I keep thinking that I want to go home, except home is not there anymore.

Yet there is everything else to be thankful and happy about.

http://www.vimeo.com/2355357

a writing exercise

The Slightly Used Long-Sleeve Shirt

I remember when I first saw him, pulled out of one of those cardboard donation boxes of things someone wanted to abandon. I hung around in the second aisle, at the end of the Long-sleeve Shirts section next to Jeans, so I had a clear view of the donation drop-off and storage room in the back when the door was open. The door’s not always open, but I guess I got lucky that day. I remember that first time seeing him, his long awkward sleeves, his little seams that were undone. Places where his fabric stretched and wrinkled. But I think what did it for me was this small, faint stain underneath his breast pocket. It wasn’t so noticeable because of the pinstripes, but I could see it. He was lovely. I think I got lucky again that day, because after much tossing and flinging about, the employee hung him in my aisle, straight across from me.

At first, he wouldn’t even look at me. He was bitter, like most others, for being donated, dumped by their owners. He would get his hopes up when a customer came down the aisle perusing his section, only to be crushed when he’d be slapped through without a second glance. I tried to cheer him up whenever that happened. I’d wiggle to the rhythm of the songs that would play in the store. I’d flop and bend my arms into different shapes. I told him about the time a fellow, a pair of corduroys, infested with crabs from his former owner was hung next to me. It was an uncomfortable position for me and all the jeans because we didn’t want to get any of his bugs. But fortunately, some poor man bought him a few days later. Ha-ha.

He ignored me though.

But as the days went on, I could tell he was beginning to accept his place. And me. One time, when a customer passed him by, I formed a hand with the end of my sleeve and flipped them off. He shrugged his shoulders as a nod to me. And another day, when a customer did the same to me, he flopped his arms back and forth in the same awkward manner that the customer did as they continued down the aisle. It was really good.

At night the cassette tape guys would sometimes get with some of the old stereos and blast music. Most of it was crappy, obscure songs from the 80s and 90s, so he and I would have a good time making fun of those. We even got some of the others in the aisle to join our dancing. Once though, they put on “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye. We just immediately started swinging to it; it was so silly. But there was a small moment when we glanced at each other and felt something beyond our amusement. Beyond the joy of just dancing. I took the chance and reached my right arm out across the aisle. He put out his. We touched in the middle.

But the next morning, he acted coldly. He wouldn’t look at me. I asked him what was wrong and he said that last night was a mistake. I didn’t understand. He told me to take a good look at myself and then take a look at him. I was in perfect condition, a handsome turtleneck long sleeve with no tears, no stretch marks, no stains. He was just old and used. Someone would probably buy me soon, and I’d be gone leaving him here alone where nobody would ever take him. It’s a real miracle I’m still here at all, he said. I was shocked. How could he say that? How could he think that? To me, he was perfect, from the moment I saw him, I told him. He turned to the side. I’d be gone soon anyway, he said. Silence, except for the music of the store. Finally, quivering in anguish, I told him: Well. Turtlenecks aren’t in fashion, which is why I’m here to stay. But maybe you’re right. Maybe tomorrow some hipster will want to wear me ironically.

We didn’t speak again. I still couldn’t understand why he thought we couldn’t be together at least for the time being. So I tried to rekindle things between us with the arm-flopping, dancing at night. He wouldn’t budge. He wouldn’t even look at the other clothes, which I was secretly glad for. But with every rejected gesture, I became a little angrier. And I knew that actually for the first time I felt slightly used. He was just so wrong about us.

Next Friday afternoon some old man bought him. Clearly missed the pocket stain, I thought bitterly. But once he was out the door, suddenly, I was sad. I couldn’t place whether it was because he was gone, or because he was wrong about me being the one to go away, but still kind of right about the way things were. Clothes would always come and go in this place. I have come and would eventually go. Would it always be that pointless?

The same day, another load of donations came in. And I saw her for the first time. The lumpy Christmas sweater. And she was lovely.

Truth: I can't shake off the Asian part of me completely, no matter how much a Twinkie I consider myself. The k-pop I can easily do without, but the food? Not so much. So, this Thanksgiving, as my parents came to see me instead of me going home, I took advantage of this chance by making a trip to the Korean market that would otherwise be inaccessible. The H-Mart in Niles (the next town over), that is. The best way to do a restock of Korean food I found was to just do it in a rush. Get in, get out. That way you grab everything you always get back home, plus whatever you happen to pass by that you thought you might like even slightly. No thinking. Just do it. Rush to the the cashier. Father pays. By the time Mother realizes youve got enough preserved, MSG-laced food to give you cancer, you're already at your dormroom packing whatever little space you have left with your stash.

In other news, now that Thanksgiving is done, Christmas season has begun! I mean, the holiday season. Gotta be PC, here. Well--no, I don't. I'm gonna live life on the edge:

CHRISTMAS IS COMING!

I've compiled my Christmas playlist, and it's awesome even though it's just about the same as last year and the titles still aren't so creative.

Songs for Christmas album - Sufjan Stevens

Noel album - Josh Groban

The Chipmunks: Greatest Christmas Hits album - Alvin & the Chipmunks

A Colbert Christmas album - Stephen Colbert

Christmas Song - Owl City

Winter Song - Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson

A Great Big Sled - The Killers

put the "stud" in student, bitches.

Now that I'm in college I don't feel badass. I am badass. That's right. I live in a dorm. I eat in dining halls. Worship Colbert. Go to frat houses. Get sexiled. Talk to drunk people on the El. Get scammed by hobos selling The Onion. Discover The Onion is free everywhere else.

All I need is to go broke buying a belushi College poster. Wait, I opted for the cheaper Warhol plus Radiohead poster deal since I was near broke at the time. But now I'm broke. Yes!

Sometimes in Bible study, we talk about Revelations. It's my personal favorite to study since it's interesting, but also freaks me out. Especially when the teacher is one of those who believe it's happening right now. I dunno. But they talk about it like it's a real life a thriller, which is great because it gets us all excited.

cast down those partisan sentiments! unite, everyone, unite!

I have this independent candidate I am going to encourage voters to write-in at the polls: John-Barack Hussein McBama.

A quick look at all you need to know about McBama:

-McBama is not completely hopeless with technology.

-He was a POW during every single war this century.

-He is also a woman.

-McBama's father was a goat ball-licker on an obscure tropical island, and even though he really had nothing to do with McBama's upbringing, somehow he makes McBama the better candidate.

Not only did he travel and meet leaders in Europe, he went to:
-Middle Earth. Has the hobbit vote.
-Hell. Satan likes him.
-Heaven. God said okay too. (Hurricane destroying McCain's photo op, a coincidence? NOT)

-he was a POW during every single war this century

-McDonalds agreed to do a special McBama sandwich promo. His face is grilled on the patties, and the sandwich tastes like democracy.

-His VP pick's daughter is not pregnant. But if she is, then McBama is proud to say that she is keeping the child.

-he was a POW during every single war this century

-He shits Hope after breakfast

-He shits Change after dinner

-He grew up in [insert your hometown here].

-McBama is not a secret Muslim. He's a secret Protestant, but that's the good kind of religion here in America.

-His wife is hotter than Cindy and Michelle combined.

-Did I mention that he was a POW during every single war this century? I forget.



So vote McBama: Candidate of Everything That Is Frickin Awesome.

know it all

And when you trust your television,
what you get is what you got,
cause when they own the information,
they can bend it all they want.

When I started watching the news more and sustaining my interest in the world beyond high school, guitars, and college prospects, I had one goal in mind: to become well-informed. I wanted to know what the hell I was talking about when I wrote SAT essays on crap that I had previously only vaguely pieced together that week using Wikipedia. I wanted to understand, especially, the world of politics.

Becoming a little more "well-informed" proved harder than I thought. But I wasn't getting sick of reading or watching the news all the time-- I love the media. It was more because I was starting to notice the media spoon-feeding me stories coated with a substantial layer of bullshit. To watch the news isn't enough to be well informed. Nearly every piece of news is to some degree editorialized; but that I don't blame, since everyone has their personal opinion. It's those whose primary jobs are to inform, yet they have no problem being outlandishly opinionated with illogical arguments that I can't stand. Especially on political topics, it's like some media outlets only stand to help a specific party or politician get the spin they need to convince average citizens however dishonest the arguments can be. In this age of America's dependence on mass media, it's depressing that the media people, especially those on TV, actually knowingly choose to bend facts to their political leanings at all. People are making choices shaped by the information they're given, and that does include voting. So much for democracy.
Initially, I thought this was all just a great distraction to becoming a little more aware and informed as someone who is soon going to be able to vote, but apparently it is a reality to live with and learn from. I can't really trust some news programs to tell me anything useful straight off the bat; I have to just keep observing mainstream media as a whole and how certain outlets present the news and formulate my own speculations on certain topics and people with regard to what the media has done with the news. My goal of being well-informed doesn't simply comprise just hearing about what's going on in the world anymore-- I want to always see how stories are reported, and which parts of the report affect how people perceive it.