ry-blog (né Opportunities In Work Clothes)

Ramblings. Thirty-something. Hawaii.

4.10.2004

From my very first post in 1.22.01:

The blog title refers to something Henry Kaiser once said: "Problems are only opportunities in work clothes." Who is Henry Kaiser? I don't know. But I like what he said.

So why title this blog as such? One, because I recently read the quote on UselessKnowledge.com, and two, it somehow hit me on a very profound level. It's very optimistic, and I'm not the most optimistic of people. Yet I find comfort in the saying -- essentially that bad things may yield something good. We just don't know this because it's hiding from us, and all we've got to do is "look under the hood," so to speak. Can I drop any more metaphors in such a small space?

After reading a lot of different blogs, I figured I might as well take a crack at writing one myself. Such "confessional" writing can be cathartic to some, and while I do find it such, I find it weird that at any given moment, I won't know who I'm exactly "confessing" to. Oh sure, I'll give out the URL to friends and acquaintances, but I wouldn't know who or at what time these people would be reading -- if they decide to read this at all.

When and how often will I update this blog? Sorry, I don't know. Whenever something forces me to write something I guess. I'll also be putting up some short pieces I've written over the last couple of years that fit the "confessional" bill.

So, thanks for listening. See you later..

With that out of the way, if you notice the following posts, they're a little outdated. So mosey on over to the current incarnation of "O.I.W.C." at www.campuspos.com. Peace.

7.11.2003

Aloha. If you happened to stumble upon this very outdated blog, please feel free to move you pointer to:

www.campuspos.com.

There you'll find the continuing ramblings of yours truly, older (by a few years it seems, according to the dates on this page's posts) and hopefully wiser.

3.12.2001

Thoughts and observations on the science of "Solo Moviegoing."

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I can count the number of movies I've seen at a theater by myself on one hand. I don't know, I've always thought going to the movies was a "together" thing, either with some significant other, or with a few friends.

First there was moviegoing with my parents. I remember going to see "Grease" and "Saturday Night Fever" at the nearby air force base theater. I think my mom was a Travolta fan. Anyway, those were the first two movies I remember seeing at a theater, and I especially remember "Saturday Night Fever" because I had gotten a cool Star Wars digital LED watch the day before. You know, those tacky, red-lit watches where you had to press a button and the four, "8-shaped" red LEDs would light up for four seconds and tell you the time and date. During some boring part in the movie, I remember playing with my Star Wars watch and was amazed at how bright it looked in the dark. Those cheesy red LEDs were freakin' bright. My dad wasn't as amused, however, and told me to stop fidgeting or we were going to leave.

And then there was one time when my parents tried to get a babysitter so they could go watch an X-rated movie. At least that's what I thought they were going to see. Maybe it was something R-rated. Back in those days, they used to show X-rated movies in kinda-respectable theaters here in Hawaii. Not anymore. So I overheard them talking about having a night out on the town without me and mentioned some movie with the word "sex" in the title. That meant a lot of kissing to a six-year-old. While I didn't want to watch a movie with a lot of kissing in it, I begged them to go because I loved movies, and I loved getting out of the house at night, or out of the house, period. They told me they were going to watch a movie for grown-up people, and since six was far from a grown-up age, I couldn't go. I begged and begged anyway. And my begging, along with the fact that they couldn't find a babysitter at such a last minute made them give in.

Well, the movie was indeed for adults, but it wasn't X-rated, and it didn't have the word "sex" in it. It did include the word "alien." As a matter of fact, that's what the title was: "Alien." And it's a movie experience I've never forgotten to this day because I ended up not sleeping for a whole goddamn week. I'd scream "ALIEN! ALIEN!" in the middle of the night at the top of my lungs because I thought the mean, nasty alien who ate people in their underwear would slurp me and my bright LED Star Wars watch right up.

After that initial burst of moviegoing with my parents in the late 70s, we never really went out as a family to the movies (probably as a result of that "Alien" incident, I guess). That is until about seventeen years later, when we caught the first "Mission Impossible" movie showing at the exact same air force base theater where we watched the Travolta double feature. It was weird, seeing a movie with my parents as an adult in the same theater I first saw movies as a kid in.

My second phase of moviegoing started when my uncle came in from out of town and noticed my family didn't go out much. He had a friend also in town, and they liked to go out to clubs and watch movies a lot. I was only in the seventh grade, so clubs were pretty much out of the question for me, but my uncle tried to take me to as many movies with him and his friend as possible. So I got to see "The Karate Kid, Pt.II" (probably the first movie I'd seen in a theater in six or seven years, after that fateful night with the alien), "Top Gun," and a whole bunch of other crap that should've been relegated to cable TV.

Then my uncle left and went back to the Philippines. It was back to me being a hermit, living at the hermit house with my hermit parents.

Then I started high school and got a girlfriend.

To me, that's the ultimate movie-going experience. Going to a movie with someone you love, someone you think you love, or someone whom you want to make love you. I think movies are meant to be a shared experience. While it's a guarantee that going to a theater itself will put you alongside strangers, the movie-going experience is made even deeper -- the bond stronger between two or more people -- when you see a movie with people you know. Or getting to know. And that's regardless of whether you all end up liking or disliking the movie.

In high school and college, I'd go to tons of movies, not only because I loved them, but it was also a big social experience that would bring "kind-of-know-them friends" closer. A study group gets out early? Let's go catch the new Star Trek or Adam Sandler flick. You've got a three hour break between classes? I don't -- but I'll skip my art class so we can go see the new Woody Allen movie at the Varsity. I've got an 8:30 class the next day, but who gives a shit? Let's go catch the midnight premiere of "Showgirls" tonight at Wallace Theaters if you're game.

So what was I talking about? Oh yeah, watching movies alone in a theater.

Like I've said earlier, I've been to less than five movies alone in my lifetime. There's a science to going to a movie solo, because you don't want to be seen alone at a theater. Then everyone would think you're a loser. Which you are, of course, since you're going to the movies alone, but you don't want others to know that. Anyway, the key is to sneak in right as the movie is starting, so nobody's paying attention to you taking that corner seat towards the bottom, by the walkway. There's a risk you take if you go to a very popular flick in the beginning of its run because the single accessible seats are harder to come by, so go to a movie in its third or fourth week, to ensure the theater is at least a quarter empty.

Some theaters even have a couple of handicapped seats, usually one on each side facing the screen with a whole bunch of empty space next to them. The single seat would be for the handicapped person's companion, and the empty space to the immediate left or right would be for the said handicapped person to wheel themselves into. I got lucky recently and found myself one of these "friends of handicapped" seats just as the trailers started for my movie.

I don't intend to make these solo movie flight missions a normal thing. If I saw a movie alone every day for the next year, it still wouldn't match the number of films I've watched in a theater with that special someone or bunch of friends. Going to the movies alone can be a depressing experience, and that feeling usually subsides for the two hours you're sitting in the theater, immersed in that movie's world. That's because you're transported to wherever the movie takes you, away from the sorry-ass life you call your own.

Then the movie ends. You sneak out, blending in with the mass of people heading for the exits. You get outside into the bright sun and realize, hey -- the movie sucked and I've got nobody to tell.

3.05.2001

She has a tendency to...
trail off.
Into space, into thought
and I dangle by every word she doesn't wish to say...
right now, at the moment.

She breezes by...
on a cloud of ellipsis.
Floating in, floating out...
of the spaces between not knowing and knowing.

The silences aren't...
maddening.
They're not deafening
they just veil the thoughts she doesn't wish to finish...
right now, at the moment.

2.14.2001

A Valentine's Day poem from someone who's not my valentine:

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Sonnet XVII

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
Or arrow of carnations that propogate fire;
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
Hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
And thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way
of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

Pablo Neruda

---

She gave this to me at work today, not because she's my valentine, but because she figured I could give it to that special someone in the future. Thank You Noe.

Happy Valentine's Day to those who are in like and love, and for those of us who aren't ... Black Wednesday is almost over ...

2.10.2001

Like in the caveman days, the only two times I left the comfort of my lair was to gather food at the nearby Taco Bell and McDonald's.

Damn, I need to buy groceries.

---

Been reading Thomas Harris' "Hannibal" and readying myself for the movie, which premiered Friday. Got mostly negative or middling reviews. Haven't read a fully positive one yet. Still looking forward to seeing it, though.

---

Recently celebrated a birthday and traveled to Las Vegas on some work-related business. This is the second year in a row spent high in the air celebrating a birthday. My birthday. And all I can say is that the older one gets, the less spectacular each successive one becomes.

Before leaving on the trip, some co-workers took me out to a birthday lunch. For a stretch of time, the topic of conversation centered on kids. I don't know why. One co-worker talked about his daughter and how her report card was due that afternoon and how he was looking forward to it. Another co-worker wondered at what age should she allow her son to stay alone at home by himself. As I phased in an out of the different kid conversations, I realized I was the youngest at the table. And that deep down inside, I still felt like a kid myself.

With this realization, I had an inner panic attack -- I couldn't hold back the urge to tell someone, anyone, this small bit of terrifying information. I ended up telling Kanoe, sitting next to me, who's the receptionist at where I work.

"Kanoe, you guys are all talking about kids, while I myself still feel like one."

She laughed and said, "Well, isn't that good?"

And then I thought to myself, is it? I don't know. I'm supposed to be a grown-up, with grown-up responsibilities and such. But take away the rent, the bills, and the fact that I drive a car and can consume alcohol legally, I'm still a kid with his toys. Living day to day, paycheck to paycheck without a damn clue where his next meal is coming from.

Probably from Taco Bell or McDonald's.

1.29.2001

She's a special guest star in my dreams.

She's not a part of the regular cast, or a recurring character involved in some season-long story arc. She's that special someone mentioned right after the opening credit sequence, or used up front in the commercials promoting that week's show: "...and this week's special guest..."

And in this dream she plays this woman I go out on a first date with. And it's a perfect date. Sure it is, aren't all dates perfect in that parallel TV dream world? Where everything said is witty and pointed, where speculations about life, love and the Florida election are right on the money?

The laugh track provides the cues needed to keep me and the cast on our toes. After all, we rehearsed the script a little over a week ago. As a matter of fact, here's the strange thing: the show's script has never changed. We rehearse simply for the benefit of the special guest star. The same things happen, the same people appear every week. Everything is constant, except for that special guest.

It's always the same. The first date goes well, but thereafter, everything goes downhill. I ask her if I could see her again because we had a great time. Or maybe it was just I who had a great time.

Cue the chuckles.

She says great, give her a call. I call a few days later on her cell phone and she says she's on the road -- can she call me back when she gets home? So I wait for two days before I call her at work (guess she didn't get home, huh?).

Cue the HA-HA's.

Like I said, I wait two days and call her at work. She says she's right in the middle of something -- can she call me back later? I don't hear from her again.

Cue huge guffaws. Cut to commercial. Fade to black.

I meet, wine and dine, and say goodbye to my special guest in a span of 47 minutes, minus the car ads ("...DOO DOO LIKE A PINK MOON..."), Ronco infommercials ("...SAVES YOU TIME AND MONEY...") and CD compilation commercials that all seem to have the same phone number ("...CALL 1-800-257-1234..."). Those magical 47 minutes are where I live and die by chivalry: the initial "connection" I feel with her, the courage I gather to ask her out, and the fading -- the fading of...

And then the episode ends, and I wake up, wondering who'll be my next special guest star.

I certainly don't know. Tune in next week...