My mom doesn't get it. She doesn't understand my need to plug in. She doesn't understand how working on the things I'm good at - programming, digital art, graphic design, video productions - makes me a whole person. She doesn't get that without this, I'm nothing. I'm bored. It doesn't matter what I'm doing in any of my classes, what I'm doing with my friends, but not being able to do this, not being able to create things makes me less than a person.
I get so fucking bored.
Without this, it's like, what's the point? Why should I give a fuck?
I really hit it on the head the other week in my Career Talk for speech class - I'm an artist at the bone, I'm not happy unless I'm creating something. I'm honest-to-god not happy unless I'm creating something. I have to have a creative outlet or I'm not me.
My outlet these days is my Video Productions class. It's working with Gabe. It's bringing together snapshots and camera angles and seconds of video into a complete work of something else, hopefully something amazing. I'm good at it. I'm really good at it, one of the best video editors in the class when I've never touched the software before last month. This is a place where I can thrive.
And my mom doesn't get it.
It's not even that she won't let me take my laptop to school. It's not even that she thinks I'm not responsible enough to make sure it doesn't get stolen. Sure, that bugs me, but I can understand it on some leve. It doesn't get to me.
She called my Video Productions work a "silly little high school project".
It's the only directed, scholarly, creative work I have right now. It's important to me. It's worth risking things, because without it, I can't keep myself happy. It's my recharge, my refuel, my pit stop for self fulfillment and being me.
It's not silly.
It's important.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Technology
My mom is an oxymoron to me.
She blames me for breaking everything any time something goes wrong with technology, and assumes I am incompetent and that I don't know what I'm doing to the point of ruining everything every time I touch a control. She does not trust me to maintain a computer on any wavelength.
She also demands of me and expects me to fix anything that is wrong with the computers, and expects me to know how to fix everything. She never attempts to fix the computer herself, she always forces me to work tec support even when the problem was not something I caused, and is not something I know how to fix.
See? Oxymoron!
Somehow she doesn't think I know anything about computers, yet demands I fix them every time they break. I'm baffled. She knows nothing about how technology works, yet believes all of her suggestions have merit and none of mine do.
I quit. This is insane.
She blames me for breaking everything any time something goes wrong with technology, and assumes I am incompetent and that I don't know what I'm doing to the point of ruining everything every time I touch a control. She does not trust me to maintain a computer on any wavelength.
She also demands of me and expects me to fix anything that is wrong with the computers, and expects me to know how to fix everything. She never attempts to fix the computer herself, she always forces me to work tec support even when the problem was not something I caused, and is not something I know how to fix.
See? Oxymoron!
Somehow she doesn't think I know anything about computers, yet demands I fix them every time they break. I'm baffled. She knows nothing about how technology works, yet believes all of her suggestions have merit and none of mine do.
I quit. This is insane.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Alex Gets a Job
Short story for Taylor, since she isn't getting Trap tonight.
...
beepbeepBEEPbeepbeepBEEPbeepbeepBEEP-
“Fffffuuuuuck.” Alex grumbled as he slammed a hand over his alarm clock. The cacophonous noise stopped, but his head was still ringing.
He stared at the ceiling and counted to ten, savoring his last few moments in his warm cocoon of quilts and blankets. At ten he cursed, groaned, and rolled out of bed to fall with a hard thunk on the floor.
Alex took a moment to remind himself that he needed this job, he couldn’t blow it off. He couldn’t go back to his old employment. Sure, some of his previous clients would still be willing to take him back, but the possible consequences weren’t worth it. Mortimer’s grinning face flashed through his mind, and Alex found the will somewhere in his body to pull himself up and take a shower.
“On your resume it says that for your last job you were self-employed, and the dates listed span five years, but you didn’t list an occupation. Is that a new way of saying ‘unemployed’?”
“Oh, no. Sorry, I was an escort. I must have missed a blank when I was filling in the paperwork.”
“Escort? Could you be more specific?”
“Prostitute.”
If she had been shocked she hadn’t shown it, and the rest of the interview had gone smoothly. The next day Alex had a call back telling him he got the job. It wasn’t much, minimum wage was a bitch, but it was something, and it would pay the bills. Alex was glad for once that he lived in a tiny craptastic studio apartment. Minimum wage wouldn’t have been able to support him with anything else.
So now he worked at a record store. Or, well, CD and iTunes-gift-card store. No one sold records any more. Not that he could blame them, the playback quality and storage capacity was far superior on modern technology, but there was something nostalgic about an old vinyl.
After getting ready Alex still had a few minutes to spare before he had to start his walk down to the bus stop, and he stopped for a second to stare at himself in the mirror.
“I’m not indy enough.” He told himself with a groan, and proceeded to rap his forehead against the sink, “God. I look like a poser. An emo poser. And my indie cred is five years out of date. Fuck. Maybe I am a poser.”
He took a deep breath. No one was going to eat him alive for not being indy enough, of all things. The worst he would get would be a scowl from suitably indy customers who were wondering why the hell such a mainstream bitch was working at an indie record store. And if they scowled, Alex could always scowl back and curse their grandmother in Japanese.
There was a silver lining to every cloud.
Alex forced down a deep breath, and then another, and continued to remind himself to keep breathing. There was no reason to be this nervous about going to work as a cashier and merchandise stocker for minimum wage. Except, maybe, this was his first real, law-abiding, tax-paying job. Ever.
He did his best to shrug off the anxiety and grabbed his coat, heading out the door to report for duty.
...
beepbeepBEEPbeepbeepBEEPbeepbeepBEEP-
“Fffffuuuuuck.” Alex grumbled as he slammed a hand over his alarm clock. The cacophonous noise stopped, but his head was still ringing.
He stared at the ceiling and counted to ten, savoring his last few moments in his warm cocoon of quilts and blankets. At ten he cursed, groaned, and rolled out of bed to fall with a hard thunk on the floor.
Alex took a moment to remind himself that he needed this job, he couldn’t blow it off. He couldn’t go back to his old employment. Sure, some of his previous clients would still be willing to take him back, but the possible consequences weren’t worth it. Mortimer’s grinning face flashed through his mind, and Alex found the will somewhere in his body to pull himself up and take a shower.
“On your resume it says that for your last job you were self-employed, and the dates listed span five years, but you didn’t list an occupation. Is that a new way of saying ‘unemployed’?”
“Oh, no. Sorry, I was an escort. I must have missed a blank when I was filling in the paperwork.”
“Escort? Could you be more specific?”
“Prostitute.”
If she had been shocked she hadn’t shown it, and the rest of the interview had gone smoothly. The next day Alex had a call back telling him he got the job. It wasn’t much, minimum wage was a bitch, but it was something, and it would pay the bills. Alex was glad for once that he lived in a tiny craptastic studio apartment. Minimum wage wouldn’t have been able to support him with anything else.
So now he worked at a record store. Or, well, CD and iTunes-gift-card store. No one sold records any more. Not that he could blame them, the playback quality and storage capacity was far superior on modern technology, but there was something nostalgic about an old vinyl.
After getting ready Alex still had a few minutes to spare before he had to start his walk down to the bus stop, and he stopped for a second to stare at himself in the mirror.
“I’m not indy enough.” He told himself with a groan, and proceeded to rap his forehead against the sink, “God. I look like a poser. An emo poser. And my indie cred is five years out of date. Fuck. Maybe I am a poser.”
He took a deep breath. No one was going to eat him alive for not being indy enough, of all things. The worst he would get would be a scowl from suitably indy customers who were wondering why the hell such a mainstream bitch was working at an indie record store. And if they scowled, Alex could always scowl back and curse their grandmother in Japanese.
There was a silver lining to every cloud.
Alex forced down a deep breath, and then another, and continued to remind himself to keep breathing. There was no reason to be this nervous about going to work as a cashier and merchandise stocker for minimum wage. Except, maybe, this was his first real, law-abiding, tax-paying job. Ever.
He did his best to shrug off the anxiety and grabbed his coat, heading out the door to report for duty.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Homophobia and Hate
I just finished watching The Laramie Project (movie version) with my mom, which prompted us to go into another conversation about my sexuality.
My mom is scared for me, and fear is a natural feeling for her to have for her daughter. We live in a small town, and I am queer. She is terrified for me, and wants me to be more quiet about it so as to not attract any more attention than necessary. Not because she doesn't love me and accept me, but because she is scared of the hate that she knows exists in the world.
She is scared that I don't understand the hate, and that I don't understand how the hate will wear on my soul.
I don't know how to tell her that she doesn't understand.
I can't live in the closet anymore, I can't protect myself with a lie. That is such an oxymoron. I would be trying to protect myself with a lie.
Living a lie wears on my soul, too.
Both actions grate away at my existence: if I hide who I am, I can not live with myself, but if i live who I am other people will hate me for it.
The thing is, if I am in the closet I am tortured and alone. If I am in the open, I will still be tortured, but there will be people who I can reach out to, people who will understand, accept, and share life with me.
I cannot torture myself alone anymore. I cannot live that lie.
For better of for worse, I will continue to live as I am, I will continue to be me, and I will refuse to let anyone else destroy my self image for it.
I do not choose to be queer. That is not a choice. My identity is not a choice. My choice is that I will no longer live in fear.
My mom is scared for me, and fear is a natural feeling for her to have for her daughter. We live in a small town, and I am queer. She is terrified for me, and wants me to be more quiet about it so as to not attract any more attention than necessary. Not because she doesn't love me and accept me, but because she is scared of the hate that she knows exists in the world.
She is scared that I don't understand the hate, and that I don't understand how the hate will wear on my soul.
I don't know how to tell her that she doesn't understand.
I can't live in the closet anymore, I can't protect myself with a lie. That is such an oxymoron. I would be trying to protect myself with a lie.
Living a lie wears on my soul, too.
Both actions grate away at my existence: if I hide who I am, I can not live with myself, but if i live who I am other people will hate me for it.
The thing is, if I am in the closet I am tortured and alone. If I am in the open, I will still be tortured, but there will be people who I can reach out to, people who will understand, accept, and share life with me.
I cannot torture myself alone anymore. I cannot live that lie.
For better of for worse, I will continue to live as I am, I will continue to be me, and I will refuse to let anyone else destroy my self image for it.
I do not choose to be queer. That is not a choice. My identity is not a choice. My choice is that I will no longer live in fear.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Homophobic Grama
Well, I am officially never coming out to my grandparents.
Ever.
Things got a might bit awkward in here when the news of the progress on the DADT repeal started playing across the TV, the local news station informing us all that the only step left was ObamaLlama's signature. This was something I had already known, of course (I keep up on these things!), so I'm smiling like an idiot. I've been supporting this repeal whole-heartedly for months, and to see it be THISCLOSE is exciting, at the very least. Meanwhile my grandparents are getting more and more sullen, all unhappy at the TV and the knews it brings.
I was slightly obliviouse to their mood, and chattered about how the bill was so close, so close!
To which my grandmother sighed and said, "Yes, it's sad. It's going to make things so much harder on our men in our army."
Oh. Right. This is when I remember my grandmother is homophobic. Stupidly, I plow on with a, "Why?"
"Well, they don't need the gays in there sleeping in the same places as all the men."
The gays. I can hear the obviouse distaste in her voice while she uses such a catch all term. We continue the conversation, while I insist being gay doesn't make people automatic manwhores, she reveals that Norm (her husband, my step-papa, I guess) was come on to by a man when he was in the service. I don't even know how to respond to that, and let the conversation drop.
But now, I keep turning it over in my head, and I can't believe people let one encounter with a douche bag completely colour their perception of all members of a minority. That would be like me justifying racism by the fact I was mugged by a group of black teenagers.
This is disapointing. I'm disapointed in my family.
Keeping fingers crossed, ObamaLlama has to let this one through!
Ever.
Things got a might bit awkward in here when the news of the progress on the DADT repeal started playing across the TV, the local news station informing us all that the only step left was ObamaLlama's signature. This was something I had already known, of course (I keep up on these things!), so I'm smiling like an idiot. I've been supporting this repeal whole-heartedly for months, and to see it be THISCLOSE is exciting, at the very least. Meanwhile my grandparents are getting more and more sullen, all unhappy at the TV and the knews it brings.
I was slightly obliviouse to their mood, and chattered about how the bill was so close, so close!
To which my grandmother sighed and said, "Yes, it's sad. It's going to make things so much harder on our men in our army."
Oh. Right. This is when I remember my grandmother is homophobic. Stupidly, I plow on with a, "Why?"
"Well, they don't need the gays in there sleeping in the same places as all the men."
The gays. I can hear the obviouse distaste in her voice while she uses such a catch all term. We continue the conversation, while I insist being gay doesn't make people automatic manwhores, she reveals that Norm (her husband, my step-papa, I guess) was come on to by a man when he was in the service. I don't even know how to respond to that, and let the conversation drop.
But now, I keep turning it over in my head, and I can't believe people let one encounter with a douche bag completely colour their perception of all members of a minority. That would be like me justifying racism by the fact I was mugged by a group of black teenagers.
This is disapointing. I'm disapointed in my family.
Keeping fingers crossed, ObamaLlama has to let this one through!
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Webcomics
(I know I promised Brandon I'd blog about something else. Sorry, I'll get to that. Eventually.)
I am a Webcomic Person.
Here's a list of what I follow:
El Goonish Shive
Questionable Content
Misfile
Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Oglaf
XKCD
Venus Envy
Johnny Wander
And those are just the ones I keep up with on a daily basis. There are many others outside of that list that don't update regularly enough to warrant regular checking. Outside of that I follow One Piece, Bleach, and Hourou Musuko as they come out scanlated online as well. But they're professional comics and don't count towards this topic.
I love comics. For me it's more than just a juvenile form of entertainment, comics are an art form and a window to story telling, a unique way to spread creativity and enjoy a good story. You see people obsessed with good novels all the time, they pick 'em up and just can't put them back down; they may even write their own. I'm that way with comic books.
Wecomics are special. Webcomics are a raw and often first attempt at entertainment; most webcomic artists who made it big never expected to make it. The beginning of webcomics often suck.
Webcomics are an over-time thing. Reading through any large archive you can see the vast improvement these improvised artists and story-tellers undergo. The updating schedule of a webcomic forces the artist/author to draw and write consistently, they are a MINE of practice. So it's only natural that over time such growth occurs.
I'm really bad at explaining all this. But Webcomics are pure magic to me. Fascinating magic.
Anyone can write a webcomic. That's the biggest part. Every successful Webcomic artist out there started as a Nobody With Too Much Spare Time, but then, their comic became them. It became a huge part of their life that they cared about, and then it became something really, really good.
The web is the new indie platform that anyone can handle. Since the comic book artists have discovered publishing online, the field has opened up for countless talented individuals to shine. It doesn't have to be a full-time job any more; artists can reach an audience without professional publishing.
I love being that audience. I love becoming completely enthralled with their story. I love the pure love these comicers put into their work.
I never would have given many of my webcomics a chance if I held them to the same standards I hold professional works, but I don't. I don't need to - this is the internet, these people are not proffessionals, and because of these facts I've learned to give the beginning strips of webcomics the slack they deserve. By rolling out this slack in the beginning I've been able to meet many beautifully fleshed-out characters I would never have given a chance.
Again, I love Webcomics.
Every artist has a story to tell, and the Grand ol' World Wide Web gives them that chance.
I am a Webcomic Person.
Here's a list of what I follow:
El Goonish Shive
Questionable Content
Misfile
Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Oglaf
XKCD
Venus Envy
Johnny Wander
And those are just the ones I keep up with on a daily basis. There are many others outside of that list that don't update regularly enough to warrant regular checking. Outside of that I follow One Piece, Bleach, and Hourou Musuko as they come out scanlated online as well. But they're professional comics and don't count towards this topic.
I love comics. For me it's more than just a juvenile form of entertainment, comics are an art form and a window to story telling, a unique way to spread creativity and enjoy a good story. You see people obsessed with good novels all the time, they pick 'em up and just can't put them back down; they may even write their own. I'm that way with comic books.
Wecomics are special. Webcomics are a raw and often first attempt at entertainment; most webcomic artists who made it big never expected to make it. The beginning of webcomics often suck.
Webcomics are an over-time thing. Reading through any large archive you can see the vast improvement these improvised artists and story-tellers undergo. The updating schedule of a webcomic forces the artist/author to draw and write consistently, they are a MINE of practice. So it's only natural that over time such growth occurs.
I'm really bad at explaining all this. But Webcomics are pure magic to me. Fascinating magic.
Anyone can write a webcomic. That's the biggest part. Every successful Webcomic artist out there started as a Nobody With Too Much Spare Time, but then, their comic became them. It became a huge part of their life that they cared about, and then it became something really, really good.
The web is the new indie platform that anyone can handle. Since the comic book artists have discovered publishing online, the field has opened up for countless talented individuals to shine. It doesn't have to be a full-time job any more; artists can reach an audience without professional publishing.
I love being that audience. I love becoming completely enthralled with their story. I love the pure love these comicers put into their work.
I never would have given many of my webcomics a chance if I held them to the same standards I hold professional works, but I don't. I don't need to - this is the internet, these people are not proffessionals, and because of these facts I've learned to give the beginning strips of webcomics the slack they deserve. By rolling out this slack in the beginning I've been able to meet many beautifully fleshed-out characters I would never have given a chance.
Again, I love Webcomics.
Every artist has a story to tell, and the Grand ol' World Wide Web gives them that chance.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
How about an OBJECTIVE review?
I wrote the following review for a post on Baka-Updates Manga. It is much more professional and objective. But I personally think it's less fun to read. 8D I mean, everyone loves listening to me complain, right? .....Right?
MANDATORY TRANSGENDER DISCLAIMER: If you are homophobic, or bothered by Male-To-Female transgender, you will NOT enjoy this Manga! If you are interested in transgender characters, you may have a problem with the objectification Yuki goes through, but Yuki herself is an enjoyable character! If you are unable to suspend your disbelief and accept that Yuki looks female, and must have a microscopic wee-wee to look like that in a pair of panties, you will not enjoy this manga!
Now, on to the review...
My reactions to this Manga, in order of appearance:
Interest -> General Boredom -> Loving Yuki -> Despising and Loathing Masato (Main Male Protagonist) -> Loathing the Manga because I loath Masato -> Getting everything I wanted for the ending, and reluctantly admitting No Bra wasn't as bad as I thought it was.
I read through No Bra in the course of one day, and I am reviewing it on this same day, while the whole thing is still fresh in my memory.
No Bra starts off Okay. It's all pretty typical of an ecchi manga, and I have no problem with it. It's average. Not good, not bad, but passable and worth reading.
The characters were generally two-dimensional but funny or likable. The protagonist's fat best friend is a huge sweet heart. The homeroom teacher is over-dramatic in a funny way. The main female love interest was uninteresting, but not badly so, and she did receive some character development in one of the chapters (you read that correctly, one). The best character, by far, was Yuki. While Yuki's standard behavior was purely stereotypical as the "perfect" Japanese woman, she was treated and written as a believable and fairly-realistic transgender.
The art was average. I wouldn't say it's bad, compared to what else is out there, but it's nothing special. There are a gratuitous number of panty shots, along with a good chunk of other like-minded fanservice. There are two almost-sex scenes, but no real sex, and nothing is shown explicitly. I would say, roughly speaking, the first half of the manga contained more Yuki-centric fanservice, while the second half contained more Kaori-centric fanservice. As a fan of Yuki but not Kaori, I have personally amassed thirty-or-so pages I felt worth saving to my hard drive. Take that as you will.
The writing is boringly predictable in most areas, and surprisingly twisty in some. Unfortunately, if you're reading through these reviews, you've probably already had all the twists spoiled for you. In an effort to conserve the number of spoilers, I won't be going into this topic any further.
There are several chapters, beginning some time after Chapter 16 and ending around Chapter 25, where the point-of-view protagonist is a manwhore. He uses and abuses the three women around him, and it all makes me want to STRANGLE him. I'm sure that many male readers, and less empathetic female readers, would be able to take this as standard ecchi-protagonist behavior. But, honestly? It's pretty bad. Masato is genuinely selfish to the point of cruelty, and he is such for roughly half the Manga. However, Your Mileage May Vary. You're either going to hate him, or you won't really care.
The ending spans four chapters. It does, indeed, feel rushed. With that said, the ending is sadly one of the stronger points in the writing. However, most (if not all) of the loose ends were tied up, and it does end happily (In that gooshy, sentimental, at-least-one-character grew for the better sort of way). I liked it.
The final verdict:
No Bra was not fantastic. I can't even bring myself to say No Bra was enjoyable. Even more so, I can't recommend it as something most people will want to read. But, over all, there were a few good characters, and No Bra was not as terrible as I thought it was. If you have a life, skip this, it's not worth your time. There are better things out there to read. If you have a good six hours to spare with honestly nothing better to do... why not?
MANDATORY TRANSGENDER DISCLAIMER: If you are homophobic, or bothered by Male-To-Female transgender, you will NOT enjoy this Manga! If you are interested in transgender characters, you may have a problem with the objectification Yuki goes through, but Yuki herself is an enjoyable character! If you are unable to suspend your disbelief and accept that Yuki looks female, and must have a microscopic wee-wee to look like that in a pair of panties, you will not enjoy this manga!
Now, on to the review...
My reactions to this Manga, in order of appearance:
Interest -> General Boredom -> Loving Yuki -> Despising and Loathing Masato (Main Male Protagonist) -> Loathing the Manga because I loath Masato -> Getting everything I wanted for the ending, and reluctantly admitting No Bra wasn't as bad as I thought it was.
I read through No Bra in the course of one day, and I am reviewing it on this same day, while the whole thing is still fresh in my memory.
No Bra starts off Okay. It's all pretty typical of an ecchi manga, and I have no problem with it. It's average. Not good, not bad, but passable and worth reading.
The characters were generally two-dimensional but funny or likable. The protagonist's fat best friend is a huge sweet heart. The homeroom teacher is over-dramatic in a funny way. The main female love interest was uninteresting, but not badly so, and she did receive some character development in one of the chapters (you read that correctly, one). The best character, by far, was Yuki. While Yuki's standard behavior was purely stereotypical as the "perfect" Japanese woman, she was treated and written as a believable and fairly-realistic transgender.
The art was average. I wouldn't say it's bad, compared to what else is out there, but it's nothing special. There are a gratuitous number of panty shots, along with a good chunk of other like-minded fanservice. There are two almost-sex scenes, but no real sex, and nothing is shown explicitly. I would say, roughly speaking, the first half of the manga contained more Yuki-centric fanservice, while the second half contained more Kaori-centric fanservice. As a fan of Yuki but not Kaori, I have personally amassed thirty-or-so pages I felt worth saving to my hard drive. Take that as you will.
The writing is boringly predictable in most areas, and surprisingly twisty in some. Unfortunately, if you're reading through these reviews, you've probably already had all the twists spoiled for you. In an effort to conserve the number of spoilers, I won't be going into this topic any further.
There are several chapters, beginning some time after Chapter 16 and ending around Chapter 25, where the point-of-view protagonist is a manwhore. He uses and abuses the three women around him, and it all makes me want to STRANGLE him. I'm sure that many male readers, and less empathetic female readers, would be able to take this as standard ecchi-protagonist behavior. But, honestly? It's pretty bad. Masato is genuinely selfish to the point of cruelty, and he is such for roughly half the Manga. However, Your Mileage May Vary. You're either going to hate him, or you won't really care.
The ending spans four chapters. It does, indeed, feel rushed. With that said, the ending is sadly one of the stronger points in the writing. However, most (if not all) of the loose ends were tied up, and it does end happily (In that gooshy, sentimental, at-least-one-character grew for the better sort of way). I liked it.
The final verdict:
No Bra was not fantastic. I can't even bring myself to say No Bra was enjoyable. Even more so, I can't recommend it as something most people will want to read. But, over all, there were a few good characters, and No Bra was not as terrible as I thought it was. If you have a life, skip this, it's not worth your time. There are better things out there to read. If you have a good six hours to spare with honestly nothing better to do... why not?
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