the_whole_thing
byron kho
in technicolor
An Attempt to Stand Out
Drinks on us. Harry's Bar, Esplanades, Singapore.
blog: xanga
blog: the_whole_thing
September 2003 - April 2004
May 15, 2004- May 21, 2004
May 22, 2004- May 24, 2004
Recently
Hey Day, April 25, 2004
notice we're all wearing the same thing. freaky.
I am a senior. I am a senior. I am a senior. I am a senior. I am a... fuck!
I had so much fun on Hey Day - tho the getting trashed and then mad dirty and then J-Ro's LAST heyday sendoff and then losing my hat and floury seniors pelting ketchup and mustard and all kinds of foulness and laundry and seeing everybody and I mean everybody having the best time of their lives. These few weeks (I refer to it in the last blog entry...) have been amazing and I'm getting sentimental again.
Kanye West, man. Had dinner with the Mayer gang at Lemon Grass and then off to Electric Factory with Assad and Casey. Lemme tell you, that was hell. The cabbie dropped us off 7 blocks from the Electric Factory and we walked the wrong way in the rain looking for the place. We only found this union hall where they were having some weird 30-plus event. I mean, some hot girls and then old geezers, a DJ and people eating ham sandwiches? Whatever, we got directions and wandered some more, until we were soaked enough to get a cab again. So finally there... and the best time. Dilated Peoples were pretty good, Young Gunz ehhhhh (tho they got some hot songs), and Kanye West finally heating up the place. It was kind of funny, because he played his ENTIRE album through. His violinist (Mary?) was pretty good, and they gave her this HUGE solo to do. I had a rockin time. Makes violinage all cool and shit. Kanye looked so college-y, which obviously he's meant to be (College Dropout, duh), but it seemed funny after Young Gunz. I got to chill with Rachel and her friend (tho Assad and Casey were lost far out in the crowd somewhere, and I had a terrible time dealing with this one guy, who was being an ass to everyone else too...well whatever). Then, later I had reason to be whooooo - jealous. Yeah. But then very very happy. In any case, the view is great from up top. :(
Yesterday? Lazy afternoon just chillin with good friends. Cabaret. Pulled off a couple great performances, and then finally the cute duo with Meagan... "I don't know any slow songs." "What feeling would that be?" "sigh..." It was Stardust. And then watching and learning how to deal with drama. Man, these people, geez. Go to one party, and there's all these crosscurrents, and I'm like, sheeit, I'm out. Lea's 21st! And then Singers! And walking Emily (drunk off ONE triple black.... hehehe) back to Lea's, and then stopping over at Mayer. That was a short trip. And then back out, going down to Eugene's, and then Tracy's, and then back to Lea's. Weird party - but fun nonetheless. Crazy ska dancing with Lisa! High school all over again! Oh yeah, and so was the dance machine stuff at Mark's. Old skool... sigh.
I said, are you gonna be my girl?
Tom, Assad and Nick at Nord's.
Royal Flush party, Lateisha and Dom's place.
April 19, 2004
To all you people reading this: thank you for giving me the (dubious) honor of leaving a testament to my unimportant and not-so-amazing life in the indelible fortress we call memory. It�s important to me, as I�m sure it is to you, that I leave a piece of me behind wherever I go, so that I may not be forgotten. Thank you. Now please, read on.
A new paragraph should have a new topic. So here it is: secrets. Secrets? What secrets? Here we go again, the introduction of mystery and importance to something that � in the long run � may not be so important. But to one person, it is of supreme importance, and the respect accorded to the secret by others is but a reflection of respect held for the person who actually holds this secret. Thus, the warm shoulder, the wise counselor, the loyal friend. To these men and women go the secrets that we cannot burden the rest of the human race with. To these silent faces, we open our hearts and reveal the shame or glee with which certain actions, feelings, whatever, affect the outcome of relationships in all their forms. At this point, I sound like I�m lecturing on such an obvious topic, but I�m not� I�m actually whining. Complaining. And yes, this is me telling the truth and admitting it. It�s hard to hold the secrets of others, and a secret of your own, all at the same time. It�s killing me � I achieve redemption by confession impersonally, online � and I guess that�s enough to help me keep this one under wraps. But that�s all. There�s the need-to-know, and there�s the no-need-to-know.
It�s spring � especially now that we�ve passed the barrier of drunkenness and temptations that we call Spring Fling. Everybody�s away message says �flingin!� or �OMG fling!� or �drunk off my ass� or �flashing those poor suckers down in lower quad without the galln of beer sitting in the tub in the middle of my room�. What actually disturbs me the most is the attempt to make some smart wordplay on the word fling. All these parties�Get Your Fling On, Flingin� It Like A Polaroid Picture, Spling Fring, I Had A Fling With Your Mom Last Night. And all those police! Of course, no fling is complete without all those freshmen clogging up those Beige Block parties and creating the worst fire hazard this side of the Lint Dump. Especially Friday night, when they�re wandering around crashing everything because there�s nothing to do, ever, on lost Friday nights during Fling. And then, of course, there�s the actual sun, whom we have gathered to worship.. we roast in its blind rays and dream that the godawful Philadelphia rain (thank you Bruce for Streets) will go away, and go away, and come back another day. And as we sweat together, it all goes blurry and you pass out, and the orgy of color and sweat and love and sound and Apple Pie a la Mode ice cream and fried Oreos and hot sex and corporate sponsorship continues. As the cool breeze caresses me as I write this, I look forward to another orgiastic time. That�s right. Hey Day.
Oh, don�t let me forget to mention how good Bye Bye Birdie was. Yes, a shout out to myself (music director extraordinaire) but also to the awesome audience (yeah drunken asses) and to the awesome cast and crew (my Rosie, can walk all OVER a mother�, ahdc, hyperactive jess, Conrad�s 1+2+3+4+5). Most of all to my awesome pit. Though we spent barely a week together, I get so damn sentimental. To the seniors that are leaving, I shed a tear. To supreme violinista number one, I say rock your beautiful self to sleep with more of that wonderful hippity-hop music (and I do hope you apply to chi-town), don�t give yourself AIDS and for god�s sake, eat a hot meal! (Take the advice.). To conductatrice, play your piano like the love machine it is. I want to hear that beautiful music some time, when you�re all done. And don�t worry, next time we will use those paper cups. To everyone else, thank you, and we�ll see you next year, when you will play for me. Hahahahahahahahahaha� ahem.
I fall in love too often these days. With the incredible beauty of a sunny day, and the few particularly beautiful people that I see every day� fuck it, I�m being sappy. I mean, I could just go watch Eternal Sunshine a couple hundred more times, because god knows I could do it. Or guiltily watch�okay, not Something�s Gotta Give, that�s too creepy. Not When Harry Met Sally, cause that�s too girly old school. Not Down with Love, because that sucked. Too bad it had good music. Now I can�t entirely pan it. But who needs movies? Who needs movies when one look is all I need until I�m old and grey. Well, that and a candlelit dinner with a bittersweet latin band playing, a wonderful breeze, the salty ocean spray, and the slight musk of roses in the air, and�
April 1-3, 2004
Penn Singers Spring 2004 production.
February 26, 2004
Glee Club's Spring 2004 production.
February 16, 2004
A Japanese wedding - and then a poignant parallel, to the stiffness of life as a young wife to a husband who's not there, in soul at least - and the stiffness and emptiness of being alone, and the friends you make aren't the friends you think of as friends, but the bitter empty shells that one would hardly notice. They do have some life left in them. And then the view back, a crazy kaleidoscope of color and bubble-gum pop-ery that is so fake that one immediately builds a kind of suspicion of emotion. Not suspicious, but the impression of being suspicious, though we (and they) know exactly what it's all about. It's the one-up-manship of foreign pop culture over American yokeling, on the silver screen. I hear the plaintive cry (though very 14ish) of a fefe dobson, subtle reminders of what can go wrong with overdoing this version of angst: pink. or the other version of angst: simple plan, and sellout incorporated. But in that reverie that is neither soft or dreamy, there is a lyricism that speaks just as loud as a film that leaves all the essentials out in favor of showing the obvious - and then you understand it. No underestimation of my intelligence, or overestimation - though God knows that happens often enough with some films. An intellectual pretense that somehow feels wrong. Oh! that was interesting! He feels empty, waking up to this lounge singer strollin' around, and he opens the door to a spasm of disappointment across her face, though we never quite see it... we feel it though. Something in the way that the sound filters out the door to where we, and she (not the lounge singer) is/are standing, sitting, soliloquizing, feeling lost and helpless and cold once more. Feigned indifference - how come that's always attached to the image of cold? Oh, that makes me so hungry, and wistful of this summer - beauty and shabu-shabu, and an ounce of sadness. "I don't want to leave." I'll always remember the sweating in and out, and the scene at the bar, and the wanton look (though tired) that came out of the woodwork, but disappeared as soon as the elevator door closed (a little giggle perhaps, inside, then a stifled sob). A tired, creased look. Goodbyes are goodbyes, are goodbyes, and to deal with loss is to be closest to having, and loving. Red rims, and this time it's final. But it's happier for having been.
Will on the bus to New York.
Mark telling Meagan of far-off places.
November 7, 2003
I think there's a beautiful story inside of me, waiting to be told. I have the inspiration, but when I start writing, the intensity begins to die down in favor of the technicalities. I wish those wouldn't get in the way. Like, this guy is this way and does this - oh wait, we gotta set this up, the setting has to be described appropriately, this ain't some hack work - oh, no, that's too much description and not enough plot, sentences too short, sentences too long? Proper grammar but how to phrase slang - and what's more interesting to my audience - but who's my audience anyway, and what was my idea in the first place, and I'm getting really confused, and...
i kinda lost track of time. It's been this week, and the feeling just won't leave. So last Thursday, all was going quite well, besides the fact that I had a BBB exam the next day. So I did study group with Tracy, Rich and Rola, three different people from three different backgrounds who would never in a million years really hang out with each other (I don't think - but life can prove me wrong) - and this is at the video store, so I conducted "business" while boss shouted at me to do stuff, or you're wrong, the spinothalamic thigis like this, and poochie would go, wait, let's clear this up and dopey would go: what? oh, I don't know this part. All nighter, then study with Tracy at her place at 630 in the AM, when the sun was rising in her beauteous multitudes, the leaves, a wonderful brown turning to auburn, the grass a higher shade of green, the birds and chipmunks and squirrels and rats all rejoicing in the wet dewy morning when the rain has shut itself away for a little while so constancy can reign again... all this, and then study and breakfast (yay for cinnamon rolls) and then exam. Now the main word here was all-nighter, for then... until now, there's been 3 all nighters (2 pulled for no reason), 3 sleeping-more-than-12-hour stretches and afternoon naps. And I hate afternoon naps. So what went wrong? Or rather, what changed?
Philosophical analysis could say I was lacking motivation for sleep in favor of the continual presence of others (could be, since I spent a lot of time online during those all nighters...but what about the sleeping binges? Unavoidable recovery, the experts would say.); to pack in the maximum into the minimum time. That sounds glorious, but sleep deprivation sucks. And so does oversleep. Way suck.
So my world gets smaller and smaller, for everyone I know knows someone else I know, and the webs get tighter and tighter around me. It's amazing. Sourabh came home with a story about finally realizing that Sonalie's piano man and Sourabh's crazy roommate that happens to also play piano and sleeps all day after huge, um, consumption gatherings, were one and the same person. So - one friend knows another friend knows... there's a lot more connections, but why state all of them? It's the obvious, isn't it.
Flashback to tonight: Finish playing solo; girl has bloody nose, so Brenna tells me to play another piece; why?; I don't know; piano moved back; oh, bloody nose; ah!; piano moved back; second solo (fumbling for a piece there). And then the intros were funny. Chicago was great, though strangely the audience didn't get all into it, but In the Mood was a hit. Definitely a good job, but could be tighter for the next couple days.
Reading Forster. Amazing, is he not? Margaret is so aware, yet accepting that she likes her decadence - but she knows that Helena and aunt Juley are spoiled rich craphounds who don't work for their money and can deign to love, whereas the poor - the other class - must suffer for love or whatever their want. This is such a small slice - I love one side of Helen, who paints pictures for the music, whose streams burble to B-flat and whose andante movements reverberate with the sound of meadows and rustic settings and home, a wild sense of home. But she is blissfully unaware, that such a thing as an umbrella can mean so much in the way of social consciousness to young poetic firebrands stuck in marriages to doxies that they stay with because they can't afford anyone else. And whose very poeticness in the midst of his situation forces him to bottle it up and release it in ways that can only suggest cheating on his wife - which he is very far from physically. Mentally, yes. And the old abused guy at the train station, who takes Charles' abuse and still lives in awe of him. It is mentioned in passing, but is such a strikingly sad point, that it takes my full emotional concentration to read through what he has written. First Howards End, then Room with a View, then a Passage to India.
Advice from Lizz: Faulkner is good, just really hard to read. I started reading Sound and the Fury and ten pages through, all I heard was silence. I need to try again.
Life treats me good.
Liederbach, our Viking.
October 25, 2003
Well, I should do at least some shoutouts - here's to Xanga (which I should really post to, but here's good enough, I say)! It's all good - here's to Red All Over and Cielolibre, here's to Rob and Molly and all those I did read this summer. It kept me going.
I just beat No One Lives Forever yesterday, Took me a while. I missed out on the whole day. Stupid video games. And IM. And phone. It was midnight before I got outside.
October 24, 2003
i was meaning to say that it's really really easy to get it all wrong, once you start with the wrong idea. too bad i always start with the wrong idea. you build on it, and build on it, and then you end up having to trash it all and start over again when it's actually a teensy bit different from what i thought it was.
meaning to say?
so there was this one time, walking down locust walk. i see her. i'm like, screw this, she hates me now. after walking out with not that good of an explanation freshman year? yeah. i got it built up to the point where i was like, she's after me with a machete. no, i'm not gonna look at her, because she'll spit at me, and why was i such a jerk, etc, etc. but i peek, and she's smiling. damn!
so i'm talking with lizz...about being in band. now, it is still kind of a good thing to be playing music and all, but the band has a high proportion of not so normal. but then i think about it. you play your music, you go home. is that so bad? no.
and then there's the matter of conciseness. i figure it's ok to spit out words...whatever you wanted to really say is somewhere in that morass of words. slightly incomprehensible, but it's all you. that big ball of fluff and crap, it has YOU written all over it. so io write and write, and then i'm like, what the hell have i done? i took a simple thought, or event, or whatever is on my mind, and made it into this gargantuan bigass complaint, whine against the world, why doesn't somebody shoot.... wait, you can't shoot the delivery guy. that's just wrong.
did i tell you i'm into cooking? oh yes. name it, i'll try and cook it. mostly it works. the other times... well, we won't talk about that, will we. i can make all kinds of soups now... just have to learn how to prepare the chickens to make natural stock rather than buy all this chicken soup stock that i've been buying. thank god for trader joes. i love their one sauce too, the tomato and capers and spices, they all blend
in so well and smell so good and... it's just orgasmic!
yeah, i'm serious.
i wish i got angry more often. i could have some wild times that way. i'd get into all kinds of crazy fights, just like that time at SimSum's, with that crazy freakiness at the shisha bar, where that stupid ** just wouldn't shut up, and i ended up just going home rather than push the issue. it didn't help that i had also smoked a ton of ** before that. i'm sure my aim would have been impaired. well, i came back and said all kinds of crazy ** online to people, and thank god i didn't call anyone. i swear, i got drunk this one time this summer and almost called my mom (jen's number was one off my mom's in my speed dial). well i did, but it rang once and i saw what i was doing and i just said ** no, this ** ain't right.
so, like, a quarter bottle of rum. brings back some memories.
and poker night at casey's? casey bought the table... got some puff with assad, then went downstairs to go lose some money with the boys. Cary watched a little while and laughed. goin to sleep. i lost 7 bucks...but considering i was down 10, threw in four, on last call, won a shitload back, was up in the black for a while and then lost some on bad moves until i was down to real Real low, until i found a super super hand and won a bunch back. and then what's his name next to me bounces a shitty pair that wins the table. great bluff that was. he took home the gold there. casey was up a lot too, and he's already the lucky one.
Lights on the Singers' parody.
Feldman and Vik: hmm. Blake: oh DAMN.
October 22, 2003
I thought today was going to be a little different. I think it was - not only were my eyes open at 9 AM, but I was able to get up after another moment's respite... however, this time, it wasn't 9:02 AM, but 1:32 PM. An auspicious start to the day, was it not? However, I was not to be deterred. Social constructions, be damned, I told myself. The argument is invalid, the thinking man would argue, that one's day should be ruined on account of activities and actions taken without conscious consent and effort; furthermore, I was feeling great. Nutella on toast in one hand, my mouse in the other... I sought to reduce the world to a comprehendible miniature version, and with said goal in mind, I proceeded to enter the realm of, not CNN, not History Channel, not Home and Garden TV - no, not any of these - but rather, PBS. Sesame Park, meet college student. Elmo has his own half hour, I learned to make it mine.
In that unkempt state, with sleep filled eyes and wildly waving hair clumps, I felt at peace. Not the peace that my fellow Asian could summon, while practicing his version of the Falun Gong exercises on the roof of Stouffer Hall at 6:30 AM each morning last year. And neither was it the peace of "those who are about to die, salute you", or "J.P. Morgan would like to offer you a position at....". That was a settled peace; what I had was unsettling, and in its awesome grandeur of nothingness and inexorable confusion, it was beautiful, like a star waiting to collapse in on itself which in its waiting, was a bulging, red, iridescent mass just visible in the unfathomable depths of the telescope. It went on, for hour after hour, and just so - enough to earn some quality time in the hall of shame. But it wasn't to last. All good things, we are told, come to an end. And no different for this son of Adam. For I was the chosen; the phone call told me so. "You are needed. Go forth." I heeded the message, and hearkened unto the sound of the voice.
"Sposalizio! Che bella faccia...." Another skill learned: that of patience, and when it came to pass that I could stand no longer this idle tyranny and gross abuse of this accompanist's time, it was over, ashes scattered to the winds. Revenge was a dish left untasted. The bitter fruit would not take root, for the call of freedom superseded all the rest, and it was time. Contention, it was said, provides fodder for the lazy devil to spread his voluminous wings - and the story of passions lost, and anger repressed, and love, above all, love... Respite for the psychologically weary, yet truthfully, blossoming with feral energy, in the basement of Houston Hall. Yet, the call still reached even unto there - "go forth, and beat him up."
Race St., Cherry St., then waltz down Arch into the waiting arms of the Trocadero, and Mates of State, and rocking rhythm, the screeching organ and wailing melody making the peace oh so worthwhile and the love was spreading: the clapping, the stomping, the hooting, the flash of red down the keyboardist's side, reminiscent of fresh blood and lust and "play around...but you will." But the band played on, and this guy had to get off the A train and back into the shady dens of the working world, who hid in the shadows of respectability and jobs and respectable actions. Score one more for the candy thief, who crashes her way through motorcycle games and loses air hockey with a winning goal on herself. Score one more for work done; actual work, that kept me going and revving and churning and chomping and chewing and running, until the alarm strikes 2:30 AM and it's time to go, yet I'm still here. It's sad, walking through the night. A soft lilting strain of "if you call, I will answer..." and then it's the reassurance of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. It's lovely, this relaxation. Full circle, it is - for my spot is still warm, at this hour of the morning, Nutella and toast in one hand, and the mouse in the other. God save our wonderful days.
Bec, me, Kate and Sourabh.
Red all around.
Zita, me, Anthony (not doin too well), and Lisa.
April 21, 2004
Momentous discussions. I'm suddenly feeling so relaxed? I wonder why. Not usually like this. Usually, I'm a nervous wreck (for many different reasons), but somehow the shoe fits right now. It's comfy. There's some giddiness (tho I don't expect to pass orgo by giddiness alone, or what's been on my mind lately...)
I'm gonna miss all those people moving away. Really. I've loved every second I've spent with all of you, and I want you to know that. I feel so human now - I'm desperately missing all those good times. There will be more, but I feel like I've wasted all this good time. Arggh, please stop me whining!
Saw Saved! tonight. Sweet movie. Not quite the anti-Passion, but good... There was an endless hour of incompetent people giving out the jury awards before that. I didn't mind. I had good company.
Just thought I'd ask an important question before I went back to orgo. Is it really better to have loved and lost? Yeah, it is.
I actually meant to write about my ability to continuously fall in love with ideas. It�s ideas that�s the killer. Because girls can say yes, or no � but ideas� they mingle out of reach and when they�re in your grasp, it�s only there for a little while, and it�s gone if the moment passes. Like humor. Fleeting. I want to be a novelist some time. It�s so hard, though, because I�ve tried. I write one wonderful chapter, and the fire�s gone. For one, I have to transfer all my ideas into a workable plan to write. And then I have to find the inspiration, the time, the imagination (that�s too often under the influence� too much work, of course). However, I keep lots of stuff locked away in my head, where they tend to fade away into the miasma. The problem is with ambition: I want to do everything, I want to write the great American epic (and I have some great ideas to contend for that spot!). Having no time, I end up with short stories. I am invariably disappointed with the short story, because there is an essence to the novel that cannot be explained within a short story. The sadness I get from reading and finishing a good book extends much farther in the realm of memory than even the most poignant short story. But that�s me. I will ponder.
Jenny!
April 15-17, 2004
Quadramics 3Qth Anniversary Season 1973-2004
This Spring Fling, don't go see Wyclef. Or if you do, then keep Thursday or Saturday clear. Because:
YOU ARE INVITED TO:
THE 3Qth ANNUAL SPRING FLING MUSICAL
PRESENTED BY QUADRAMICS
"WHERE THE JET SET COMES TO FLING SINCE 1973."
AN MJB & TK SPECTACULAR
DIRECTED BY BRADFORD HODGSON AND JESSICA BRAND
MUSIC DIRECTION BY BYRON KHO
Sarah and Gira as hello girls. I mean..
So sexy. "When I sing about a tree..."
My orchestra. Muahahaha.
March 9, 2004
Spring Break is almost over. At this time last year, I thought that, in one year, I'd be sitting on the sunny beaches of Acapulco, Cancun, or even the muddy streets of London. Being a realist, I understood that no money meant no trip, and no trip meant coming home. Which I did. I'm not here to complain about being home - no, no - but rather, key you in on a couple important differences than when I'm usually home.
1. I drive more often. I drive everywhere. And while you could say that everyone does that, that's boring - I do it with a bunch of crazy people that I shouldn't drive around town, or leave in ditches 90 miles from home, or make fun of while I'm at the wheel. That cement wall has no sympathy.
2. I'm playing concerts every day. Concerts mean money. Big money. And the schmooze face gets so much practice - so much, in fact, that my smile muscles are so so tired. And all those people! I loved your playing, you're awesome, blah blah blah. Thanks, it was an honor, no, a privilege, you were a great audience, thank you SO much, of course I try, hope you enjoyed it... And that fat thumb muscle is getting a workout! That's the pianist's muscle, if you should know. Also, I get to kick ass and take names, and get all the glory. And once in a while, a hot chick. Yes, the piano is a great stimulant, and somehow, better than that old powdered rhino horn people tell me to use. Yum, baby.
3. Oh my god! I updated my website! Yes, I had time for that. I added some of my crap work to it - ok, pretty good work, anyway, and hope that somebody somewhere will read it and say, this guy doesn't suck as much as I thought!
4. My mom isn't yelling at me every day. She has a job, and is taking CNA classes (I have to teach her all this crap since I did it before) and has no time to bug me. I'm happy.
5. I'm getting so much work done. Not a bonus, just a cold hard fact. Sad, I guess. Maybe this is a minus?
6. I can look forward even more to getting back to school.
7. No more reasons.
The Gondolieri with their Contadine.
February 15, 2004
It's been a wonderful semester yet! I love being here - at Penn, I mean, and happy - and there's this sense of newness that had disappeared for a while. I've met all kinds of new people, stayed in touch with the old, and helped all kinds on the road to victory. And not only that, but I've found meaning in what I do.
That's it for the wow, I guess. Not for the inane: as for reading, I have this huge fine at the library. I can't borrow anything till I pay it. There goes quality reading this semester! However, Doctor Zhivago remains, as does Faulkner. But Forster still calls out to me. Entrancing mysteries: one should read Iain Pears' the Dream of Scipio, or the thriller, the Company of Strangers by Robert Wilson. Ken Follett occasionally comes out with some good ones. Jackdaws was good - whereas his newest one just sucked.
December 13, 2003
Another Christmas is approaching, and I find it is time not to celebrate, not just yet. It is time to lay back, relax, and ask yourself: what am I doing, still up at 3 AM with an exam at 7 AM? Right now, all I need is a dressing down from Major Hardass, telling me to get on my lonesome way or have me hung upside down and beaten with heavy iron bats. But as it is, I lay back and relax. It's good - no popping blood vessels, no dying a thousand deaths, no spilt milk or burnt textbooks. Only one long sigh - a warning, perhaps, of more leisurely times to come.
December 2, 2003
I know a lot of blogs do one thing very well: moan and whine and complain, on and on and on. I know I'm guilty of that too. But there has always been something poetic about misery. Poetry and beauty in literature have always been driven by some emotion so powerful, that it leaves its auteur gasping for breath. These unceasing pains - these that lead to suicide, hospital time and months and months of gloomy depression - are seen as the spark for uncomparable creative output. Give me a broken heart, a death in the family and a dismissal from work, and I'll give you the best story you've ever read. You'll cry when you read my lovesick poetry. My words will flow with the desperation of the ages, echoed in infinite conformations as it has through all the bards in time past. Of course, when one is les inspired, things go a little more like this...
Some Glee Club party freshman year.
Singers people chillin.
On the way to New York. Hells yeah.
November 5, 2003
A wholly successful dry run - or maybe not so. It was a strange moment that just passed; I had the inspiration to write, and suddenly it left. Quite disturbing. (Disturbing must not always have a negative connotation?)
October 29, 2003
It's easiest to just talk about what happened as a timeline, naturally. And to read over that, it's actually kinda hard too - because I talked with her, and talked with him, and saw that, and saw this - what did I really think about it? Otherwise it's dry and empty. So, there has to be more descriptors I guess. It's not just a planner weblog, it's a fill-in-the-blank novel diary thingamajig that will go down in history as the collective ramblings of Byron M. Kho, esquire. Nope, not esquire with a capital E, because no lawyer here. Wait, that would also cover little e esquire too. Damn.
Randi told me how she went over to Alanna's place (for dinner, I'm presuming, with Molly too) and they were going over things. Apparently, Alanna keeps a lot of stuff, and she had an old note of mine, asking her to wake me up on some exam day or something. It's "classic Byron", or so I've been told. It's kind of embarrassing, but kind of endearing. At least all of them seem to think so. Randi shocked me too: she went and ran a half marathon around Center City last weekend. She did! 13 miles! 7.5 minutes a mile! She's cute when she gets all excited, and she totally was - she said she felt so good about it, she was gonna do it again, real soon. She did, however, express misgivings over running an actual marathon. I asked why, and she told me it was too much of a mental challenge, and I can't run that much, etc. I told her yes, and the psychological rewards are much greater... then she threw another back at me. Why don't you run a double marathon? I said..um, no. At least not now, when I can't throw 4 hours away for practice a day, when all I will do is come home tired, sweaty and crippled. Crippled, you ask? At this point, yes, since running has been last on the list for the past month. I am sure I am out of shape now.
Sigh, JMal. I saw her over at PSA on Thursday. I miss her a lot. She's going to Puerto Rico for Fall Break, and leaving next semester for London. And I'm still here, waiting. You know, I think a visit tomorrow is in the works.
Sourabh tells all these weird stories all the time. They're funny - just weird. I'm sure he thinks the same of all my stories. But he has all these funny stalker people, and to whom he's too nice, and the whole time he complains about their weirdness, he still talks with them like nothing happened and they're great, so was there stalking? And everything is definitely "weird". Which includes me (I already knew that one). He likes the AC on all the time, even when he complains it's cold outside. And he always takes naps. But he's definitely a funny kid, just more open with his mouth than most people. Which is good; he should go into public relations or marketing, he'd shine. Biochem job? Pshaw!
Aparna is just crazy. Now who got the hooch?
Jenny Heck, thanks for the great party. And all those people! And private stocks! Thank god for you (and Poe coming over, and Ed, and your crazy drunk friend, and all those other things like the Nu and scandals and affairs and gossip and still being embroiled in the midst), I might have left early from that shindig just because I could.
PSP at Newman formal, Bookbinders.
Sourabh and I in Old City.
Nursing peeps at my party (all graduated...boo)
October 23, 2003
So I'm moaning about being bored at work. I think that it's more of a I-hate-Thursday's thing. I'm at class all day, I work, and my day lasts from 8 to 8. It sucks, ya know? But then, I can't complain, because everyone else is getting the shaft too. So I shoot the shit where I can, and then leave the moaning at home. On the shelf, next to my orgo book.
I don't get angry when my mom smokes pot. No, I don't. But I don't get angry when the only good song on the computer at work is What I Got either. Sublime really rocks the house when Charlie's Angels 2, for the third time, just ain't cuttin' it. That reminds me, I gotta download some more of that Neptunes stuff. It's kinda stupid wasting my time like this. I'm at an open page in my organic chem book, and it's whispering to me of lost opportunity. For 5 weeks, it says, you've let me gather dust, on that shelf, alongside your other dusty books that you never read, and blah blah blah.... you're sounding like my mother, so it's time to shut the books.
The pre-meds are getting on my nerves. Yeah, I'm a pre-med. So what? You think I can't diss my own kind? I hardly hang out with Asians, for goodness sake. I can diss Asians, cuz I'm one of them, just like it's ok to get chutzpah from an Ashkenazi or the n-word from Marlon. Wayans will do (Bamboooooozled). So back to the pre-meds. Not just pre-meds, but Asian pre-med girls! They're sharks (granted, they have to be, to survive in a slightly anti-Asian, anti-femme world, but still) and they're lovin it. And it's Hollywood-profiled (preview for the Perfect Score...) "Geez, it's not like I need Harvard. So you're taking 221? I thought that was so easy. That professor is such a joke, and that stupid TA. I, like, asked him about blah blah blah and it was like, um, lemme check. What do these guys get paid for? Oh yeah, the application. My brother knows some guy at Yale whose sister's husband is like, in Admissions, and he says all you gotta do is write some junk to them about how you love to help out, but it's gotta be like, in HUP, and you gotta get what-s his face to sign a letter for you, and I, like, basically raped him yesterday." Oh, and sometimes they get really drunk and do things at parties. OK, so that wasn't so offensive. It's what I'm thinking, and you, bio or BBB major person, are thinking, but it just hurts to hear it out loud. It's just that arrogant snobby, you can kiss my ass because I'll be rich look that gets to me. It's not that I don't feel the tug. It's just that I can see it all around.
It's not all bitter though. Hangin around this town has got me all excited, and I can't wait till I got some time to do some stuff back downtown again. Dmitri's was awesome, next time it's Effie's. And then clubs, and such. Cheap places, that serve without carding, and are cool. Real cool. Oh, and happy Diwali. You know I'll be celebrating.
September 17, 2003
An astonishing day - so far, the best day of an astonishing week. Living in this place, making sure that not only doing what I can for my social salvation on a Friday, or a Saturday night, but balancing cooking, talking and studying, though I only do that at work. PSA Video Store, reassigning shifts, now Sunday 8-11, Tuesday 8-11, and Thursday 5-8 with Shorty. Most days expect to see Tristan, who otherwise lives at the store - he's manager. Then there's Tracy, who was before known as pot girl....she's director of the Video Store. Something about default. Soon enough, I will have quiet company on Sundays and Tuesdays, though rather a distraction for my nights. Cold and lonely will be warm and exciting. Lizz with the broken leg, Brandon, Jessica, some of the others - I also catch up on the PSA backgrounds by other sources.... catch the video store party someday soon, the PSA dinner and the *oops* at jlm's place! Third week has been wonderful - auditions very much over (except for leads in Singers)...Glee Club and Singers rehearsals, Players talks, AMSA website stuff, SHOOP meetings, trainings coming up soon, PMAH meetings that I can't attend, retreat coming this weekend, SMAC, CHAC, PAC, finish up this UA application. Then comes this morning, planning meals, buying food, chopping up chicken, and marinating chicken in tomato and capers sauce, cleaning up room, kicking out roommate (haha, not really, but he understood that this was important). After rehearsal, picked up jlm for some good times for two hours before we both had to run off - cookin veggies with lemon and oregano, then the chicken in the sauce, poured over chicken basmati rice, along with the gazpacho. Then the dessert: cobbler cobbler cobbler! rambling down memory lane, as usual... some other stuff, off to work, where sat for hours watching simpsons episodes, listening to music, checking mail, marking up videos for rent or charting penncard numbers, wishing i had my phone but not having it, and then jumping for joy when i got out, ready to go home and have a good time in my room....now that i got brenna to go on retreat, i will have some good people to chat with - happy for her and new guy. saw becca on walk while waiting for jlm - had lunch with kathy, abp, had such a good convo. missed talking to her. she told me all about things - she's moving right on... i hope things turn out well for her. i told her a little about things, enough to let her know i'm very VERY excited about how things are going... i'm gonna try and hit up becca's potluck on thursday nite, it's great...time to shut this tap off and go to bed, or i'll go crazy talking, this verbal diarrhea as described by sourabh, this stream of consciousness thing as described by five letter name starting with m and lately, same starting with b. haha, precautionary measures.
4th of July BBQ last summer!!! Rachel's place.
Dinner with Casey, Cary and Mike at Cuba Libre.
|