the golden state revamped

Welllll.... note to self: PAY MORE ATTENTION WHEN FORMATTING AND EDITING.

Because I had overwritten the original post for this. *sigh*

I will give a proper California update within the next couple of days.

facepalm.

for giggles

So instead of posting really serious things all the time. I thought I would try and post something down memory lane that even though embarrassing at the time, I look back on and laugh.

A little background into the story. I decided my senior year of high school that it was high time to try something new. I was preparing to study music in college, thus wanted to make myself more desirable as a prospective student and more versatile for education purposes. I also just wanted to see how much music one could possibly fit into a single academic year. So I decided to take Band. I was already heavily involved in Orchestra, Choir, and Theatre. So I thought why not just do all of the performing arts? A normal school day consists of seven courses each lasting about 50 minutes. But with specialized classes, they are only offered at a specific time with no other options. As a senior I was required to take a Government class and I was enrolled in AP Govt. However, with the rest of my schedule in place the only open period was the first one of the day. It was impossible to move the other classes anyway, as many of them were also performing arts classes. With much pleading, I presented my case and it turns out -- with the permission of all teachers, the student counselor charged with your case, and the principle -- one could be allowed to split time between two courses held during the same period in the day. My schedule looked a little something like this:

1. Band/AP Govt

1. Japanese I

1. AP Music Theory & Harmony

1. A Cappella Choir (ironically we did not actually sing a cappella)

1. AP English

1. Northwinds Chorale (Adv. Choir)

1. Orchestra

5 of the 8 courses were music related. I thought it was neat. But this is neither light nor funny and I don't want to bore you any more than I must. Without further adieu dear readers, one of the most embarrassing moments of my high school career:

It was the homecoming game and my first big appearance on the field with the marching band. God knows why I thought that it would be a good idea to join marching band, but okay. So that little bit before the game starts where the band marches for about 5 minutes, plays, then stands on the field while the national anthem gets sung? Well for me I was actually one of the singers as well, as our advanced choir always sung the national anthem at home games. The first part I did with flying colors. So feeling rather good about myself I proceeded to sprint to my place among the singers. From my place on the field, I had about 20 meters to run and failed to notice two things. A) that there was a strip of tarp between the field and the track, and B) that it had poured rain that morning, thus covering the now invisible tarp with mud.

Yes. It is exactly as you are thinking now. At full speed -- or at as full a speed as one can go in a heavy uniform, marching shoes, and toting a rather large instrument -- in front of hundreds of people, home and away fans alike, I did a slip-n-slide hitting the ground before I knew what was even happening. Feet in the air, breath knocked from my lungs. Shock-stricken it took me what felt like an eternity to get up. Of course it really only amounted to three seconds because coming up behind me there were 2 others in my exact situation. They had further to run you see and they stopped to make sure I wasn't hurt. Neither were tactful enough to keep from laughing. I do not blame them. There is not one person I know who could have kept from bursting into laughter after seeing a fall like that one. Not unless they were a boring person. In those three seconds I could hear the inhale of an audibly surprised gasp. You can imagine the laughter that followed and the buzz of talk. I decided to make the most of it. Since I knew I would be needing to take my hat off to sing I did what I thought would deflate the situation. I bent over, removed my hat, and movie style-like flipped my hair and stood up. My hair back then was still down to the small of my back. Effectively revealing to everyone who it was. It's not as if I could have hid it. If they didn't know me then, they'd have found out by the end of the game. 

Brushing off some of the mud that had smeared itself all over my torso and legs I took my place, stood tall, and sang the national anthem. I think that's the only time I'd ever really enjoyed singing it. I had to fight back the embarrassment and the hysterical laughter bubbling up from my depths. I managed to do so with some manner of respect. And the people, too, quieted just enough to hear us sing. We calmly all turned to our left and filed off the track. I did have a bit of a horror moment when I realized of all the people in the world, an ex happened to be sitting front and center. But that moment passed pretty quickly because I realized that I just didn't care. Without so much as split second to pass we all dissolved into side-aching laughter as soon as we were off. My two peers had come to thank me for taking the fall for them because apparently, having seen me go down so tragically, they slowed their pace and carefully approached the speed trap. One had said he had almost fallen even with the warning carrying his large sousaphone (marching tuba). Through the ruckus we could all still hear the footsteps of the band moms scrambling to get down the bleachers to inspect my uniform and the damage. It was then that I realized I had dented my instrument. It was out for a week for repairs. Poor Marty. 

In short, in front of hundreds of people I took a bow and sung the national anthem whilst covered in mud. I think the fall was the worst part. Oh and the fact that it was freezing for the rest of the game since I had to stay and play with a soaked uniform. Fantastic. So there you have it. It's a shame I never did see if anyone got a video of it or not.

not a monument yet

So... I was just laughing at how ridiculous I am. I know I can be a bit of a volatile person. I realized again for the millionth time how grateful I am for someone so patient and light-hearted. I throw fits over nothing sometimes and get sad or angry over the littlest things. Somehow, Angel, the best person I know seems to be able to handle all of it. Even if it's aimed at him when he's just the innocent bystander of that particular day's tantrum storm. Then the other night he stayed up until some crazy hour answering all the questions I had on my mind and bantered back and forth about things we didn't agree. We covered a lot. Philosophy, his paper, the universe/physics, Einstein, linguistics, mathematics, back to philosophy, politics/social issues. Then we discussed how I am a bit insane. I realized then that he had to be up at 8am and would not be getting a sufficient amount of sleep because he was willing to entertain my mind going 800 mph and still keep up. In fact, he was exhausted and still did it. Is it odd that after all these years he can still amaze me?

I keep thinking about how people make compromises in their lives. I think I have made some in order to be with Angel, but I know each time I do so, I've made the right choice. That every day choice to be with this person is the right one, because he is the right person for me. It made me sad to think that people that I care about do not have that luxury. Maybe life had led them away from that person. A lot of people might respond with "then it wasn't meant to be". But it's too passive for me. Why are we damned to submit to some kind of fate? "Predestined" is a cop out. I am a fighter. There are many who are not and I lack the empathy to understand.  People always talk about how marriage is a lot of work, but worth it in the end. But when troubles come round, that's what we do isn't it? Fight. We fight each other but it's the ones who choose to fight to be with each other who survive. It's not as if that's all love is. But all things worth anything come with a bit of a struggle. As the saying goes, "a little pain never hurt anyone."

Anywho, I digress.

I am working on trying to still my temperamental tendencies. You know, just to reign them in a bit. I understand that I'm a fiery person and embrace that fact. However, there are many aspects that can be damaging to oneself and to relationships. Anger is one of them. I was told that I am the type of person that searches for something to be angry about. I was taken aback at first and a little defensive. After some thought I came to realize that they were right. Sometimes I can divert that anger into good and throw it into something I really believe in, such as being green and reducing our carbon footprint. The environment is something I feel rather strongly about and I find myself angry about it a lot. This I don't mind so much so long as I am active about finding a way to help and it doesn't eat away at me. It doesn't. There are at times things I really do not need to be angry about. I allow annoyance to turn into anger pretty quickly. I have almost no coping mechanisms and safeguards to protect myself from anger. Especially in cases that whatever I'm angry about just doesn't matter. Or it's not something I can change. I would say I'm not a control freak but I am. 

And then there's resentment. When anger turns to resentment it can start to get really hurtful. There's this person in my life whom I've cared for for a long time. Needless to say, we've had some rocky times and now we're in this place. I'm not sure what to call it. I apologize for being unclear. There's this sadness that I carry for them because I want very much for things to improve but I just don't know how to go about it other than to leave it be. To let it run its course and unknot itself with time. And impatient as I am -- I just takes too damn long. Ha. I have recently discovered that there is a small harbored resentment tucked away. When I speak of them critically I had told myself that I was just being realistic, but that's not true. I was resenting the fact that I'd been rejected by this person long ago. And so, out of self-preservation, began to be critical of them. Maybe to lessen the hurt?

It's proof however that I still care for them. And if ever there was an olive branch, I would take it. In a heartbeat. I would extend it myself but haven't got a clue how.  Regardless of all of that I am now deciding that I need to try and let it go. Stop being angry about the past and allow for a time of growth instead of stifled tension. I thought that I was being weak for laying down and taking it all. That's not it though is it? For me, it was easier to be mad. It takes more strength to not just let things go but to overcome anger altogether. Anger itself is my enemy if I cannot use it as fuel for self-improvement. In this case, I cannot. And it's slowly teaching me that I pay for such anger with pieces of my spirit. Chipped away little by little.

No more.

I have thus taken it upon myself to commit to memory something to help the process. As my parents taught me to memorize the bible in hopes it's verses would be of use, I will try and do just that. Except that it won't be something out of the bible. I'll be employing Plutarch to be my right hand man in my battle with Anger:

"Worse men have conquered better, but to set up in your soul a victory monument over anger -- with which Heraclitus says is hard to fight, for whatever it wants it buys with soul -- that is the mark of a great and victorious strength."

He's right though... worse men have conquered better.

apassionato

"Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping, waiting... It speaks to us... guides us... Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love, the clarity of hatred, and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we'd know some kind of peace, but we would be hollow -- empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we'd be truly dead." (BtVS S2)

Sometimes I think Angelus' thoughts on it says it best. 

There are a number of things I am passionate about, but only one thing I love. Love is stronger than passion and rightly so; this seems an easy enough concept for people to accept, but even as it may be, passion is not something to be taken lightly. To have a passion for something is to be tied to it. In some way it is tethered to your very being and essential to your personage. For some reason, the word 'passion' is used much in the same lax way as the word 'love'. I feel this dilutes the intended meaning for the words. There are so many words in the English language and yet these words are rather limiting. Perhaps that is why over time 'passion' and 'love' have become interchangeable. My instinct tells me that they are closely related and it has been my experience that it is very much the case. Maybe because love, for someone like me, implies that I am also passionate for the thing I love. In this case, a person -- another being. However it is not a bi-conditional statement; P implies Q but not vice versa. Passion does not necessarily imply love. It may be that there is much confusion because, for many, it is sufficient. So in that case, it is sufficient to say that they love x because they are passionate for x. And so the two are never separated and they become wishy-washy things that elude people and continue to plague them by dancing around in the haze. It casts a provocative shadow and the glimpses are hard to grasp, but all the same are breathtaking too. I think maybe that is the obsession with such things. They seem a bit unattainable. There is need for the word 'passion', I think, and need for the separation. It represents something very distinct. People have forgotten what it was or have not been educated otherwise, yet still they continue to have passions. They say they love those things, and mayhap they do, but passions in the present age are equivalent to mere strong curiosities and inclinations. 

In simple terms: Passion is fashion nowadays.

So who are those of true passions, pure and undiluted? This I ask myself. It should be easy to distinguish the genuine from the spurious, though many cannot tell. Sometimes it is almost a palpable aura and one can feel it seeping from the very pores of a passionate man; likewise, the apocryphal fanatics of garish whims air a stench that reeks of burning plastic -- the smell of bandwagons. Still, other times it is not so apparent. And it becomes a game much like the one the 'academics' play with the 'intellects'. The world of passions becomes this gaudy masquerade with masks and feathers and pearls and the smell of bodies jostling about one another on the dance floor. And when you look closely enough you find that you cannot remove some of their masks. Oh the shock! That their masks are not masks at all but the real form of their faces! At first it seems an odd juxtaposition to the normality of the elegant gowns and handsome tuxedos. It might be that they were not born with these features, but they seemed to have developed them, grown into them, and now it is a part of them. It seems to me that passions can be very much like this. And then you come to one whose mask rips off and the cheap elastic snaps with a decisive sharpness, you find yourself taken aback and disappointed. You see their face suddenly as this blank piece of round flesh and it repulses you to the point of disgust. The 'deformity' of the maskless is preferable to the shapelessness of the paraders.

How does one define passion? Do you at all? It strikes me as one of those 'immeasurables'. Take for instance my affinity for music: It has become one of my most defining traits and grown into my strongest passion, only second to my passion linked with my love. For a long while I was under the impression that I loved music. It was a fine assumption actually, until I found what true love was. However, this put into perspective the profundity of music even in the role of passion instead of love. In truth, it has strengthened what music is and means to me in part because I have found its proper function. My passion for music has afforded me some of my most precious memories and offered me a venue through which I may grow, create, and nurture my potential. This is extremely similar to what love also can do, but again there is a major distinction. My passion is intimate and personal and inward. It is that of which my cave is constructed where the tyrannies of the world cannot touch me. And though I may share my passion completely with my love -- because all that is mine and me is always his and us -- it feels it is very much mine. I know not how to phrase this accurately. It seems the ideas and conceptions I hold of my passion are conflicting, but the tensions are important. It is burning and strong, yet I possess the impulse to be protective of it as it is fragile and delicate. I suppose I have this inclination because music is close to me. Self-preservation at work, though not in any direct sense. It is a subtle instinct. I suppose I would find myself a little lost without it because it is so intricately twined into my person. I think one might find there is music in the double-helix. I bet my atoms move in rhythm. I do not presume to know which rhythm.

I am asking the wrong questions it seems. That's the trouble with words. You never know quite how to ask and when someone tries to answer you they hardly ever know what you're asking. Words are not always enough. But I am still just skirting around all the things I am trying to say. That is one of the reasons I chose music and music chose me. I have no affinity for words, but I know how to communicate through music. I am freed from the limitations of my feeble vocabulary. It is in my music that I am privileged to find passion itself. And perchance while listening to the music I will come across some great stroke of genius. Or maybe it will reveal itself as all having been my genius just waiting to be realized. It might be this was the reason for my musings on passion. I have been feeling it all building up inside of me, the music just swirling around in my head itching to get out. It puts me rather off balance after years of being immersed in the musical world. Now, choosing to step out of it, I am restless and have not the slightest sometimes with what to do with myself.

Musicians cease when there is no more music left in them.

It seems easier to just ask the stars. They too are on fire and may relate to my plights and perhaps because they have no need for my language, they will know what it is I inquire. But even here, in this realm and on this earth, I find that some of my best moments are grounded in my passions. It might be accurate to say that most of them have been. And here is why a separation between love and passion is necessary: it acknowledges the weight of passion without the ballast of love's magnitude. Do not mistake me. Love in no way is diminished by this particular type of sundering.

Both are extreme, sometimes dangerous, powerful affirmations of life.

cookie dough

I don't know who I am.

This statement comes across as rather sad, cliche, and almost emo. I say this, however, with the idea that this is a good and a bad thing simultaneously. It seems rather bittersweet actually because I am stuck halfway in this nostalgic mud pit, halfway on a determined path to make something of myself and of the life I lead. Hmph. "Life I lead..." That's almost humorous, because the universe knows I don't always feel as if I am doing the leading. That is to say, I do a lot of random and fickle-esque stumbling in some sort of an attempt to go in a direction I find suitable for the eventual goals I set. Herein lies my dilemma. I have this idea of what I want to do, where I want to be, you see. And I think to myself that this somehow translates into understanding who I am. I think I sometimes speak like a person who is very much aware of who she is. This would be incorrect. I am keenly aware of a few things, yes. One of those being that I know I am not entirely sure who I am just yet. In the words of Buffy Summers, who my closest people refer to me as, "I'm not done baking." The difference is my discontent in how far along I am in the process. Buffy is not only okay with not knowing, but also enjoying it. She is seemingly along for the ride and one day she'll know. I think I have a better idea of what my version of 'cookies me' will look like. I am clearly not there. In fact, I may have regressed a little. Regressed isn't even the right word. I am something less than what I was even a few years ago, I think. There are so many things I used to do that I just haven't made time for. I am not in the best shape.  The feeling of getting weaker... I can't tell you how awful it feels, yet I have made such little efforts to do anything about it. So I know what I could be doing to improve, what bothers me about all my knowing is the lack of action. I have become this complacent creature on the verge of falling under epicurean status.

Here I am at 4am typing away on the idiot box. Late at night indeed. Insomnia set in. My mind simply whirling away and that nagging feeling that I am not enough. I spent two hours trying to close my eyes and force sleep on my body. Again my mind fails to overcome my body. It could be the other way actually. My warring mind has kept me up at these hours. Haven't decided yet. Both, perhaps. I suppose it is normal to be faced with this realization in life. We all come to that moment that brings you to your knees when we know,  just know,  that we are lacking. Lacking in so many ways it knocks the breath from your lungs so hard you wonder if it'll come back. The choice to lay down or to stand up is a defining choice. It says so much about who we are. Who I am. And when faced with it again, because humans have a way of putting the most important things in life on the back burners, it's not enough for me to say that I willed myself to be different one time. Once, even twice, is not enough. What we forget is that this struggle is a constant one. It presents itself to you everyday in the smallest ways most times. Our choices begin to shape who we become and each has an impact. So many are unaware of this. And if they are vaguely aware, then their perception of this concept drastically differs from my own. We can discuss that another time.

So lying here, I decided I will be doing a few things that I had apparently not decided to do previously. I am having trouble deciding on my true intentions. The nature of intentions can be tricky. I want to say I intended to do those things a lot earlier, but the full meaning of that alludes me as of right now. I do however want to be someone that has intentions which entail my follow through in action. And if I say I will do something, I do it. Seems like a simple trait that most people think they possess. That, reader, is a falacy. It is simple for the strong-willed. The strong-willed are  few and far between. But regardless, it is a trait that I find is less true about me than it was before. So I am on a mission to prove myself wrong.  Weird how that works.