I just dusted off a sci-fi story I wrote earlier in the year, called Rockfall. Hope you enjoy it (or at least get it).

I had Thanksgiving dinner at my friends Cory and Emily's in Kailua. They have a fantastic place with a pool. We played volleyball, played with the dogs (Mariah the resident, and Hersey a visitor), and ate mounds of turkey, and everyone had a great time (I also had a rather interesting ride home in a rickety Camaro owned by a friend of a friend, at high speed, without a working seatbelt, on the Pali elevated freeway, hundreds of feet above the treetops, but that is another story).

Unfortunately, because of the rains (and when does it not rain in Kailua) it was also home to about a zillion rabid, vampiric, female mosquitoes that were drinking blood like socialites drink appletinis. I didn't think I had been bitten too badly, but it seems that the bites need time to develop into their full scarlet, swollen glory. Today I counted 69 bites.

I went to Longs and stood around the topical analgesic section with several other preyed upon victims, trying to figure out which medication was best. I almost bought a cryptically labeled tube from Japan, but finally settled on Aveeno Anti-Itch Cream (with Natural Colloidal Oatmeal). I went through the checkout as quickly as I could, and went outside and started dabbing the ointment on in public (I had had enough of the itching and didn't care how uncouth it looked). It sort of worked. Analgesics and anesthetics aren't very effective for me in general. Whenever I go to the dentist to get some heavy-duty dentistry performed on me, the dentist is inevitably shocked that even under the quadruple dose he/she injects, I can still feel him/her poking around in my teeth. I once had surgery to remove some moles, and I could feel the scalpel cutting in. I probably worry about this more than I should.

I've just had a very odd week - full of lots of good and bad things that I didn't feel I could blog about (which is rare). I'm posting now because my parents are calling every day (not that I mind) - they do that when I don't blog.

Anyway, the oddest net result is that my depression has subsided markedly. I actually feel pretty good.

I can however mention one bad thing - I sprained my ankle on Sunday night, after a great dinner with friends. I spent 6 bucks on cab fare to go a quarter mile (and got hit on by a cabbie from Calcutta who was looking for a wife) - but it's cool that cabs are available in Waikiki! I felt special. I spent Monday at an urgent care clinic getting xrays. It wasn't fractured, but I got a nice brace that's helped a lot (much better than an ACE bandage). Compared to June, when I sprained my other ankle, the cost was so much cheaper. With my awesome Kaiser Permanente insurance, I paid a mere $80, compared to $1200 in June. Honestly, I think Kaiser's system should be the model for care. It's super efficient, everything is in-house, and you don't need to choose a primary care physician (and if you do, you can change your mind at anytime without penalty). Everything is computerized and posted online, so I know exactly what is in my files, what my test results are, what my prescriptions are, and when my appointments are.

I also wanted to mention an odd dream I had on Sunday (I get the oddest dreams when my life becomes more chaotic). I dreamed that I was trying to get to church in downtown Honolulu (on Fort St. for some reason). I was accompanied by a young boy who was in an odd dream I had a few weeks ago (I was desperately trying to get him registered at a school in Texas, but we were being hounded by nasty students). Anyway, I came across a snake in the road (Hotel St.) and I was compelled to kill it - I squashed it with my foot, but it didn't quite die. I had my foot on it, and realized it might take awhile so I told the boy to continue to the church without me, but he lingered in the area, watching me. Then an old homeless woman in a tie-dyed shirt came up to me and began pulling the snake from under my foot, chastising me for killing an innocent animal (oddly, I got angry when I saw the scene in "Passion of the Christ" where Jesus crushes a snake (representing Satan) with his foot - I thought, that's an innocent animal! and hoped that no actual animal was harmed in the filming). I kept yelling at the woman "You have to kill snakes in Hawaii, it's the law!" This went on for awhile, passersby looked at us with disdain, and we got into a bit of a slapfest. Then I woke up. It's funny to me, because I can see the symbolism relates directly to the very odd week I had. However, I don't know what role the imaginary boy plays (though I seem to be his guardian), why he is a recurring character, or why I've suddenly been dreaming about him. It's unusual for me to have such a repeat character, not based on someone famous or someone I know. I have recurring scenes and settings, but not totally imaginary characters (save one, who I call the 'Magician', but that's more of an shadowing character - a nemesis).

Anyway, you probably think I'm a little nuts for writing about my dreams so often, but I think dreams are great for 1) sorting out the tumultuous crap that happens in our head and 2) make neat story fodder.

Here's a new story - cobbled it together tonight.

I just added a neat little Chipin widget to my sidebar (lookie rightie), where visitors can donate to my PayPal account so I can get stringfree money for film school (can you tell how much I despise student loans?) David Sedaris, writing in his book "Holidays on Ice" had a nice quote about it:

Sallie Mae sounds like a naive and barefoot hillbilly girl but in fact they are a ruthless and aggressive conglomeration of bullies located in a tall brick building somewhere in Kansas. I picture it to be the tallest building in that state and I have decided they hire their employees straight out of prison. It scares me.

I've posted another short flash fiction piece on Story-a-Day, called Red Mittens. I wrote it a couple of months ago, and found it again when I went to save another story I'm writing (maybe I'm getting my mojo back?)

I recently returned to actively renting movies from Netflix (I had the DVD "Murderball" stuck in my Mac's DVD drive for a couple of months (I refuse to reboot unless absolutely necessary), then I moved, then I couldn't find the RCA cables for my DVD player, then I couldn't find "Murderball" in order to return it and get the next DVD in my queue. I finally sorted everything out. I never did watch "Murderball"). Netflix has made some nice improvements to it's site - nice web 2.0 improvements. For instance, when moving a DVD to the top of the queue, it glides up quickly, no wait, instead of taking *forever* to post and refresh.

One of my favorite features of the site is the ability to look at what DVDs are popular in your local area. There were some obvious choices for Honolulu, like "North Shore", "Las Vegas: Season 4" (Las Vegas is like an unofficial annex of Hawaii), "The Joy Luck Club", and "Samoan Wedding". What really blew my mind was that "Caligula" made the list of top 25 DVDs in Honolulu. "Caligula"? The creepy 1980 PBS sexfest? Yup. Who knows why.

I just spent the better part of the last two days in bed, crying or sleeping. I didn't eat anything in that time (I just pigged out at Denny's if you are worried mom). I didn't even watch TV. I finally got out of bed because I had given myself a backache and my landlord was singing Rihanna's "Umbrella" song. Incessantly. In his middle-eastern accent. The combination was too torturous, so I forced myself up onto shaky legs and out the door.

The travails of my summer really took a toll on me, in many ways. Depression is biochemical in nature, and it was a long spiral from January to August when things came to a head with my roommate. The trauma of that BS made my serotonin plummet. The further trauma of a bad interaction with an antidepressant (Celexa) made things much, much worse. I'm still getting used to a new antidepressant (Prozac), but since it only inhibits the destruction of serotonin, it doesn't help much in making more of it in the first place. Getting my body into the mode of making more is up to me - and it's really fucking difficult. There is no reason for me to be depressed in Waikiki.

Anyway, I had a really long conversation with a good friend this evening about how to get started on fixing this situation. One of the main problems I have right now is complete disinterest in life, the universe, and everything, except, oddly, helping my students in my database classes (it's the one thing I've been able to cling to). One of the things that came up in our conversation was my long time desire to be a filmmaker (really, this goes back to childhood). I had even picked out a school I thought had a program that fit me, but I backburnered the idea because I thought it was a) foolish b) self-indulgent c) too expensive d) that I have nothing to say e) that I'm not talented enough f) not worthwhile (I have an odd hang-up that I have it in me to save the world - maybe I do, but I'm not going to get anywhere crying in a dark room).

So, maybe me becoming a filmmaker is a and b, but fuck it. If Jean-Claude Van Damme can have a good decade long run in film, so can I. As for d, I have a lot of somethings to say, I've been saying them here, and I've been saying them in my fiction (and the comic I wrote that I need to post *sigh*). A lot of what I have to say comes from a place of deep-seated anger at the injustices of the world, so it's not frivolous stuff either. As for e and f, half the time I go to the movie theater I walk away without buying a ticket, because only crap is playing. Crap not worth my time or money or yours either. I hate sitting through a movie, analyzing crappy dialog, editing, acting, directing, or cinematography (sloppy focus pulls really annoy me). I prefer to become involved in the story and characters and be taken away from my life for two hours. I prefer to see something original and thought provoking, or at the very least, something that doesn't insult my intelligence. I think I could be a filmmaker capable of creating the sort of films that fit that category. I'll probably never win an Oscar or become a millionaire, but I don't want those things. I just want to make people think. And, this is the self-indulgent part, I want my ideas to be remembered long after I'm dead. I want to know that I mattered in the world, that I haven't just been a temporary carbon sink.

As for c, I think I have a solution, though it is incredibly harebrained. Since the thought of being burdened with student loans again fills me with nausea and dread, I'd like to finance myself through film school. However, at about $40,000 just for tuition, that's going to be tough to save up for. So, as an experiment, I'm going to do two things: 1) set up a separate paypal account to solicit donations from anyone willing to support me ($5-$20 donations could add up quickly) and 2) set up an Amazon wishlist for proper filmmaking equipment so that I can make decent short films even before or instead of going to film school (the latter is valuable because of the people I'll meet and network with). Being able to create films more immediately provides a quicker return on investment for those who donate, increases my industry cred, and allows me to work with other filmmakers faster.

What do you think? I'd love to hear back from you, my loyal readers (all five of you). I would like to go anywhere from 1 year to 2 years from now (about the amount of time I'll need to pysch myself up for living a year in LA). Do you think this is feasible? Would you be willing to see a film written and directed by me?

I was wondering why the hits for one of my videos suddenly jumped, and turns out I was linked to from this guy/gal's Spanish language blog on "The Tao of Physics". I translated some of what was said:

The mathematics allow to describe to the fractals clearly, but those are the artists that rob our imagination with their creations removed from their hallucinating dreams. What will be preferable for the artists the iron discipline or the chaos of digression?

An interesting question indeed...I like plundering imaginations...

I hate having depression. Sometimes I feel like a ball of electricity inside my skin, and there is very little I can do to feel calm again. I tried to go asleep, but I couldn't stop crying just laying there. Instead I decided to try "distraction therapy". So I got up, got dressed, grabbed my camera and tripod and headed to the beach for some long exposure photography fun (this was 2am).

The beach was not deserted, there were assorted honeymoon couples making out in the surf, a couple of people smoking, and one guy who was a "walk the Earth" type - a backpacker, essentially homeless but without the psychological or drug problems - wandering around by choice. I've seen quite a few in Hawaii.

Anyway, it felt great just to be outside with my camera. Photography really does calm me down and distract me, and in the end I have something interesting to show for it (better than watching TV for distraction). See the latest snaps on my Flickr stream.

Well, it's been awhile since I blogged about weather, but holy crap batman, there is a thunderstorm in Waikiki! It's pretty mild, but there have been flashes of lightening, and it's been pouring for a couple of hours now. Waikiki rarely gets rain compared to other parts of the island, but the winds are kona instead of windward (basically a reverse). Rare kona winds bring weather to the south side of the island. Weather is fun! (Okay, I am such a dork!) Please read this much more interesting post from August 10th 2005, about how I got freaked out during a monsoon in Arizona.

Labels: blogging, hawaii, weather

Errrr. *Sigh*. I had a really asinine argument with a friend today at lunch. I was out with three men, two of whom began oggling a woman sitting alone, who they sort of knew. They said she was hot. A couple of times. The third friend remained, wisely, pokerfaced and silent on the subject. I, stupidly, made a comment about how I hated how men were so visually stimulated - a constant irritant for those of us of the female persuasion that have IQs over 140 (heck, over 110), and despise living in a society were we are judged almost entirely on appearances by both men and often other women (who are brainwashed by ridiculous male standards).

I ended up walking out of the restaurant before my food came because of a (I have to admit, well-timed and witty) insult about my attitudes toward men in this particular regard.

Anyway. I realize this isn't Saudi Arabia, and I'm not as oppressed as I sometimes feel, but god damn it, I have to stick up for my own dignity and the dignity of other women. I will not refrain from chastising males around me for objectifying women. While I believe that it is natural and biological for men to feel attracted to women based on physical features, I do not believe it is right for men to put a filter on women - summarily dismissing women based solely on physical appearance. And if you think I mean this in the sense of mate selection only you are wrong - I've noticed many men apply this to every woman, in any context. I think this is a socialization issue. There was actually a poet (male - Darren Cambria to be specific) at the slam last night who performed an incredibly moving poem about abused women - and how men behaving violently towards women is a learned behavior. While oggling is not anywhere near violence, it is in the same realm.

However, what shocked me most, and actually turned into a bit of a learning experience for me, is how one of my friends reacted to me saying that women aren't as visually stimulated as men are (anyone who has ever studied the market for porn versus the market for romance novels understands this difference is extremely clear). He got a bit upset, referenced his own appearance (which I will describe as average and normal for an American male his age), and said that women would prefer a six pack of abs (yeah, the shallow stupid women who are entirely too wrapped up in their own appearances). My heart went out to him in that moment. I felt so bad that he had been affected by the same crappy cultural memes that make women miserable about their own appearances. That's not cool.

What makes it worse, is that I've been doing male model photography. I love doing portraiture, and it just happens that most of my models have been male (I think men are more comfortable with a female photographer). This friend was aware of a recent shoot I did where the model was shirtless, sporting a ripped physique. I was interested in getting the muscles to look right on the model, in interesting lighting, worried about composition and mood. I was creating art in a collaborative way, but I got the distinct impression that my friend at lunch considered it erotica (he used a slightly different word). Before this argument, I never thought that what I did for fun could be considered a part of these horrible social memes that make normal people feel bad about themselves. I realized I could very well be a *gasp* hypocrite.

What do I do now? I dunno. Try to make peace with my friend. Maybe somehow incorporate this realization of hypocrisy into my art and writing. Really examine ideas of beauty overtly, instead of seething about them inside all the time.

This is another photo of me from Halloween, posing in front of the statue of Duke Kahanamoku, the Olympic swimmer than brought surfing to the attention of the world in the 1920s. The photo was taken by my friend Emily (who went with me to First Thursdays tonight!), and you can see more of her pics of Halloween here.

The weird guy next to me was the street performer that pulled me aside. He frequently performs at the poetry slams.

Ah, I think I have the title for my novel: "The Days You Live". Sometimes you feel like you are waiting for something to happen in your life, going through a routine, or on a steady trajectory towards some goal, and then there are the times when you just live. You just be, and everything is okay, and maybe you even have an adventure. I had such a day.

I've been up for two days straight - which always does something weird to my seratonin and I end up being unusually mellow and easygoing. I was frantically making my Halloween costume - not something I do every year, but there are times when I get a creative idea that stimulates my OCD and I have to follow it through to completion. I decided to dress up as a Starbucks cup. I thought it was so brilliant and original and apropos that I just had to make it real. I put in 17 hours of work on the costume (12 straight through without eating), not to mention plenty of stolen moments constructing it in my head.

I was a little embarrassed bringing my costume to work on the bus. I didn't wear it, because it was too bulky, but I showed about 5 people what it was. At work everyone was impressed, especially with the fact that I freehand drew and painted the logo (some thought it was printed). I brought it to my writer's group, and everyone was similarly impressed. I was a bit impressed at this point at how much attention it was getting. Leslee dragged me to the Starbucks adjacent to the Borders we have our meetings at, showing the amazed employees, and one of them took my photo to send to Starbucks corporate (I didn't get any free coffee though).

After the group (where we actually did prompts for once, Leslee and I eerily almost writing the same story), I went home to Waikiki, to meet up with my friends Cory and Emily strolling the huge (gynormous) Waikiki block party on Kalakaua and Kuhio streets (several miles of thronged, costumed people). I've never seen anything like it. Halloween is *huge* in Hawaii. The best comparison might be New Orleans during Mardi Gras, but without the beads and the parade.

Cory went as an 80's tourist (a level of subtlety he pulled off with pitch perfection), and Emily went as a brain donor, complete with surgical stitches and jello brain in hand. We walked the strip, marveling at the array of costumes. Many were obviously purchased off the shelf, but about half were homemade. Lots of people went in themed groups, like the shepherd with his flock of sheep, or the group of samurai complete with flags and beating drums. What shocked me was the fact that everywhere I went, people yelled out "Starbucks, Woooo!" I was stopped at least 20 times so that people could have a photo op with me. I got hit on several times (mostly involving someone say some variation on the phrase "I want to drink your coffee"), and a lot of people yelled out their Starbucks drink at me. One street performer even pulled me into his act for a few minutes, which was interesting, to say the least (Cory and Emily have photodocumentation). The performer was actually I guy I knew from the slam scene.

After awhile, Cory and Emily needed to attend to Jeep business (their poor Jeep), so I hung out with my friends Michael, Derrick, and Skitz. We just hung out on Skitz's lanai, being silly, playing bongos, and yakking about nothing in particular as we occasionally peered down on some of the partygoers below. It was just a fun evening :-)