Day 8: Some Songs

There are two songs that I feel define me in that they are always with me.

The first should be no surprise to anyone who's ever walked with me anywhere. I sing it randomly, half the time without really realizing I'm singing it.

It takes a crane to build a crane
It takes two floors to make a story...

Recognize it? It's Life is Wonderful by Jason Mraz. It's just this quiet song full of the extremes in life and how you can't have polar opposites without having both. A smile just wouldn't be a smile if every once in a while there wasn't a frown. Life is circular, and that's what makes it wonderful.

The other song comes to me when I'm in a certain pensive state of mind, again, often while walking.

It's a love song, a tale of awakenings with quiet strings pulling you along. I think part of the appeal is because I'm a morning person and the opening lines are Sunrise/Sunrise/Looks like morning in your eyes/But the clock's held 9:15 for hours. I call it my morning/sun song and it makes me smile.

I also love Norah Jones's voice and how the music is used to complement it rather than the other way around. It's the same with any acoustic song really. That simplicity draws me in.

Day 7: A writing mood

I'm inspired by words today.

Something inside of me wants to be said, so I have a document open and I'm letting the language flow free form to see what comes out. It's been a daylong process with many interruptions (like going to class), and I don't know if I want to post it, since some of the thoughts contained therein are on the private side, I'll definitely say though that I'm satisfied with the way this is turning out.

Poetry and the language of poetry are somethings I enjoy greatly. It's the same way an computer engineer can have fun tinkering with programming or a mechanic can spend hours working on an engine, I do that with words.

Synonyms are not always synonymous and often have vastly different connotations in actual meaning. Sick, ill, weak, unwell, they all throw different lights on the idea of not being healthy. I like playing with these in poetry, changing the meaning to manipulate my reader. It's a subtle mind game, the connection between author and reader and one that's not always conscious. I'm trying to make it conscious on my end.

Day 6: Quiet Tuesday

The above video was taken at my salsa group. Two of our better leads as a joke decided to dance with each other. I have a lot of respect for them that they were able to do this and do it well. There are days when I wouldn't mind following. It appeals to that submissive side of my personality, but at the same time, I recognize that no matter how confident I am in myself, I still need to work on using that confidence for myself. I'm constantly being told I have amazing presence on stage and in person, but I don't think of myself as forward. If I want something I will only ask if there's no alternative.

I feel Salsa has helped me with this because to be a good lead, you have to be a certain kind of aggressive: You are directing your follow where to go, and if anything goes wrong, it's automatically assumed to be your fault. I'm not very aggressive even when I know I should be. It's something about my personality that while not inherently a bad thing can be a burden if I let it get out of hand. For the most part, I live to serve, but there are times when you have to look after your own best interests and learning a little gentle aggression helps with that.

Maybe it's because I'm tired from staying up until 3 again, maybe it's because I woke up cold on a grizzly gray day. But today just feels quiet to me. Or rather, here, let me say it another way:

Day 5: Dialects in movies

Have you ever noticed that in movies the language and accents the characters speak in reflects something about the character's personality and background?

We're learning about this in my English class and it kind of scares me, especially when this happens in children's movies and television shows. What are we teaching our children when we show them that the bad guy speaks differently than the good guys?

Remember Yosemite Sam? That angry, red-headed hick Southna' who was always holding up trains. How stereotypical of the animators to portray him that way. Why couldn't he be an angry, blonde New Yorker? Oh wait, the position of fast talking city slicker was already taken by Bugs bunny.
This is by no means the only example of this kind of dialectical characterization, though that might be a little more obvious.

We discussed the Disney film Aladdin as well. Notice how the heroes, Aladdin and Jasmine speak a more standard form of English while the villains have a more pronounced pseudo-Arabian accent, despite the fact that all the characters (with the possible exception of the flamboyant blue guy in the bottle) are from more or less the same regional area. So is this saying that people who speak in the accent are bad, while the good guys speak more like we do in more standard forms?

Not to say that all uses of dialect take on negative or sinister connotations. Look at the intelligent characters in movies. Count how many of them speak with a British accent of some kind. A lot, right?

But what is this saying about our culture that we allow even these subtle stereotypes to influence (however slightly) around our children? If we're so concerned about racism, why are we perpetuating these unfair portrayals of language and how certain races speak? It's just something to consider and keep in mind next time you watch movies.

Think about the audiences the shows/movies are aimed at as well. Many times in the more adult targeted entertainment, language is used as a commentary to bring to light and make fun of such blatant stereotypes within our culture.

Day 4: Something different

I was inspired again by that mischievous DJ who's recently entered the realm of what I call my life. He posted a video and told me about it, which, as I sat window gazing, made me want to try something.

Now, I'm not sure exactly what the video capabilities of my little Fuji Finepix J10 (affectionately named Earl Jr) would be as I started this, so I didn't really know what to expect as far as sound/image quality goes. But it seems to have turned out well, and I don't think I look completely like a fool, so I'm posting my first vlog ever. It's nothing fancy, but it's not supposed to be.

Day 3: Good Day

I've been happy all day today: grinning like a fool since about when I woke up.
I've been dancing off the walls.
All he reads, everyone needs.
And I think I've been contagious. Because all my friends look at me and start grinning themselves. It was true at brunch. It was true while I walked to Creative Dancewear to spend $108.39 on a pair of dance shoes and a tie. And finally, it was true at dinner. It'll probably be true up in Grace and Dani's room later for movie night.
I'm happy... yay. :D
Oh, and if I did it right, the title above should be a hyperlink to a new, free song I found. Check it out.

Day 2: Trainspotting

In the picture above, I may look nice with my skinny tie, sport jacket and gelled up hair (thanks Dani for the product!), but as you can tell from my eyes, I am ready for a nap.

The past two days I've been awake to 2am and beyond, which with the exception of Nerf Wars on Saturdays is not something that's normal for me at all. I don't regret it though. Last night after all, I was attempting anyways to write a three page paper for my English class. Besides, I find I rather enjoy those wee hours of the morning. They're peaceful in a way that just doesn't happen during the day.

Anyways, I got my essay done and turned in, and in my English class, we talked about the use of dialectical markers in written language. Among other examples, we looked at Brer Rabbit and, while reading some of the dialogue there, I was reminded of the book Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh, because the vast majority of it is written in a strong, Irish(?) dialect of English.

It's really a trip to read, but after about the first two chapters, you get used to it. I found even that I started catching myself speaking in the accent under my breath as I read.

Anyways, I don't think I really had a point with this other than I want to get a copy of that book now and reread it.

Danny-Sleep≠Coherency. I think I'll take a nap once I'm done with classes for the day.

Day 1

Since getting up to Western, I've become a member of the Ritmo Latino Salsa Club, or Salsa group for short. Soon after joining Salsa group, I've been convinced to join the performance group that goes with it, and in doing so, have added two more days of salsa to my schedule to practice the routine. I don't go to the gym anymore, because I don't need to, I dance.

Anyways, the picture above was taken yesterday after our performance group meeting amidst the surprise February snow storm we in the northern Sound had. After our dance practice, a few of us had a snowball fight and then at my suggestion made snow angels.

It was surprising when David, one of the instructors, joined us in our flurry frenzy, because he comes across as very uptight and controlled. Seeing him tumble around in the snow with us was a pleasant shock to my expectations. It heartened me to be proven wrong in my assumptions.

I'm such a bad blogger.

I feel like such a bad blogger, I haven't updated this in several weeks (and by several I mean probably over a month). So I thought I'd change that by writing a post in between my Anthro class and my physics lab.

I was up until about 4am this morning on Facebook, that black hole of time usage, chatting with this rather interesting fellow by the name of Ahren. While I've never met him in person, I know him through mutual connections we have in the Power of Hope organization.

It was because of chatting with this independent DJ earlier in the day that I'd decided to wear my free hugs shirt and give out free hugs to the residents of Nash coming in out of the cold.



Anyways, to say the very least, I was inspired, and the more I talk with this man, the more inspired I become. I know not what toward, but I know for a fact it's good. He makes me want to express my creativity and be bold and honest and catalytic. To say the least, it's been far too long since I've really felt that passion and drive to do. As part of that, I'm going to try to be better about this whole blogging thing, either here or on FB.

Despite the fact I'm about as secular as an atheist, maybe I'll make that my goal for Lent, I'll make a blog post every day, no matter how large or small, even if it's just a few words.

Cancelled

Bah, I'm sitting in class, trying to pay attention, but it's not really working.

My mind is on lunch, not because I'm particularly hungry, though now that I mention it, I could go for some food, but because I'm supposed to be having a lunch date with this guy I met online. (Don't worry, he checks out.)

Now, if you were paying close attention, you already know how this story turns out.

I got a text saying he'd have to cancel... again. It wasn't a paper this time as was his excuse on Friday, but he has to clean for his parents visiting on Friday. And while I trust that he's not just making up excuses, I'm ambivalent about this. It's the second time this has happened, and his reliability rating is rapidly going down.

I'm beginning to wonder if it's worth it. If he makes these arrangements with me and doesn't follow through, should I waste my time waiting? I don't know, though I know most people would tell me probably not.

Maybe since lunch won't work out, I'll try asking about dinner. Cause dorm food is just that good, right?

Dannotated editions

Books don’t tend to stay in my possession for long, which isn’t to say I lose them. Unlike my brother, I’ve never had to pay the library for a book I’ve lost. No, when I buy books, it’s usually an impulse buy because the title sounds cool or I like the author. Sometimes I’ll just be walking through, wasting time on my way somewhere else, and something will catch my eye, and I’ll be drawn to a certain book. I trust these feelings more than I think most people.

I remember the first time it happened too. I was in a Waldenbooks located in my hometown’s mall with friends. We were just browsing, making general not-so-nuisances of ourselves while we hung out when I saw it, The Zombie Survival Guide. It must have been right after Christmas or something, because I happened to have cash in my pocket.

Seeing that book made me remember a conversation I had with this red-headed kid I’d met the previous July. It was a debate really, on what my plans would/should be if there were to be a Zombie plague upon the earth. The fact that a single title could make me remember in oddly specific detail a conversation from months before is what sealed the deal. I had to buy the book and send it to my Canadian friend.

But I didn’t just buy the book and immediately entrust it to the postal service. That seemed rather pointless considering I had the book in my possession, so I read the book. As I was reading, it reminded me of a used book I bought where one of the previous owners had annotated it, writing notes in the margins about the plot and the characters. That book to me had such personality.

So I took this copy of The Zombie Survival Guide and when I finished reading it, I read it again. As I read it again, I wrote in it, leaving marks and scribbles. Sometimes a word or a smiley face, often underlining important survival techniques because it’s a survival guide so knowing which bits will help you live through the undead holocaust could very well come in handy.

About a month later I turned this into a tradition when I Dannotated (yes, that’s what I called it, and while that may seem egotistical, it fits both my name and what I did to the book in a beautiful schmooshing of words) a copy of The Mistfits by James Howe for a friend’s birthday.

There was this guy I kind of had a crush on a few months after that. I had a book sitting on my shelf that I thought would be the perfect book for him, though I didn’t know exactly how much so until later: Lucky by Eddie de Oliveira about a bi soccer player in London. Didn’t really end up getting me anywhere relationship-wise, but I got to draw a bloody question (a literal interpretation of the British colloquialism).

Most recently, I was caught by I Am The Messenger. What grabbed my attention about Mark Zusak’s latest release was the fact that it involved cards, because I had recently taken an interest in card reading.

This one went to another summer friend and pen pal, and he’s told me that he wants to find someone who he can send it to and thus pass on the message. I kind of like the idea of that, partly because of the book in question, and partly because it means I’ve started something.

Books don’t stay in my possession for very long because I prefer to give them away. Some people would accuse me of ruining books. I just call it personalizing them.

On Being Early

You know how you always hear about the people who are chronically late? You know the ones: It’s hard not to notice them. They come in the door right as the professor/teacher/pastor is about to speak looking all shy and demure, maybe even trying to fold into themselves as all attention instantly zeroes in on them.

I’m not one of those people.

In fact, I’m the exact opposite. I’m chronically early. Note how I didn’t say on time. No, I said early. As in I’m there before I need to be there. I think it’s partly a fear of being late, partly a misjudgment of distance and time on my part. I always leave early because I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to get where I’m going. I walk quickly, so my feet eat up distances faster than time can pass. What I expect to take 30 minutes takes more like 10 or 15. I don’t mind this usually. I mean, there are definite advantages to getting somewhere first.

As a lefty, this pans out to mean that I get first dibs on all the good chairs. And by good chairs, I mean the ones on the end. I for one won’t end up fighting to get out in the event of a fire.

Being early also has its advantages in social situations. At parties, I know I have personal time with the host, which means if things aren’t exactly going my way, they won’t mind if I skip out a little early.

The dark side of being early is, well, who wants to be early? It’s not socially stigmatized per se, but it’s really kind of pointless since everybody else is late anyways.

Belated Tidings

My friend Saylah's roommate is getting a bunch of us together today to throw her a surprise belated birthday party. Her birthday was over winter break, so none of her college friends got a chance to celebrate.

I'm excited, this is a wonderful chance to meet people and explore bits of Bellingham and the campus that I wouldn't get to otherwise. We're supposed to dress up in as Saylah a manner as we can manage. I think it's time I revived the ocean shirt.

Hallway Yoga

So in these, the first days of my college career, I've been far more of an early bird than most people would expect. My first and second mornings I awoke at 4am, and today, my second day of class, I was fully conscious around 5:30.

Some people might attribute this to my roommate's snoring. This is not the case, for if it were, I would be woken far earlier in the night or as was the case last night, I would not be able to get to sleep in the first place.

No, my problem is a matter of assimilation and acclimatization. I'm not yet used to being in this strange room I share with this strange boy. So rather than fight myself to ween a measly extra hour or two of sleep out of my morning, I get up.

I find the morning peaceful. And, looking at the ResTek bandwidth log, I find that my internet connection is a little bit faster with next to nobody logged in.

I shower, I brush my teeth, I get ready for my day.

Part of getting ready for my day that I would like to continue is a morning yoga routine. It would be easier in a class or with a video to follow, but I've done enough yoga that I can do some rather basic and informal stretching routines and sun salutations from memory. However, since I'm sharing the space of my room with someone else and I personally find the idea of waking up to seeing downward facing dog an unpleasant concept at best, I've made it a point to remove myself from my room.

Instead, I practice my ujjayi breathing in the hallway. I don't have quite as much area for my arms to extend in when, say, I stretch them out wide and up before starting a swan dive downward, but in the quiet of the hallway it's a lot easier to focus. Strangely, the idea of the other males on my floor witnessing my routine is a lot less worrying than disturbing my roommate's sleep with it is.

Why did the Power Rangers never have helmet hair, and other musings on the television shows I watched when I was little.

“It’s Morphin’ time!”


I remember that the show was rated Y7 because of the gratuitous cartoon violence. Okay, I’ll concede that The Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers wasn’t a cartoon, but considering how you never saw blood and the monsters disappeared in a blast of special effects, I think I’m perfectly justified in calling it cartoon violence.

It was the first show I ever really watched. Sure, there was Barney and Sesame Street, but you can’t really count the shows your parents put on before you were able to change the channels on your own. As a small child, I was mesmerized by the bright colors, the attractive actors and the choreography.

Like most people my age who were the show’s target demographic at the time, even now I can still name all the characters. Of the original Rangers, there was Jason (the jock), Kimberly (the cheerleader), Billy (the geeky one), Trini (the Asian one) and Zach (the token black one). Eventually they added Tommy (the mysterious – see hot – one) as well.


The intergalactic floating head Zordon and his robot sidekick Alpha5 were the rather ineffectual watchdogs who gave the Rangers their powers in order to constantly interrupt the daily lives of five ordinary teenagers and use these American kids who could fight like a specially trained team of Japanese ninjas to save the city of Angel Grove from the evil space witch Rita Repulsa and her various alien goons.

It still puzzles me why Rita never expanded her operations beyond Angel Grove; her base was on the moon after all. It at least made sense why Zordon needed the Rangers as his acolytes, he was a floating head in a tube and Alpha was by no means a battle robot. Despite being a mostlypotent being, he really couldn’t be an active participant.

And before I forget, what was up with the Zords? They were the coolest part of the show. I get that the Rangers never called the Megazord right off the bat to step on the monster before Rita threw her wand and made it grow (How did she get her wand back every episode?) as a kind of pacifist never-make-the-first-aggression deal, but seriously, it would have saved them a lot of trouble, even if it did defeat the whole purpose of the show.

If you can get past the corny spandex and rubber suits, the bad acting, the predictable and formulaic plot, the subpar choreography and in some cases on the early episodes, the bad dubbing, it really wasn’t that horrible a show. Maybe the appeal was less about quality than it was about its connection to that childlike wonder and imagination. If those five more-or-less-normal, highly-stereotyped teenagers could be recruited to the intergalactic fight against evil, maybe it could happen to the seven year old watching it.

Looking back though I’m not sure how I could stomach it now. It was always after school special without ever hitting any of the hardcore issues you’d expect to see. Nobody had sex, got pregnant or did drugs. Hell, the Rangers didn’t even have helmet
hair when they de-morphed. In the city of Angel Grove, there were no eating disorders or suicides or homosexuals. In all honesty I think Degrassi stole it from them.

Not that I would ever admit to watching Degrassi, but seriously, how many problems can those kids have and still be compared to real teenagers?