:: heartattackmachine ::

:: Friday, January 31, 2003 ::

due to prompting from john, I asked mrs. sarah hilinski what her area was. in a reply that could've been no less predictable she answered the the victorian era.
when high school and I disliked someone, it was instinctual and nothing I could then intepret. accordingly I passed it off as mostly inconsequential. for better or worse now, my contempt, through definition, is by far more pointed.
anyway, my bus home was stalled through a traffic light and a half after reaching the cambridge side of the bu bridge. there usually lives a large congregation of ducks on the slope toward the river and it seemed that many of them inexplicably were trying to cross the busy intersection. I wanted to take a picture, but my camera wasn't giving it up from my perspective. I'm surprised no one seemed to be trying to honk at the birds.

:: judy nguyen 11:46 AM [+] ::
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:: judy nguyen 9:44 AM [+] ::
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on a night, a few weeks ago, which at the end of I thought I had reached a psychological social plateau (I now realize I was mistaken), jamison grouped the world's people into three categories:
1. those who do not think.
2. those who do think. which, wait (and there was a pause so there was ample time for me to think I was not being optimistically disillusioned), I thought included me. but why, jamison, a third category if I have found my place? (I was being cheered up. it wasn't an emotionally neutral philosophical conversation.)
3. those who think about thinking. "which you, dear, are" (understand, not a direct quote. my fabricated paraphrase. the pessimistic spin is mine. and when is it not?)
I remember feeling distinct stings of contempt toward other people when I was younger that I never thought to qualify. and thinking about thinking seems a recent build on depression. finding nothing to say in class and no way to say it. nothing in general to say or do and no way to say or do it. geesh. I don't know. can anyone email or call me and in some way broach this. and I guess I mean everyone and anyone though I don't need people to quote elliott smith and say "it's all right, it's ok, nothing's wrong" while attaching "and you're fucking brilliant and cool and good." I don't want that. I snivel when I see the response used with others. I want something substantive. and no, it doesn't need to be everyone and I probably don't want that. one contact could sate at least this current ill, but some girl was in new york once killed on the street while hundreds of watched in their apartments but failed to assist because they assumed someone else would get up and go. they knew someone would. how could they not? she doesn't need me. I don't know. I don't see and I'm probably wasting a load of people''s times when I write this. I'm wasting my time. I keep thinking that if I could hold one of my myths here and be pleasant with it, I could feel concrete. that could explain the past two nights dreams, no? one of david and one of dan, the two myths around which judy hien nguyen's life revolves for better or worse. other people have god. the scot's came up with "common sense realism." they were pleasant dreams. maybe the most pleasant I've ever had. but I don't fucking know.

:: judy nguyen 5:17 PM [+] ::
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suddenly I just want to curl up and die. just suddenly. I can't think of anything that happened in the last two minutes.

:: judy nguyen 9:14 AM [+] ::
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well, long story short, I no longer have an on-campus job. no pity for me: there was no animosity. barely worth mentioning.

:: judy nguyen 10:09 AM [+] ::
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I can't help but say that I was a little disturbed by the self-effacing last line in what my little friend wrote. I don't know. perhaps the implications of the contradiction in that context struck me as creepy. not really in and of themselves (and ok I don't really know how to make that clear) but a kind of chill runs down my spine.

so... right...

if the lives we lead are meaningless unless we can pull an actual product from out metaphorical hats (and hey, animals have an instinct to reproduce though we say we have knowledge [or at least that we’re conscious {HEY!}] then it’s only quite natural to feel this way. we aren’t chemically balanced until we have a physical manifestation. [dare say, maybe of god?] men must spread their seed regardless of the end location and why shouldn’t women feel an emptiness if they cannot bear and with the “progressive” action happening all around. men can feel this way too! [and women…], where are these children left exactly? I know my parents and likely your parents too didn’t give too much jackshit, but all this wondering hasn’t gotten us any farther along. we’ve been at it for millennia, we’ve made no headway, and we won’t be getting any closer.
so stop kidding everyone and this isn’t supposed to come off as a dis to everyone or even anyone has children, but I guess I don’t really know anyway. I have to agree with john, if having kids really turns things damn rosy, no real right exists to say so, to your friends, to the world, and especially, let us not forget your fucking kids. where does that leave them, after a while and for the much larger part of their lives?
be good parents I guess. but where do you get off and who the fuck are you?

*sigh
I don't know if I really meant that either, but this coming from a person who doesn't know if she means anythng.

:: judy nguyen 8:06 PM [+] ::
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I woke up just now and wonder if maybe, just maybe, I'm coming out of the funk.

:: judy nguyen 11:08 AM [+] ::
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as a child, I was fascinated by everyone. now that I'm older I am fascinated by far fewer, and when I'm depessed, likely fascinated or enthused by no one. or nothing. if people are boring in books and movies and television, are they boring in real life? if they are boring in good books and movies and television (such thing?), is that more true? or is it a product of shameless elitism. yes.
I want someone to suggest a really heartbreaking book to me. I don't mean some stupid tearjerker, but a book that is heartbreaking because it shows how stupid we all are. in essence, something most people wouldn't read because most people don't read books like that.

:: judy nguyen 11:45 AM [+] ::
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one pair of pants really didn't fit me today while the other pants recently have been fitting better. oh well.
wasted some time with dave today. ok. I don't really know what I'm doing. the sundae I had at friendly's was pretty sad. I rather just sleep for the most part.

:: judy nguyen 6:15 PM [+] ::
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bullet to the brain
she said she would be much happier if everyone just understood

:: judy nguyen 6:52 PM [+] ::
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I feel sad and messy today. like I produce a sad ectoplasmic ooze when I walk or slither or whatever my mode of transportation, and when I look at it, I'm too sad to clean it up right, or I probably couldn't clean it up right if I wanted to. sorry. you know who you might be.
tony emailed me yesterday. one happy thing!

:: judy nguyen 6:25 PM [+] ::
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This has been a long time coming, but I think I finally understand.

Make all the jokes you want, call my boyfriend a lecher for being twelve years my senior and call me stupid for being so “naïve,” but let me explain that anyone who does so I imagine could see much less than as little as I do. The fact is that I’ve finally realized that however smart, cool, friendly, and “ageless” my friends and their friends and so forth might seem and clearly are, there is a difference between the generations. In addition and hopefully not out of self-inflated pomposity, I feel in the analysis of current trends and debate that it is always the intellectuals of the last generation to trump in the final say. The visible among us now may only be a few actors and Conor Oberst, but we’re young yet.

I’ll admit that even though culture is a monster, its variations between the generations are far from unintelligible for the responsible, nonpartisan sociologists. However, nothing beats the actual experience, and if I have anything to say it’s that the cultural vapidity confronted as a child of the nineties and this current decade has left me and friends of similar age mad with a hunger for substance that encompasses over critique (perhaps John and his best friend were right in not encouraging my snipes and jeers at the Eve festivities on tv), desperation (face it, kid, the eighties weren’t that great), and an undying struggle to create (my philosophy toward non-journalistic writing is to cut the crap). This is not a dis, but oldsters, can you please stop telling me that every generation’s pop culture has its crap. You talk as if it’s an art that can’t be further perfected. Or whatever the proper term is. The point really is, ladies and gents, that the propagandists have been working long and hard, it was only a matter of time, and that time may be now.

To my peers: Get your head out of the sand. Going off to war, shopping up a blur and supporting your country with headphones blaring Eminem is a sad alternative for substance. In my concern, what is happening is equivalent to Vietnam if not much, much worse. Your children and your children’s children (if you can think so far) will hate you for it. Everyone else in the world already does. So what if it’s not your fault, but don’t not admit that it isn’t downright wrong and disgusting. At the very least, don’t shut your ears. For it’s only getting worse. Your parents and their peers will not be of any help. If you don’t stop now, you may forever be middle-class bs-consumers just like them. It’s no different. One day, you’ll be uncool.

And if you ask me why I’m pissing you all off now, I’ll tell you that it’s because you pissed me off earlier. From first grade through to high school graduation, each and every one of you fucks pissed me off the great American cultural bandwagon. However, the big difference here is that my pestering is not out of spite but right; my harassment is not of your person but of your paper thin, crackerjack perspective. Which I’ll stand to admit is not entirely your fault. Look at it this way, most of the dweebs you made fun of are cracking into the remaining biotechs that have managed to still stand on two feet or whatever the new wave will be and would piss on your Sears shoes at McDonalds if they could have their way. And I hate them too!

So not just for my sake and please try for your own: Wake up.

:: judy nguyen 7:54 PM [+] ::
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so here I am, at home again, drinking a carbonated sugar water that is supposed to be strawberry soda.
I just got home by calling my father's bluff in the way of running off to new york for the eve. I appreciate the goodwill of all involved (dave, john, jones), but the trip itself was pretty uneventful if reasonably pleasant.
on a couple occasions I was a little pissed at john. I don't really feel like trying to examine whether or not either occasion was particularly justifiable. we didn't go to the square obviously, and if anyone finds this shocking, just let me explain that it will probably be a waste of time to explain. we never made it very far out of the house, and since my interest occasionally flagged during the video game marathon, I made much headway in a paperback copy of the corrections.
it's weird that no one yet has tried to approach me much on the homefront about what happened (my dad isn't home), but I'll assume right now that it's for the best.
a family of three small children and their mother who didn't look too many generations removed from whatever fair-complexioned, south american country they had once immigrated from sat in the row ahead of us on the bus back. her older children (a boy and a girl) were seated directly in front of us. loud and well out of control, nothing much was done to restrain them, though the mother made her son cry late in the trip. exhausted and understanding that john was as perturbed without asking, I didn't bring up the topic for quite a while. in a fairer mood, I guess I would've entertained conversation with the boy. however I don't have enough spanish (and never have despite six years) to string together a sentence. nevermind a conversation.

:: judy nguyen 6:08 PM [+] ::
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