One of the first songs I ever downloaded was Blur\’s Coffee and TV.

At that time, I was more intrigued with the milk carton running around on tv. I must have thought Blur was a band that sucked, because it wasn\’t like the other pop songs I listened to. It just wasn\’t cool. Like BSB. Like the other top 40 music. Like the eurodance and other techno music back when I wanted to be a raver (ironically, I never actually got the chance to go).

More than six years later. I listened to it again on my powerbook, years after my first desktop crashed and burned. I appreciate the music that is Blur. And the music that I have discovered recently thanks to Andrew Rose\’s PopCast. My appreciation goes out to Out Hud, Parker House and Theory, The Arcade Fire, Caribou, Elliot Smith, Mogwai and the movies that made me love soundtrack music too much. Say hello to my former fascination of the LOTR soundtrack as well as Yann Tierson.

My music tastes have changed and I am not that afraid to find new music. Over the weekend, I went with a few friends to the Shadow Lounge in East Liberty, where I was impressed by the live music and the lounge atmosphere.

I can\’t sing. I can\’t play a musical instrument (well). I have very little sense of rhythm (ask my former piano teacher and people who have seen me dance). Yet, music has the power to capture the greatest essence of life for that moment.

As does anything aurally. Silence has its strengths too. This is why I can be found in the kitchen holding my tea (or hot lemonade) staring outside the window almost if I was watching something. But I am not.

Like many other American teenyboppers, I read the Babysitter\’s Club. I never did get a job as a babysitter however.

In that series, I learned that if you wet the bed and needed to go the bathroom, you have diabetes. I also learned about the traumas about family and friends. I also learned that there\’s always a token asian and a token African American in all groups. I learned that anybody from New York City is incredibly trendy and well-groomed. That all cities in the East were just like Stoneybrook, CT. All parents divorce at some point or another. And that people from California are big environmentalists even though I was born in that state. And finally, 11 year old girls and 13 year old girls have enough responsibility to babysit and run their own business (yet not caught by the IRS).

Plus, they always stayed in 6th and 8th grade for years. Yet they had at least 10 different xmases and 5 different thanksgivings.

So when I came across the movie playing free on Comcast on demand. I just had to see it despite the horrible acting involved. It reminded me of the nineties more than how it was like to be 13 years old (not a great time to remember even though now it\’s 10 years ago). The movie is about love, families, struggle as a preteen, and running a business.

I was on my laptop the entire time and used it as background noise.

When applying for undergrad, I attempted to write my personal statement about my step-grandmother.

I started, She was a small woman nearly eighty five years old. Her small brown eyes resembled the family eyes-eyes that looked away in timidity but at a moment\’s notice, returned bright and hopeful.
Clutching my grandfather, she came into the kitchen setting her bags on the floor . The bags were full of souvenirs and trinkets meant to gain the family\’s favor.

Then I couldn\’t think of anything else to write and wrote about a superficial aspect of myself.

It has always been like that. Despite my grandparents\’ major presence in my childhood, I never felt that they were any more than symbols, people to be revered. I didn\’t break that barrier.

Like my envy of typical Americans\’ celebration of Christmas and Thanksgiving, I also envy the relationships between grandchildren and grandparents. When I was younger, I read books and saw movies where the grandparents–the ones who would make delicious apple pies and the ones who told their grandchildren stories of the war–played an intimate role in the family. I was born in the states. First generation, resulting in a language barrier between my grandparents and me.

Today is the first day of the Chinese New Year–the year of the dog. Yesterday, I called my grandparents to wish them a happy new year. Gung hay fat choy! I said in my heavily accented Chinese. My grandfather, who I recently realized is rather reserved, said thank you and we exchanged a few pleasantries talking about weather. Then we hung up, a short conversation. I called my grandmother who I wished a happy birthday and a happy new year. She gave me a lot of advice in Chinese on how to succeed in life. And then, that was it.

I wish there was more and perhaps if I could, I can make it become more. I watched a Jackie Chan movie yesterday at Gary\’s in \”celebration\” of the Chinese New Year. It was ridiculous like most JC movies and contained much obvious CG.

Maybe I should ask about the Myth.

In the 11th grade in spirit of Valentine\’s Day for Spanish class, we were to write an essay on love. Anything. Anybody.

Simply to demonstrate and exercise our basic knowledge of the language.

I wrote about my current obsession that week. A boy. Who in my naivete, I believe there was something going on. (Turns out later, he used me for my \”intelligence\”, but that\’s another story completely.)

I wrote…Hablamos mucho durante la noche. Hablamos sobre familia, sobre amor, y sobre vida.

A week later, I got back the essay where my Spanish teacher simply wrote \”I am happy for you.\” By that time, I had lost interest and was embarrassed that I had written such an essay in a moment of teenage obsession.

But I am so like that. Sentimental and fickle.

Despite a sleep-deprived week, I saw an opera, Albert Herring, today at the Purnell Center. An opera in comedic form, for one. Amazing for both the performances, the set, the costumes, and the performers.

Last night around 3:30 am, I woke up to hear a clink. My window or my door. I ignored it and tried to continue sleeping. Then it happened again. Then two minutes later, it happened again. Then again.

Finally, in a distracted sleep state, I got up and turned on the light to find nobody outside my third floor window (of course), the entire house in darkness and a muffled bass of music from the living room.

I accidentally missed my blog\’s 4th year anniversary on January 21. How could I! The great blogger I pretentiously believe I am today!!! How could I have done such a thing!

In reality, it has probably been more than 5 years since I started blogging. I had webspace on geocities where I kept a sporadic record of what I did. I remember thinking that everything I wrote then was a great masterpiece of work in my own twisted mind (perhaps I am no better now). But in truth, the first journal I got was during freshman year in college approximately October 2000, a few days after someone called me pretentious and I didn\’t know what the word meant.

Every so often, I would look back at what I wrote. Was I so self-absorbed? Was I that happy? Was I really that stupid? And why was I always so…crazy? My readership has changed over the years. At first, it was a few online friends. Then it became primiarly people from an online community that I was part of. Then it became people I knew in person. And now a mix.

So many people from then have eliminated their blogs/journals. I am one of the few people I know that has blogged regularly for that long. It probably could be an effect of a slight ocd, but primarily along this journey, doing this, telling an anonymous world about my life and random ideas brings me a sense of relief. It\’s one of the few places that I can feel accepted, that I can embellish my self-centeredness, and…ultimately, complain…and celebrate.

It\’s ingrained in ourselves to immediately recognize someone\’s irritation and anger. That kind of emotion is so easily observable and apparent that we are often right almost 100% of the time. A glance at someone\’s facial expression. Just by the first few seconds of a voice. Or the way someone is standing.

I am an eye crustie.

Interesting how some people notice certain things when they meet people for the first time. Is it the appearance? Whether the hair is straight or curly? Whether their clothes are nerd-like or prep-like? Is it the personality? Optimism? Charisma?