I possibly can, and when I’m done with it, I’ll have a powerful little Mac-monster. I’m planning on giving it to one of my poor cousins in the Philippines. It won’t be a Windows computer like most people are used too, but I know she’ll love it. After all the work I put into it, I’m probably going to have a fit parting with it myself.
I went to an Apple Store for the first time in Ruby Soho. I was in Mac Heaven. The walls were white and ephemeral and everything fit into place perfectly. The stairs where made of chrome and glass and white lights permeated the entirety of the room. I climbed the stairs and touched the wonderful machines on display. Everything was perfectly made. Perfectly.
Yesterday, I went to a lovely dance performance with Jaamil and some others he introduced me to. In one night I met another painter, a poet, several dancers, and a professor. I went to an after-party afterwards where they served wine and cheese over Mexican food and tequila.
My creative nerves have been piqued. I probably won’t be doing as much journaling lately. I have to return to writing poetry. The manuscript is only 70 pages long… after being reduced from 130… My nerves are charged, my heart is a-floating, and this weekend I’ll see my old blue eyes again. …He’s in DC, and the weather is so lovely just now. |
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| The Many Voices of Margaret Atwood |
[Mar. 27th, 2006|11:21 am] |
She's coming to Penn! She's coming to Penn!
http://www.sas.upenn.edu/wstudies/events/
THURSDAY, MARCH 30, 2006
5:00 P.M., 17 LOGAN HALL
Jane S. Pollack Memorial Lecture in Women's Studies
MARGARET ATWOOD, Acclaimed author of many books of fiction, including A Handmaid's Tale
"An Evening with Margaret Atwood on the Penelopiad"
Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing
by Margaret Atwood
The world is full of women
who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself
if they had the chance. Quit dancing.
Get some self-respect
and a day job.
Right. And minimum wage,
and varicose veins, just standing
in one place for eight hours
behind a glass counter
bundled up to the neck, instead of
naked as a meat sandwich.
Selling gloves, or something.
Instead of what I do sell.
You have to have talent
to peddle a thing so nebulous
and without material form.
Exploited, they'd say. Yes, any way
you cut it, but I've a choice
of how, and I'll take the money.
I do give value.
Like preachers, I sell vision,
like perfume ads, desire
or its facsimile. Like jokes
or war, it's all in the timing.
I sell men back their worse suspicions:
that everything's for sale,
and piecemeal. They gaze at me and see
a chain-saw murder just before it happens,
when thigh, ass, inkblot, crevice, tit, and nipple
are still connected.
Such hatred leaps in them,
my beery worshippers! That, or a bleary
hopeless love. Seeing the rows of heads
and upturned eyes, imploring
but ready to snap at my ankles,
I understand floods and earthquakes, and the urge
to step on ants. I keep the beat,
and dance for them because
they can't. The music smells like foxes,
crisp as heated metal
searing the nostrils
or humid as August, hazy and languorous
as a looted city the day after,
when all the rape's been done
already, and the killing,
and the survivors wander around
looking for garbage
to eat, and there's only a bleak exhaustion.
Speaking of which, it's the smiling
tires me out the most.
This, and the pretence
that I can't hear them.
And I can't, because I'm after all
a foreigner to them.
The speech here is all warty gutturals,
obvious as a slab of ham,
but I come from the province of the gods
where meanings are lilting and oblique.
I don't let on to everyone,
but lean close, and I'll whisper:
My mother was raped by a holy swan.
You believe that? You can take me out to dinner.
That's what we tell all the husbands.
There sure are a lot of dangerous birds around.
Not that anyone here
but you would understand.
The rest of them would like to watch me
and feel nothing. Reduce me to components
as in a clock factory or abattoir.
Crush out the mystery.
Wall me up alive
in my own body.
They'd like to see through me,
but nothing is more opaque
than absolute transparency.
Look--my feet don't hit the marble!
Like breath or a balloon, I'm rising,
I hover six inches in the air
in my blazing swan-egg of light.
You think I'm not a goddess?
Try me.
This is a torch song.
Touch me and you'll burn.
From Morning in the Burned House by Margaret Atwood.
This Is a Photograph of Me
by Margaret Atwood
It was taken some time ago.
At first it seems to be
a smeared
print: blurred lines and grey flecks
blended with the paper;
then, as you scan
it, you see in the left-hand corner
a thing that is like a branch: part of a tree
(balsam or spruce) emerging
and, to the right, halfway up
what ought to be a gentle
slope, a small frame house.
In the background there is a lake,
and beyond that, some low hills.
(The photograph was taken
the day after I drowned.
I am in the lake, in the center
of the picture, just under the surface.
It is difficult to say where
precisely, or to say
how large or small I am:
the effect of water
on light is a distortion
but if you look long enough,
eventually
you will be able to see me.)
From The Circle Game by Margaret Atwood. |
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| The Long Road to Ithaca |
[Mar. 24th, 2006|01:16 am] |
Seductive sirens, monstrous whirlpools, a series of troublesome suitors, and men turning into swine -- mere fiction? I kid you not. I’m beat, weary and exhausted. I just want to find the time to sink lightly and effortlessly into the warm, comforting mattress of a king-sized bed. Sweet blissful tranquility I say. At last -- at least -- the worst part of it is over. It’s been a long week.
It all started when I emailed Elizabeth about going to Cornell for the weekend. She said it was fine. I’ve always wanted to see the campus and she’s always wanted visitors (at a beautiful Ivy League campus in the middle of nowhere, who could blame her?). I’m prepped and all ready to go. Ithaca is beautiful I’ve heard, and I just took the mother of all midterms from hell. (Escaping from the work of that class has been like avoiding the wrath of Poseidon on the high seas). Then, half-way there, after three hours of traveling from Philadelphia, she sends me a message that she’s overbooked with work. I can’t go. I’m stuck in Jersey City.
I try to make the most of it and spend the entire weekend at my parent’s house. To celebrate and show off the bounty of my new job, I get my dad a Reduced-Calorie Diabetic Cookbook. He hasn’t been able to eat decently in months, and so I make a marvelous (and I must say, completely experimental) salmon dish with a cauliflower calorie-alternative side dish; and an eggplant, tomato, and parmesan entrée to boot. He loves it. My mom buys tons of Filipino food for my brother and I, and as usual, I only eat half of it before I’m stuffed. The next day, I go to New York to haggle with merchants over computer prices and features. I don’t find a good deal and go back home empty-handed. Admitting defeat, I call my brother on the way back and ask him if he wants fast food at McDonalds. (Obviously, he says yes). I order chicken nuggets, fries, and enough meat to make a new me.
The next day, the Gods have their revenge. My throat is burning, my mind is spinning, and my innards are retching from all the bad mojo. The next day is a mystery to me, shrouded in a misty haze of anti-diarrheals and painkillers. I do remember one vision. The Great Vortex: head leaning over a swirling whirlpool, watching my food and innards spinning round and round in a partially-digested mass before I flush. Terrible. Just terrible. I’ve gone from a man to a retching, puking pig at the mercy of a witch.
I take Monday off from work. I take Tuesday off too. I start to feel better by the afternoon, but my mother won’t let me go. My dad cites keeping me for “observation” purposes. I miss my one Engineering class. I have a presentation in seven days and my group meets without me. It’s a mutiny. I’m pissed. I go to the corner store with my dad and smuggle in a mango by the cash register. My mother takes it away, telling me I’m not well enough to eat exotic fruit. I’m forced to sustain myself on a diet of stale crackers and soda, held captive for what seems like an eternity on the small island of Ogygia (or fine, Jersey City).
I finally break free on Wednesday, after seeing a doctor and invoking the supreme authority of her opinion. My father wishes me well and anoints my head with healing oil (which he believes can cure anything from headaches to hemorrhoids). I leave and the wind is high and I set full sail on my makeshift raft. I cross the Hudson River to get to the jeweled isle of Manhattan. There, my efforts are rewarded: I search several electronic boutique stores and find a merchant willing to sell me a laptop with all the features I need at an attractive price. I pay immediately and leave the store with a spanking new laptop (well, new in the theoretical sense, as technically it’s parts have been remanufactured from corporate computer stock). I visit the Great Oracle and have him install a new operating system and productivity software on my computer. Then I make a few modifications myself, and the Golden Bow is good to go. ;-)
I return to Philadelphia for a mere two days of work, and the week is already over, but the weekend has finally arrived! I give the laptop one final checkup and stick a big red bow on it before boarding my train. I turn it on and read parts of the letter I’ve written days before:
“To my dearest Mikey on his 20th Birthday,
It’s not very often that I get you something really nice on your birthday but I wanted to make this exception because you’ve been wonderful to me these past two years and you really deserve this. I hope you like your birthday present. It’s not perfect but it took me a considerable amount of time, saving, and effort to prepare and I hope you like it. … It was painstaking to have to see you use that ancient computer in your house and I knew that it was at least within my means to get you your own computer within acceptably modern standards and one that is your first laptop to boot. I gathered what money and knowledge I have to assemble this computer package for you. The parts aren’t entirely all new but they are excellent and dependable where it matters and I spent a good deal of time tracing sources, comparison shopping and negotiating to get you the best deal possible. I’ve chosen a laptop to fit your needs, and the one you hold in your hands has capabilities that far exceed what you have at home. This system is fully upgradable and I plan on upgrading it myself with due time and my growing tech skills. … When confronted with the option of getting you two expensive trinkets or buying you a whole new computer for your birthday, I opted for the computer instead. I hope you’ll be happy with my decision. It was a little bit beyond my means at this point, but I thought it important to get you a present on the actual date of your birthday and I used some of the money I was saving up for a new iMac to buy it for you. After I had the computer in my possession, I made a few mods to it myself, and I plan on doing so again to increase its performance. … With that aside, Happy Birthday Mikey.
Love, always and forever, Noely”
I unboard the train and Mike and his mom are there to pick me up like a beggar (but a king in disguise? -- well, who knows?). His mom stuffs me full with more fresh fish from the sea and disappears. Mike shows me his huge, huge 30-gallon fish tank and gets distracted and starts talking to people online. Because it’s his birthday, all these random men from god-knows-where start calling and leaving him IM messages (well, fine, there were some women too, but I like to pretend they were all hot, lusty men). All distractions aside, I get him away from the computer, the cell phone, and anything that has remotely to do with a weather station (intensely distracting to him, mind you). We sit on the sofa in the living room alone and Mike looks at me with his big, baby blue eyes. I tell him to sit still and close them. Then I bring over the gift and unzip the case, and tell him to look at the present I got for him. He opens it and looks at me and hugs me over and over again. I hug him back and we go out to have dinner and I’m finally able to sleep soundly and comfortably that night for the first time in the year. Hugging Mikey and watching him sleep like an angel, I think how nice it is to be back home.
It seems like I never did make it to Ithaca after all, but sometimes, the pleasant reality of things can serve just as well. |
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| "Bohemia, Bohemia is a fallacy in your head. This is Calcutta. Bohemia is dead." |
[Mar. 8th, 2006|01:07 am] |
LAST HOUR. Walking home through the streets laden with newspaper, the electric heat of neon signs, and the remains of broken glass bottles, the sound of sirens pierces through the night air like a razor. I arrive at my doorstep, reach into my pocket for the key, and open the door. Flopping into bed, eyes melting into … heavy-lidded sleep … into … walls melting … yellow candle wax dripping drip drip.
DREAM: hours pass and the ticking of the clock continues, beating like a death march into my solitary brain, craving want of more release out. I out. Want out. Want more out out. Find. Voice. Own. No. Someone, something else. Want. Want to be Led. Led. Dead like Lead. More. There is a woman, muse or siren. She extends her hand and calls to me. I (sweetly, coquettishly), mother of all things, promise you
reasons,
answers,
immortality
The works.
Here is the door.
An escape
from all the poverty,
the uncertainty,
and even,
the unmentionable of all things
(family).
I wake.
I opened a book.
Enchanted
by the soft, melodic tunes,
dances of dark-haired gypsies
patchwork clothes and hand-crafted instruments,
writers smoking inside cafes,
Parisians drinking absinthe,
and painters on the local street corners panning sun-swept scenes with their hands,
the vision was
PURE HEAVEN.
I searched for her like a Romantic on the high seas, sniffing out music like blood on a hunt, turning musty old pages, raiding forgotten libraries. I went down on all fours, upturning rocks, searching for signs of intelligent life.
and found
the words:
VACANT. NO LOITERING. KEEP OUT.
Whole cities, decimated from abuse, or not abuse so much as neglect
Like Lucy Gray,
Or Solitude.
The life gone out, snuffed out like a case of DDT, gone elsewhere. There’s going to be one long Silent Spring in America. Childhood dreams and cold regimes just don’t make for very interesting themes.
I hit Alphabet City like an amnesiac on a binge. Craving, the direst, rabidest hunger of all things: MEMORY. Help! My name is Icarus and I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. I was thirsty and I drunk the waters of Lethe, and now I can’t remember a DAMNED THING.
Where have all the FUCKING ARTISTS gone? Where the IDEALISM? Where the stronghold of our dignity, our vanity, and wit? I’ve been led by faeries and spriggin gnomes on a wild-goose chase, chasing shamrocks, shadows and illusions! …as if it were some,
some fantasy,
or an aforementioned vagary,
to fill a post-modern vacancy?
Echo: I’ll tell you where they’ve gone.
(Resigned to universities).
Point. (Don’t hide your shame. Just nod and smile. They won’t know).
Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone.
--It’s so young and blissful to be naïve.
--Or so blissful and naïve to be young.
--Or want to be so.
Forego the foregoing. Suck it up and be useful. Forego. FOR EGO.
To be or not to be: the aristocrat, the capitalist, the work-for-pay anthroposophist. Thinking: Think as you like, but act like others. Be the black sheep, but wear white,
and be dazzling.
--Come smile now.
--(Why are the talented so depressed?)
--I’ve given too much life to gold and glitter.
--Why give a care?
--Life is only temporary.
Too much spirit, too much of that good immortal soul.
I’m still burning in that impenitent flame of longing, you see.
Too young to give up on the dream.
Too old to absolve myself of the responsibility of life.
Come all ye wise men.
Follow that star. Dance with me.
Let us remake this city.
Our image is as divine as any.
Shake off this mortal coil.
And when the night is through,
Let us go forth, singing.
--NP, 2006 |
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| On Being Whole |
[Mar. 3rd, 2006|09:20 pm] |
Today I saw a cancer patient for my job -- a nice, grizzled, grandmotherly old woman with light hair and a tired face. She was sitting in the testing room waiting for me. Some of her lower jaw had been removed for oral cancer, and we had to put a towel on her chest to catch the dripping from her mouth. She was one of the kindest people I ever met. I gave her sample after sample to try to measure her responses, and she would kindly ask questions, laugh, and make conversation in between tests. During a break she asked me if I cooked my own meals, and she told me that she used to be a lunch lady at an elementary school.
I couldn’t help but be reminded then of my days back in public school, when my teachers would spell words out on the board and recite times tables to the class. One of our teachers loved reading the story of Amazing Grace, and would gather the class sitting on the floor around her to listen. At lunchtime, the lunch ladies would come in hauling huge carts with food trays, because the cafeteria was too small for every class to have their lunchtime in it. No one minded though. It was more fun to eat in class. When the day was over, the lunch ladies would say goodbye to everyone and haul out the garbage bags.
I didn’t tell her this, but it was clear from the short conversation we had that she liked doing her job. She had four sons that she liked to cook and make things for, and she had grandchildren now.
In the end, it seemed that she had come to terms with her cancer and was living normally. Despite having her jaw removed, she had a sense of humor and still loved to eat chicken. I saw her out and went to cleaning out my solution bottles. I looked in the mirror and felt briefly for my jaw. It was oddly comforting to feel the hard bone beneath, thinking to myself how nice it is to be whole. |
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| The Lord is my Shepherd, and he or she knows we’re gay. :-) |
[Mar. 1st, 2006|10:27 pm] |
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In celebration of Ash Wednesday, I took it upon myself to go to the gym. After all, is there a better way to celebrate the intelligent designer than by perfecting his intelligent design? Right after work, I headed to the studio rooms and joined a kickboxing class, right next to pilates and salsa. To my pleasant surprise, the kickboxing class was much better than expected. Our instructor was a peppy athletic girl with cheerleader in her voice. She taught us how to punch and kick, and all this while swinging to the beat of pop-rock and dance music. While executing my jabs, hooks, and roundhouses; I was listening to dance remixes of Madonna and Cher! Where else can I combine the masculine art of fighting with something so evidently queer as gay club music? It’s like clubbing, but without the prima donnas and the sense of futility. To top it off, no one seemed to catch on to me. I chatted with the instructor after the class, and to persuade me to buy a full membership, she mentioned being able to check out girls while working out. I was flattered. I gathered my things and hit the weight room. I may never look at working-out the same way again. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 24th, 2006|03:20 pm] |
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I’m choosing to work for the chemosensory neuroscience lab at Monell. At this point in my life, with practically nothing in my pockets, I have to value application over pure science. It’s the potential to make a difference, and not simply love of the technology that drives me. There will be many people to interact with, scientists and study subjects alike, and I’ll learn a thing or two about conducting a clinical study and psychology. This will serve me better than working at the ivory tower, even though the research will probably teach me more about research methodologies and statistics over the quantitative molecular sciences. It will be fun, something vital, entirely new and exciting. Let’s see how it goes. |
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| The Question |
[Feb. 21st, 2006|10:52 am] |
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The phone rings. Nose embedded in a thick stack of papers, the noise fails to elicit a response. It rings again. I pick it up. I hear a vaguely familiar voice with a thick French accent on the other end of the line. It’s the second scientist, the one I interviewed with for a position at the University of Pennsylvania. He tells me I’ve been offered the job. Shock. Surprise. Breathless Elation. I’m in a conundrum. I was already set on working for the first lab. I read the papers, studied the statistics methodology, and was altogether prepared for a job in chemical perception and neuroscience. Now the new variable is entered into the equation. The second job offers full tuition reimbursement and a chance to work with neuronal crest cells -- an integral part in the formation of the nervous system. The implications for neuronal regeneration are evident. The first job offers variability, a different environment, and the chance to conduct a clinical trial. The work is in identifying and isolating a novel receptor. The subjects are humans. On the other hand, the first job, the one involving humans, only covers tuition partially. This difference has the potential to become huge, as dollar for dollar, the second job will pay more. As for the second job, although the research has more profound long-term implications, the technology is at its infancy, at least on an applied level. The research will be conducted not on humans but animals. It will look good on the page, but it will never reach a product or therapy. Now I have a choice. Which do I value more: paid tuition and abstract neuronal research on animals, or the chance to conduct a clinical trial and applied chemical neuroscience on humans? Tempting, both. Very tempting. |
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| C'est Moi! |
[Feb. 8th, 2006|09:43 pm] |
A Meme and a pleasant diversion, stolen affectionately from another friend’s journal. I didn’t think to do it then, but I’m glad to have done it now.
1. What did you do in 2005 that you'd never done before?
Visit Philadelphia.
2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don’t make resolutions.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
My boss actually back at the bio lab, *and* my biochem. professor too for that matter!
4. Did anyone close to you die?
Alas, my pioneering spirit… it withered away with the autumn leaves.
5. What countries did you visit?
Does Quaker country count?
6. What would you like to have in 2006 that you lacked in 2005?
A friend who is a poet. (Read: Sarah is gone and has left me all alone at Penn!)
Furniture would be nice too.
7. What date from 2005 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
April 16, but I’m not saying why… ;-)
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I’m here, aren’t I?
9. What was your biggest failure?
I’d like to think of mine as a multitude of tiny insignificant ones that can be beaded on a string like pearls.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I got a nasty email from someone that was totally unnecessary and which, I proceeded to ignore.
11. What was the best thing you bought?
A three-piece suit, finally!
12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Again, alas, not all of us can be blessed so bountifully…
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
I have a list. They’re all getting a lump of coal for Christmas.
14. Where did most of your money go?
Sallie Mae and CVS.
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Oh my god, look at the size of that LIBRARY!
16. What song will always remind you of 2005?
La Vie Boheme!
17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
i. happier or sadder? Ask me the same question tomorrow
ii. thinner or fatter? I lost what I had gained. In the end I was even.
iii. richer or poorer? I haven’t checked the Nasdaq yet. Hold on.
18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
I’d always wished for time to do NOTHING.
19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Walking. Someone needs to buy me a car, quickly before the soles wear out.
20. How did you spend Christmas?
Making Cheesecake, eating with the family, watching the Stock Market (which, stubbornly, was closed for the holidays), and then seeing the cutest boy in all the world. ;-)
22. Did you fall in love in 2004?
Has it been that long already?
23. How many one-night stands?
I’m made people!
24. What was your favourite TV program?
Gilmore Girls, Teen Titans, that Evolution special on the Discovery Channel, CNBC
25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
*Now* you say? I think I stopped hating people after eighth grade.
26. What was the best book you read?
This year the award goes to WICKED by none other than Gregory Maguire.
27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Mikey!
28. What did you want and get?
small things: some cash, a watch, several books, and a life
29. What did you want and not get?
I still want that 20’’ flat-screen G5 iMac.
30. What was your favorite film of this year?
I would have probably said RENT, if someone had only gone to see it with me...
31. What did you do on your birthday?
I don’t have a birthday. I was genetically engineered. :-(
32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Just one? Don’t wishes always come in threes?
…let’s see, should I ask the Wizard for the brain, the heart, or the courage?
33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2003?
I can’t remember that far back. People still used 3-and-1/2-inch floppy disks back then.
34. What kept you sane?
As Akira Kurosawa once said, “In a mad world only the mad are sane.”
35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Queen Elizabeth I
36. What political issue stirred you the most?
The signing of the Magna Carta. Boy was that a big mistake.
37. Who did you miss?
Sarah, come back from Greece! America needs you!
38. Who was the best new person you met?
All the wonderful people here at Penn, but, I would have to say especially Adi and Zeen.
39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2005.
Let Einstein tell you: “Insanity [is] doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”
40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
Thank you for the music, the songs I’m singing... |
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| And now back to our regularly scheduled programming! |
[Feb. 8th, 2006|08:04 pm] |
GREAT NEWS EVERYONE! I just got a job offer! I’m to work at a research institution right next to UPenn’s campus, for an organization of scientists dedicated to studying the chemical senses. I’ll be working in NEUROSCIENCE! I get to stay here AND get paid! …and there’s more. They’re going to reimburse my tuition! What a lovely deal is that???
I’m going to spend the rest of my night in a mad frenzy reading science journals. To celebrate, I had an early dinner. To quell my mind, I went to the bookstore and read the first 100-pages of a 2006 tax book. It didn’t do the trick. I’m still psyched. I can’t contain myself. I’ve been thinking about neurons ever since the phone call. I’m going to get out my neuroscience and behavioral psych books and start studying right away! Everything else is just noise to me now. |
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| The Simplest Cause of Pain |
[Feb. 8th, 2006|12:48 am] |
Faced with the question of what kind of person I wanted to make myself, I looked to literature, at those characters so entrenched in fiction they show more truth than our actual selves. After much deliberation, I came to an impasse. On one pole lies Ayn Rand’s Howard Roark, a man as driven, cool, and confident in manner as he is competent in intellect. He stands for empiricism, rationality and capitalism at its finest. Naturally, businessmen and engineer-types are attracted to him. He gets the job done. I’ve always adored Howard Roark. On the other hand lies Oscar Wilde’s creation, Dorian Gray, the new Galatea to an age-old Pygmalion -- or an effete dandy’s solution to an age of English propriety. Dorian Gray is sleek, cool, calm, admired, and confident. I'm careful to say "admired" and not "loved." Dorian Gray is, to say the least, the face of charisma -- the embodiment of youth and joy. Artists and dreamy, romantic-types are attracted to him, but then again, so is everyone. He represents society at its finest.
To be Roark is to be in control. Roark is pure production, and the master of his domain. The caveat of course is that the more and more a man becomes like Roark, the less spontaneous and creative his life becomes. He becomes entrenched in discipline and ritual. Eventually, he becomes what he desires most: a robot, an automaton that can get the job done with no cause for concern, worry, or error. No man wants to become that: to stand up, get the job done, sit back down, and do another. Any man that admits so is purely a masochist! No one is an assembly line. Where then is the sense of pride, and the joy in one's work? Of course, Ayn Rand portrayed Roark as a man on a mission and one driven by a fierce passion and intellect to move the world. What I think is the reality, however, is that the job gets done with or without his input, and the work gets tedious after some time. We’ll always want for something more.
A man hasn't lived until he's seen every bit of the world: each tower, each alleyway, and each street there is to cross. That's the way we’re meant to live. I’d want to be immersed in it: the big, beautiful, noisy, and hard-paved world. I want to be able to look in the eye and see that I've conquered it, seen every sight there is to see and experienced everything worth experiencing. I'd be filled with fright to do otherwise. Shear fear of missing something alone should be motivation enough. I know that one day, I too will be settled in my grave, and I will want to look back on my life at the very end and not have a regret for those things I never got to do. That's what drives me. That's what wakes me up in the morning, to climb ever higher and fall flat on my face crying, and to want to go up to a random stranger and hug every damn person I see.
I guess the problem is purely one of the heart and the intellect, or as Greeks saw it, of maintaining the delicate balance between the Apollonian and the Dionysian. What Roark stands for is Reason, and Dorian, sheer Passion. They’re opposite ends of the pole, two ways of living. Apollo, the Sun God, represents classical order and reason triumphing over the entropy of nature. In Apollo’s light, magnificent cities are built, wild pastures are tamed, and great statues are erected in tribute to the creative powers of man. Dionysus, the God of Wine, represents something entirely different. In Dionysus’s fleeting night; wild inhibitions are released, beasts are unharnessed, and secret pleasures come to fruition. To worship Dionysus is to give in.
As a person, Dorian Gray was neither born nor made. He is too artificial to have been born of man and woman, and too natural to have been contrived. He simply is. He is like Athena, springing in full armor from the head of Zeus, belonging neither to man nor woman, mother nor father. People see him like a nymph, in its insular sacred beauty. They want to possess him, or aspire to be him, or both; but little things get in the way. People are too shy, they never say the right things, don't have the right clothes, or don’t think they can compare to other men, or gods. To be Dorian Gray is to defy reality. People appreciate his style, his charisma, his immortality, and the way people gather around him like ants to honey; but his shallowness is to be mistrusted; and his lack of responsibility, abhorred. Someone who gave thought as much intensity as feeling would want more than that from life. He would be capable of so much more.
To move mountains, to make something useful, to believe that an Anybody can be a Somebody -- there’s the true source of pride. There’s the sense of validation. It’s all one big game at the end of the long haul. A person can’t long to possess one world, and have some of the other. It just doesn't work that way. Now, take Howard Roark and Dorian Gray for instance. Both were artists in their own right, and both tempted destruction. Everyone sought to destroy Howard Roark, for his spiritual vision and his disregard for appearances. Everyone accepted Dorian Gray, for his lack of a vision and complete immersion in appearances. Yet, he eventually destroyed himself. To live, in accordance with or despite one’s best self -- that is the big question, and the simplest cause of pain. |
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| Throwing in the Towel |
[Feb. 2nd, 2006|07:49 pm] |
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I can’t buy one. Even at discount prices, it’s just more than I can afford at this time. I can’t buy an entirely new computer. I would as a celebration of getting a job, but I’ve just had interviews so far, and I can’t spoil myself by buying a new computer before getting the job. Apple will have to wait. I’ll focus on the PC I already have. I’ll start by buying an external DVD+RW drive. I’ll install more RAM later. I don’t know what I’ll do after – maybe buy peripherals. The iMac will have to wait, but I’m definitely buying one. I went to the store today and the four they had on their shelves were already sold out. I was right. I’ll have to wait. |
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