WALL-E update

So. Good.

As predicted, made me cry.

I like how every couple walked out of the theater holding hands.

Only criticism: no asians.

SPOILER ALERT; LOOK AWAY:

YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST:

One day in the future, you will hear pickup lines like "You are the EVE to my WALL-E," or "You are the MO to my WALL-E," or "You are the plant to my bone-deteriorized Earth-starved humanoids." If only because I'll be using them.

Stereotyping

I guess it's sad that what people are interested in are defined by their life experiences. We'll only be concerned with issues or people or things that we feel we have a personal investment in. And if there happens to be an anomaly, then people become suspicious and that person's motives are questioned. This isn't always true, I'm sure, but to make a generalization, Asians are generally interested in Asian studies (and the occasional white person who majors in Asian studies is scrutinized -- don't scoff, I do this too), women are interested in Women's Studies/Feminism, and queers are interested in queer studies. The occasional straight person will not hesitate to be vocal about their support and belief that homosexuals should be allotted the same rights as heterosexuals, but won't join a Gay/Straight Alliance. Am I being bitter? I'm not, really. It's just the way it is. People rarely empathize with others, but that's not necessarily such a bad thing. It's understandable for people to look out for themselves first and foremost anyway.

ANYWAY, I just decided to blog this thought because although it sucks that it's hard for other people to care about issues that don't pertain to them in some way or another, it does make it easier to predict who will be more likely to be susceptible to my lame advances. I love my people.

ANYWAY.

Today I met up with a friend to go to AfterEllen's SF meetup... in SF. It was quite a blast. Then we had dinner at Eiji, which has the best strawberry mochis ever on the face of the planet ever anywhere ever oh my god, and I can still smell the strawberry. (The food was okay. Tofu wasn't bad.)

When my mom picked me up at the train station she told me she had witnessed two teenaged girls playing hide-and-seek (?), and then making out. "Do you like girls more than you like boys?" she asked me, like what she saw was reason enough to question my sexuality. "No, Mom, of course not," I replied in an exasperated tone, rolling my eyes for (I hope) added effect.

A few nights ago I couldn't sleep because it was so hot, so at around 1:30AM I went out to the living room where my cat was sleeping. I plopped down next to him, and he proceeded to use my outstretched arm as a pillow, effectively pinning me to the ground (for fear of disturbing him. see how nice i am). so we dozed together for an hour or so, with him randomly socking me in the face with his paws as he dreamed and snored, until he got up to eat, whereupon i went back to my room, which had cooled down, and fell asleep.

I said I wouldn't be cryptic but too bad

I like how I fuck up every good thing just to see what will happen. It's like I have no regard for other people's feelings. Which is actually kind of true. I wonder how I got that way. It's like the whole world is a giant science experiment and I can mix things up and sometimes get a pretty explosion. But usually the explosion feels like suck. But then the suck goes away after a short while because I am fairly good at suppressing my emotions. Wow. What is wrong with me. Learn from your mistakes, please?

God damn me! Back to moping.

Although really, even though I started it, we both have problems. And now my mom thinks I have boy issues.

On this day in 1989

I was born at 3:04 PM in Good Samaritan Hospital in San Jose, California. My mother had been in labor for 18 hours. When I finally came out, I didn't cry; the doctor had to spank me. This is most likely because my mother used anesthetics or whatever during labor so I entered the world all high and shit.

My mom told me that Chinese tradition/superstition dictates that one does not celebrate any birthdays that end in 9; 19, 29, 39, etc. I don't know if she was lying or not, but we went out to eat anyway.

Tiffany just called me.
"Katherine, I'm SO SORRY!"
"..What?"
"I just sat on your present!! I wrapped it like two days ago and then just now I sat down and was like... what is that?? But it's FINE. it just looks... but it's FINE."

ANYWAY. I don't feel 19. I don't feel anything. I'm just here. But it's nice to have proof from time to time that people care about you. 8)

In other news, the unseasonably comfortable 70-ish degree weather is no more. Hello, normal California summer. I walked out to get the mail and now I'm a shade tanner.

Student Teacher Relationships

Not that kind. :)

My mother recently alerted me to the saintly work of Rafe Esquith, and bade me read a few chapters from his book entitled Teach Like Your Hair's on Fire. He's a great man, and I would like to share some of my thoughts on a few of his ideas.

1. Discipline Must be Logical

Esquith writes that "Children do not mind a tough teacher, but they despise an unfair one." THIS IS WHAT I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO TELL MY MOTHER FOR YEARS, and only now does she believe me when I say I dislike teachers not because they're too hard, but rather because they don't teach and therefore waste my time, or are stupidly unfair and inconsistent in their behavior. Examples would be S-Word #1, freshman year, whose class I do not remember at all; S-Word 2, who took away a quiz because I was talking, except I wasn't talking (this sounds like I'm exaggerating but this is really the case), who then took away two other classmates' quizzes for rolling their eyes at her taking away my quiz. Perhaps she was attempting to assert her dominance, which didn't really work anyway, because the whole class undermined her every chance they got, and overall this situation didn't really matter, because it didn't affect my grade, because I am awesome. But it did matter, and the reason why I still remember this and why I still kind of care is because it was grossly unfair and I didn't deserve it; this old zombified crone remains the only instructor so far in my academic career who has made me cry (I did manage to wait until I got into my mom's car after school); and a Social Studies teacher senior year, who was condescending and maddeningly superior (but, alas, possessed no superior qualities with which to back up her behavior). I also think she has syphilis because she shows quite a few of the symptoms, but that's just me. :-\

2. Six Levels

Esquith writes that there are 6 basic levels that motivate one's actions, and they are as follows:

I. I Don't Want to Get in Trouble
II. I Want a Reward
III. I Want to Please Somebody
IV. Follow the Rules
V. I Am Considerate of Other People
VI. I Have a Personal Code of Behavior and I Follow It (The Atticus Finch Level)

WOW. TOO BAD LIFE IS PRETTY MUCH DICTATED THROUGH I-IV, MAYBE V.

So my mom thinks I'm at somewhere between I - IV, except I think I'm at VI because I stopped caring about pleasing my parents (an impossible feat due to fluctuating moods) or anyone else long ago, and, besides, I do adhere to my own moral code because no one else's works for me; to quote the wise words of Eric Cartman, "WUTEVA, I DO WUT I WANT." That way there are no regrets.

3. These Are Fifth Graders.

I think by high school these methods might not work, because I don't think I became this jaded until high school (your words, not mine). I don't remember. I suppose we are motivated still by the same things, and would respond sort of the same, but by this time this "trust" notion would be harder to obtain. Anyway, Esquith's voice comes across strangely in his book. It feels like he's talking about kids like they're another species and he's writing an ethnography on how to interact most successfully with them. Then again, I am of the belief that kids do not become people until they're, like, 11. So that's about right.

I had another point here but a loud song just came on iTunes and I forgot.

Oh right. Esquith isn't a miracle worker, he's just a good teacher who gets kids to respond and learn, sometimes. He writes that once, a former student who had been great in his class suddenly showed up on school and stink bombed his and a few other teachers' cars for no apparent reason. Sucka. I mean, Esquith does great things, and the kids are lucky to have him and to be able to participate in Shakespearean plays and all that, but in the end, how much does it matter? We never end up where we think we're going to end up. I am being unnecessarily negative. I'm going to stop now.

4. OKAY ONE MORE. This doesn't, I think, have as much to do with the book, but with my own personal observations. Parents would do well to heed his advice too. And parents should not be jealous of teachers. That is all.

Anyway, thank you, all the good teachers I had who were not stupid or useless or a waste of my time. <3