Doo and Goliath, Part 1

A good friend of mine named Doo Lim often surprises me with pearls of wisdom. Right now, I think he's given me enough to string on a necklace, but I'm not a huge fan of jewelry.

Doo, whose birth name is David, once told me his philosophy on friendship.

"Friends," he tells me on the last day of finals at the Lair, after all the tests are done and the stress is passed, "are like circles. You know, like concentric circles. Do you know what I mean?"

He looks at me hesitantly, unsure if I could follow, and rightfully so. I have often told anyone willing to listen (all two of you) that I think Doo is ahead of his time. I think he's a dude growing up about ten years before he should have been born. People don't always get him, but I think it's because he doesn't really care the same way we do about our problems. He cares differently somehow, though not necessarily less than we do, just differently.

I guess when I write it out, it doesn't sound as sensible, but I just want people to understand that Doo is misunderstood for a reason. It's because he's great, in an Emersonian sense.

"To be great is to be misunderstood," Emerson says. Doo is misunderstood, and people gloss over his rants and seemingly trivial thoughts without truly getting him. Some dismiss him as unique, too dorky or just plain weird. Not everyone disregards him, of course, just the naive ones, the ones who don't fully get him. Some people aren't comfortable with what they don't understand, which is...understandable.

But Doo is great.

"They're like concentric circles," he continues, gaining confidence as I nod to show I follow. "The largest circle is all the people you know or all our acquaintances or whatever." He looks at me to make sure I was still following. Doo's timidity is part of why I love him. He's humble and modest, even when I tell him he's a man before his time.

I guess to some people, that's synonymous with insanity, talking and not being understood...which, looking back, makes me think I should have phrased it differently. Now I just look like I'm calling him crazy, multiple times to his face.

Regardless...

"Then there's a circle within that circle," he says, gesticulating emphatically, moving his hands closer together. "These are the people who are closer to you, the ones you grew up with or what have you."

A simple process so far.

"Then you have these friends," Doo says, moving his hands even closer, "who you would give or do anything for. I only have a handful of these friends, maybe five or six, but they're the ones that are very close to you and you would probably risk your life for them."

"Got it," I reply.

"So after your close friends, for whom you'd risk your life, there's an even smaller circle," he says, no longer using his hands, but looking at me very seriously.

"Then you have one or two friends who you know would do the same for you."



And that, avid readers, is just one reason why I love Doo Lim.

Songs from Swift

"But if I were to write a good novel," Johnny continued, "I would want to make sure that all the grammar rules and spelling of words would be most accurate. There is nothing more that I detest than a typographical error in an otherwise enthralling read."

Rufio paused to think about this. "Well," he responded, "what about the word 'Yahoo', when referring to the website?"

The inquiry was a strange one, to say the least, because the website's name is officially spelled with an exclamation mark.

"Well," thought Johnny carefully. He paused a bit longer. "I think if the official spelling of 'Yahoo!' is with an exclamation mark, I would say use it in the writing."

"But wouldn't the exclamation mark ruin the flow of prose and dialogue?" Rufio inquired, "I think it's better if 'Yahoo' is spelled without an exclamation mark, because that's still the name of it, and people will recognize it regardless."

"'Yahoo!' needs the mark to distinguish it from other...you know, uses of the word," Johnny replied feebly, still unsure about his point.

Rufio laughed. "What other uses of the word? You mean to refer to the beasts as described by Gulliver? You think that proper context will still cause confusion of the word?"

"I don't know," Johnny grumbled. "It's obviously causing confusion right now." Johnny didn't like to be the subject of laughter. He was sensitive that way and couldn't quite understand how others found it even funnier that he was so.

"I think that grammar is grammar, and rules are rules," Johnny continued. "I'm not trying to be a stickler or overly rigid on the rules, 'cause I know they're pretty arbitrary, but if the name of the object has strange punctuations, they should be included. It is how the creators of the word intended it to be, so writers should respect that."

"True," Rufio thought. Johnny had a good way of sounding like he had thought about everything before, as if he was prepared for all conversations. He always had something to say, a clear opinion on things, or so it seemed. It probably was just the way he said things, his tone, Rufio thought.

"But," continued Rufio, "do you not contend that, when referring to the website, readers will understand the use of 'Yahoo' in the context of the conversation? So would the use of the exclamation mark really be necessary? It seems kind of excessive to me. It interrupts the flow of the conversation in dialogue, and distracts the power in prose. It weakens the writing ability of authors, in my opinion."

"It doesn't matter," Johnny stressed. "The word itself is 'Yahoo!' with an exclamation mark. Obviously when we talk about it, it doesn't matter whether the punctuation is there or not, but if it's in written form, at the end of the day, the word has an exclamation mark. Without it, it's another word!"

"No," argued Rufio, "the punctuation doesn't dictate the word. It's the use of the word itself. How you use the word to convey the message is the important part. It doesn't really matter how you spell it, as long as the message gets across. The word has served its purpose, and any other rules are just superfluous. The exclamation point in 'Yahoo' is a perfect example. Plus, like I said, with it, the flow is ruined."

"Don't be stupid," Johnny replied. The command was said innocently, and anyone who knew Johnny knew he didn't really think others stupid. Johnny did worry that he might be using it too much, though. You never know who you might offend with what you say.

"It doesn't interrupt the flow of a conversation any more than the © symbol does. It's just punctuation," Johnny contended.

"But think about it," said Rufio. "The exclamation point conveys an emotion, while the copyright sign doesn't. Plus, if you used the copyright thingy in context, it just looks weird and that in and of itself is a distraction to the reader."

"It depends," Johnny said stubbornly.

"Maybe," Rufio thought aloud, "maybe the author himself or herself needs to decide. But whatever he or she decides, an author needs to be consistent with his or her choice. If he or she spells 'Yahoo' without it once, it has to be the same way throughout, at least when referring to the website."

"I agree wholeheartedly," Johnny said. "Though I can't imagine any good novel being written if the word 'Yahoo!' is a main point of contention in the story."

Rufio chuckled. "Yeah," he said, "it would be a pretty boring, to say the least. Talking about it is already boring."

Johnny laughed. "We'd probably make horrible writers anyways," he said. "We also would never be able to edit shit for each other since we disagree all the time."

"Yeah," chortled Rufio, joining Johnny's laugh.

Slowly, like fire to embers, their laughter faded into smiles, both quietly drifting away from the topic mentally and into the aimless thoughts before sleep, the calm before the unconscious.

"Night," Rufio said a minute later.

"Night," replied Johnny sleepily, still distracted in his own thoughts.

And with that, Johnny and Rufio fell into a silence that bled into their slumber.

Flashback, Memories

I have just spent that last 3 or 4 hours reading my old Xanga. I admit to making myself chuckle sometimes, but in doing so, I realized that my laughter came from hearing the joke the first time. It seems like I've changed so much that I don't expect what comes out of me anymore, even though I've already expressed it.

There are lots of things I've learned from reading some of my old stuff. Primarily, I'm a horrible poet. I personally blame all my "friends" who told me I was good. I reread some of the crap I wrote, and a vast majority of them are poorly written. I am proud, however, to say that they are not nonsensical, so at least I make sense to myself.

Another thing I learned is that I am always learning. I read a bit over a year's worth of Xanga entries, and I literally followed my own growth and memories. It's a harrowing alleyway, but memory lane is somehow satisfying in its answers. It refills the part of me that was missing myself. Sometimes we lose sight of who we are, forgetting that an important part of that is who we were.

In addition, I've found myself, like I assume many teenagers are, to be addicted to attention. I crave(d) it. I don't know what I'll think when I look back on this particular post, but I do know that I'll be happy I have some account of my personal thoughts, to see and remind myself of myself, if that makes sense.

I did this a few times already, but I guess here's a previously written entry, raw from the crypts of Mista_ex93's Xanga, dated Saturday, 15 October 2005:

"I jumped into the blackness and started writing...


Meaning I clicked "New Weblog Entry" on my Xanga, since it's so black and dark and all. I think I set a personal record. I slept for 16 hours straight. There were a few breaks, like when I called Alex/Daniel/Abbie around 12:15, but other than that, I slept from about 1:15 AM until 5:15 PM. I just realized that for the first time in my life, I received too much sleep. I never thought it possible until now. I got up and brushed my teeth. I admit, that it was probably one of the best sleeps I have ever had, but now I can't help but regret it. It's like you love something sooooo much, yet you know it's bad for you. I am still groggy as we speak. I still love it though. I still do.


Yellow Goodwill Tires.

Let me begin here then. Hello, avid Xanga readers. I know, I know, Xanga is TERRIBLY out of fashion what with Myspace's takeover of the blog/photo/friend world. Admittedly, I myself have a Myspace, yet I can't help myself but to feel loyal to the one blog site that has remained with me in my days of socializing. Ever since the summer before freshman year at Bellarmine, Xanga has remained to me a loyal friend, unbroken in its patience and feedback. So, I find myself here again, over two years later, "blogging" to the tacit world of my life.

But it's different now. The world still remains silent at my rants, and I am still adamant to rant. However, the world has changed and I have changed. Things are always changing, and whether they are for the better or worse, I am not at liberty to say. It is much more practical and sensible to just say: Things are changing and let's just accept that they are.


Heffalump

What is with October birthdays? How can so many people be born in the same month? I am going to try and list the people right now, but keep in mind that this makes up only a small percentage of the people I know, yet just forgot when their birthdays were: John, Rosemary, Andy, Mom, Desiree, Alex Tai, Victoria, Grant Bauer, Eric Masch, Vivian, Bryan Nguyen, Andrew Strawbridge....

A few of them I don't know very well, yet regardless of that, the fact that I have heard of them makes me wary. I just don't understand how so many people can be born in the same month. Until this month, I had thought that the month with the most birthdays was November, but I question the validity of that fact. I mean, shit! Hella people in October.


Door hinge on the X-wing.

I met and old friend yesterday. Over the past year I saw her more often than I thought I would, since I thought I put the St. Justin's life behind me for the most part. I am sure she doesn't read my Xanga (and for that matter, neither do most people), so I am just going to use her name. Olivia Teixeira. She is a really nice girl; well, she was at St. Justin's in my more adolescent years, and from what I see of her now, she still seems to be a really nice gal. Well I saw her again yesterday (Friday) at practice for A Few Good Men. Now, her brother, Eric, and my brother, Matt, are apparently really close friends, so I tend to see Eric a lot. I never usually think of Olivia when I see Eric though. Luckily for him, I see him as an individual and not a spawn off my friend Olivia. Well, I see Olivia again, smiling like she always used to when I knew her and the short time I spent with her was all smiles as usual. She started off the conversation asking what happened between me and (dare I repeat the name?) Jeri. I glossed over it, being the touchy subject it was. We were all smiles again. I was also very mean to her in what I saw as a joking way. I know I must have crossed the line somewhere, but I guess that's just who I am. I did not know how else to deal with an old friend. Well she took it as a cue to be mean to me back, which is perfectly okay; I can take dishes as well as I can give them out and often times even better than I can give them out. Well, she dished one my way..."Thanks for breaking Jeri's heart," she quipped as she walked away. I quickly got over my shock and said, in a seemingly joking manner, "Ouch! Straight though the heart!" She laughed and walked away, "Bye Andrew!" That girl is fun. And I felt like shit. I tried to call to her and say, "It hurts more to hurt someone than it does to be hurt," but I doubt she got me. I don't blame her. I'm an asshole.


Newborn Purple Stars.

How can anyone be so fearless? It kills you when the ideal you tentatively called "love" is shaken at its roots. Why? Because you passed the point when you no longer "tentatively" called it so, but rather, you walked confidently into the realms in which you could call it "love" with neither fear nor diffidence. You called it "love" because it was simply that and you knew it was love. There is no explanation for why it was so; it just was. Love just was. But now you are dying because as it turns out, it wasn't. Love wasn't that. It appears that you were completely wrong and now you walk with your head down in shame because you were wrong. You live in sadness everyday. And along comes a spider. You sat down beside her. And all your errors were thrown away. Now it gets complicated. You had lived your life according to simplicity, thinking that everything boiled down to something simpler, thinking life was simple and that was what made it worth living. But this is the raw form of complexity with which you can't boil it down to simplicity. You don't get it, and you want to. You are afraid. Everything tells you not to be. But you are afraid. You thought there was no such thing as anyone who was fearless. How was it possible that someone can live as the true Romantic? (The Romantic who follows his/her heart and looks inside his/herself in order to order the chaos of the world. The real Romantic; not the shit-ass one who believes in love and all that sappy shit. The Romantic that undoubtedly most of you are learning in your Literature classes. The Romantic.) You found the Romantic and she defies all your conceptions of the perfect girl. You thought the perfect girl had these characteristics and behaved like this and looked like this. But she is the perfect girl too and she did not qualify by your standards. On Josh's scale, she was a 6 or 7 but still a 10. She contradicts everything you believed and believe. And you are afraid.


Silver Mushroom.

Because someone else is seemingly perfect too. Yeah, I'll say it: There's a choice between what you thought was perfect and what you think is perfect, and both make sense.


The Panic Button

I went to Tri's house last night. We argued certain points and concluded that in this life, you gotta "be prepared" for the next. Lisa claimed that "love isn't love until it hurts" meaning that love is only proven through pain. I disagreed and agreed. Pain can define love but it doesn't always do so. It's just because we are afraid of pain and suffering. We are too afraid to risk and too afraid to step blindly with faith. We are, meaning I am, too afraid of it. But I guess Lisa must be somewhat right since all these guys are calling her up all the time.

We played charades last night for a little over an hour. What I have mentioned was only part of what we tried to charade.

Leave a comment for me by which I can define myself."

Thanks for reading, guys.

Coats

I have been at the receiving end of many a criticism regarding my choice of outer garment on days of questionable weather. Namely, I have been given incredulous looks when I wear coats on warm days. When I say warm, or when others think it's warm, I usually get these looks around 75 degrees Fahrenheit, when shorts and a t-shirt would more than suffice.

But I think that if the weather is below the 80 mark, a jacket or a long-sleeved article of clothing should at least be brought just in case you go somewhere cold. This has rarely failed me. Not since I was much younger did I find carrying a jacket or coat too inconvenient as to demerit a moment when I actually needed it. Many times I have been comfortable in colder-than-assumed conditions when others shiver.

A few months ago in Stockton, when the sun was happily shining around 75, I walked to the dining hall to eat with Sean and Eric (who happen to criticize me the most on this and give me often-to-the-point-of-you-should-know-me-by-now looks of question). I sit down and put my coat on the chair, Sean in a black tank top and Eric in a t-shirt. Well, soon after Eric left, it seemed to get a bit colder, so I put on my coat.

As I put it on, Sean says, "I'm cold too but I won't admit it because that would mean you're right."


Yesterday, on my way out of the house, I get in the car to go to church with my mom.

Says she, "Andrew, do you know how hot it is? Why are you wearing a jacket?"

"If you're shivering in church, mom," I replied, closing the door before we backed out of the driveway, "I'm not letting you borrow my jacket. You can freeze, and I'll be warm."

Sure enough, the fans of St. John the Baptist Church made it colder than usual and when my mom asked to borrow my jacket, chuckling as she did so, I chuckled with equal hilarity and shook my head while pretending to pray.

To those of you who argue that it's not worth carrying around, I have only to tell you that a jacket can easily be left in a car or hung on a chair, and it's worth it to have in case of those moments when you wish you had brought it.

Just a tip in case summer isn't as hot as you thought it would be, as is sometimes the case in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley.

Happy beaching!

Memories Consume, Like Opening the Wound

I'm picking me apart again.

I was reading over some of my older posts. I realized that I've grown more self-conscious in my writing. I used to update less frequently, and I think I'm falling into that old habit again.

Or am I breaking the habit of blogging? idecay. Via Eric Woo.

It's difficult to blog in the summer because for me, blogging is something I do when I have things to say, when the gritty gears of my mind are turning. Since summer began, even though I study most days, I don't seem to have as much on my mind. It's possibly the result of summer, or maybe I just don't have as much on my mind like I pretend to have.

I would say that I blog less often because I enjoy my life more now, but I don't think that's true. I don't really feel any happier now than I have before. My life is just bland right now.

A bland life doesn't necessarily imply an unhappy life either. People associate blandness and the neutrality of life with stagnance, like still water that collects debris and mud. I don't think it works like that. Life doesn't need to be exciting all the time. It doesn't need to be brimming with adventure or teeming with activity. Life just needs to be purposeful.

So I guess I'm okay with the way things are for me right now. There isn't the hullabaloo of college life or living with my friends, but as much as I love that, I've come to terms with living in whatever situation I happen to occupy.

I blog less because maybe I'm living more. I'm not necessarily doing more things, just things I didn't think I'd be doing.

Like playing Settlers of Catan.

Or SimCity.

Or eating at Red Robin twice a week. (Actually, not anymore. It's not easy on the wallet.)

This wasn't my vision of my summer, but it's better that I don't know all the details of my future, even though I think about those details frequently. It adds a flavor to my life that makes it a bit more daring, but not in a bad way. Like a new sauce you've never tried but know you could learn to enjoy.

I remember when I was in elementary school, probably in the second or third grade, and I was learning about the inequality signs, "<" and ">". I remember being so confused, so befuddled as to the reasoning or method to discern between the two. I think it took me weeks to figure it out. They told us something stupid to help us remember it, something to do with alligators eating each other.

Really? You're trying to teach simple arithmetic to 8-year-olds using cannibalistic reptiles as an analogy?

Needless to say even then I thought it was a stupid way to remember it. I thought the kids who drew teeth on the signs were idiots, but I never said anything because I didn't fully understand the signs themselves. I eventually figured out that the side that's bigger faces the quantity that's bigger. That's how I think about it in my head to this day. It's childish, but it works for me.

No goddamn reptiles are eating each other on my binder paper.