U9O.net: You and I Know.

This article was written over 4 years ago.

Since my lovely girlfriend nags about me spewing forth the supposed intellectual gems from my brain onto some place where she could read, after bouncing off her chest and into her ear (oops, now where did that non-sequitor come from), I think I’ll recount the days at Balboa Gifted.

The transition from a rinky dink elementary school in Hollywood composed primarily of poor mexican and armenian immigrants to a faster paced gifted school was a harsh one to me. My days in elementary school prior to the 5th grade was easy. I’d read a book or something while the teacher was droning on, and I’d still have time to do all my homework before I got home. And that was in the talented/gifted class.

The biggest change that I noticed was the sheer meanness of the kids. They weren’t necessarily more intelligent, but they were more out spoken, more able to hurt, and more protective of themselves. In retrospect, I was like a cattle bred in Kansas thrown into the middle of an ethiopean famine. Instead of kids wanting to have fun and talk– perhaps to just smile or just have fun, I was surrounded by neurotic, insecure over achievers who’d recite liberal wing orientated negative comments about the current administration (George Bush the first). My elementary was also different in that there was an inordinate amount of kids with the hewbrew persuation. There was even two jewish black kids. Most of their parents were lawyers, it seemed, and racial and social-economic jabs– especially at mexican and armenians ran high.

I was hopelessly out of place. By the end of 6th grade though, I had mastered the art of putting down, I was master at protecting my own feelings and not showing my hand prematurely. In short, elementary was the place where I learned to be ruthless.

I am the better for it.

This article was written a long time ago.

I’ve always been pretty conservative in my viewpoints in regards to the government and it ought to do– more of a libertarian bent than anything else, but of course, there are failings in libertarianism in respects to the right to self-determination in regards to a state. There I conveniently escape those viewpoints and shift over to neo-conservatism in regards to what I believe nations should do.

I was surprised to see neo-conservatism having roots in the left– that surprised me greatly when I first read about it a while back (2000, when I first started hearing of neocons). But generalism it seems rooted firmly in the concept of realism (which I used for my first poli-sci paper back in an analysis of the Kosovo conflict when I was a freshmen and which the teacher photocopied and passed out in class– probably the only paper in which I ever received that kind of treatment– and it was an upper div class I was somehow in)and old-skool “The Prince” type truisms, namely, there are people out there who don’t give a shit about you and will use their intellect and powers of reasons to take what you have and give it to themselves.

Most people know me as a pretty pragmatic and someone who is extremely interested and base my views and predictions on what I predict will happen because of self-interest in terms of someone. Which is why I love the ladder theory so goddamned much. In the root of it all, the ladder theory has much in common with a zero-sum game theory than anything else. It’s beautiful because the parameters are simple and it reduces all of the complexities of relationships down to the interactions that happen because of these simple parameters.The defined paramaters include:

Self interested actors– in this case guys and gals with diferent interests. Guys who want to fuck and girls who want to fuck but then take care of offsprings (hey, has similarties with social genetics!) Resulting in two ladders for girls and one ladder for guys.

Absolute rankings. Some people are higher ranked than others in a way that is irrelevant– they just are better (A little sprinking of Plato and Nietsze). Resulting in competition (with roots in economic theory! namely, alternatives).

With these paramaters, sexual relationships are laid bare to its core, stripping away all romance. I’m surprised this theory hasn’t appeared on Sex in the City or something like that, but it would take awhile for it to explain and stuff and they wouldn’t mention it until this concept has appeared in some magazines like Esquire or Maxim or something like that.

I love constructs like that, and I want to read this book. The concept isn’t very new to me, having played Conway’s game of life, reading science fiction books with it, but I love how with a simple rules, beautiful shit happens.

And this concludes my rambling post.

Starting from when I was in 5th grade, I was bused 45 minutes from Hollywood to Balboa Elementary School for Gifted kids. It was my first year being transported by the ubiquitous metallic yellow vehicle. The previous four years, I attended a local elementary school, where my mother dropped me off and picked me up (and my sister) every day, sometimes later, depending on her work schedule, which steadily increased as the years went by. The bus driver would wait for me, as I was the first kid he or she would have to pick up, and as soon as I entered, with a loud vrooom, we’d be off on the 101 freeway, and into the ritsy areas like Studio City, and parts of north hollywood, before finally being let off in the middle of the Sururban Utopia known as the “Valley”.

Every Christmas, my mother would give me a small cardboard jewlry box, enough to hold a ring or necklace or pendant, and a card to give to my bus driver. I hated that.

“Why mom, nobody elses moms would make their kids do that.”, I whined, grouching that I actually had to go through the horrible ritual of giving a small present and card to the bus driver. You weren’t supposed to be a wuss like that. Especially not in 5h grade. I could just imagine the other kids making fun of me, laughing at the nerd kid who actually gave presents wrapped in a neat golden bow-tie to their bus driver.

I would dread the holidays, knowing that I would again be forced to give presents to the bus driver. Not that I didn’t like the bus driver. I always liked my bus drivers. But I would reluctantly hand over the present, with the obligatory “Happy Christmas” or “Merry Valentine” or some other common misphrasings common to asian kids with parents whose first language wasn’t english. The bus driver usually was very shocked to have received anything at all, but a warm smile always followed.

I was always the last person off the bus, being that I was the first one in their route. But for some reason, even though both my sister and I were chronically late to our bus after school due to chit-chat and what not, the bus driver would steadfastly wait for us. When he or she would drop us off, he or she would watch us to make sure we got inside our condominium complex gates before driving off. Sometimes, they’d stay there for minutes at a time before driving off. In the mornings, they’d wait for us even when we were late, 10 minutes at a time, while they would give less than 10 seconds wait for the other kids on the route.

One day, while I was getting off the bus, the bus driver lady (I think her name was Latoya), patted me on the head, and said, with an extremely earnest expression, “David, when you get home, tell your mom thank you very much for the present. I really appreciated it.”

I was curious as to what the present actually was, so sometimes I would open it. It was usually a 14k gold necklace with a small pendant, such as a cross (“What religion is your bus driver, is he a he or a she? what is her name?”, my mother would sometimes query me while I would get ready in the mornings), a heart or something similar.

Now that I’m 22 and fully aware of prices of jewelry, I can say that it was something worth around 60-80 dollars, in short, a very nice gift, especially for someone who usually is forgotten about, stereotyped about, ignored, and marginallized, especially by hurried and egotistical suburbanite parents, who would probably call to have a bus driver fired if he changed lanes without signalling for more than 20 seconds. One day, while I was complaining that I had to give yet another present, my dad huffed and said it wasn’t necessary to give anything to any bus driver. It was their job, afterall.

But I suppose it was a nescessity for my mom. In every card, on Christmas time, she would write something like, “Thank you very much for watch out for my son and daughter. Merry christmas” (and the grammar mistakes lessoned as the years went by).

So every day, I would walk down around 5:40 AM, with a mug of hot soup in my hand, or at least a “cup-o-noodle” with my sister, get on the bus, and the bus driver would smile at me and my sister, and say something nice like, “What a nice backpack you have” or, “You look very nice today SooJin” (they’d pronounce it sue-jean).

And we’d always make it back home.

The Individuality Paradox

I was on campus the other day to pick up a portion of payment for a web site I’m helping this guy with. It’s a piercing web site, soon to be titled holethat.com, and I met him the previous quarter while browsing for stuff for my labaret piercing at the vender fairs that UCI has every now and then. He needed a web designer/programmer, and I was wanting some money, so that was that.

He’s a pretty good salesman, plenty of banter and he knows how to sell to kids browsing through his wares.

“Hey pretty lady, what can I get for you today? Why that? That looks really great on you! If you get two, I’ll cut you a deal, and if you bring a friend and she buys, you get it for free! So what do you say?”, he’d ask with the utmost enthusiasm and earnestness and it didn’t matter whether the girl was wearing too-tight pants on a too-fat body.

The response usuallly is a smile and a sale from students unaccustomed to such tactics amongst the gloomy balding middle aged thirty year old persian/arabian/asian/other/unknown males usually silent with folded arms.

A moderately tall asian guy walked up, with no apparent piercings, and started browsing as if he was an expert. He was dressed pure emo. With a billed-beanie somehow not mussing up his bangs swept across his forehead, with a sporty navy track jacket, with tight-faded pants, moderately spiked black belt, with some kind of faded t-shirt beneath his medium built frame, he was the epitome of individuality and pure unadulterated free spirit.

“HEEY guy! What can I do for you today?”, asked Kevin, the vender.

“Uhhh… I was just looking…”, said the fashionably fortunate fellow in a surprised, slightly breathy tone, no doubt caught completely by surprise.

“Ohhhh.”, paused Kevin, realizing the lack of facial ornamanets. He boomed, “So…. don’t be shy? What do you need?”

“Umm…. a… earrings”, came the response almost faint with nausea and embarassment.

“Ohh that’s fine! I have that too!”, Kevin responded without hesitation, and after a moment procurning a box of hooped earrings.

“Oh okay….”, the guy mumbled as he visibly deflated…, “well, I dunno.. was thinking about getting something done–”

“Thinking about getting a piercing? I can cut you a great deal! I know of a few people around Newpor–”

His banter was interrupted as soon as he realized that someone else browsing through his wares: a medium height, pleasant, but blank looking asian girl, with no apparent piercings, with a billed beanie, her stylish banged hair cutting a striking line across her forehead, with a stylishly spiked slim black leather belt looped around her fabulously faded tight blue jeans. With a halfway parted sporty navy track jacket. She was the paragon of individuality.

“WOW!”, Kevin exclaimed, “You guys should like, get hooked up or something… you guys are like. like.. twins!! You guys are like exactly alike!”

“Huh- what- like, uh, like I have a boyfriend..”, hissed the girl with a forced giggle while emphatically jumping slightly up and down on her toes, before looking over the table to see the nearly identicaly dressed individual on the other side.

Her mouth seemed to open in stages, for half a second searching for words, and then closing, and then opening, and then finally closing. She blushed. Then slowly she started walking away.

The guy murmured, “Uhh… I’ll be back..”, and he walked away with his individual strut.

Kevin turned to me, confused, “Uhh.. I don’t know what happened there, jeez, what’s wrong with people.. can’t take a joke? Whatever, they weren’t gonna buy anything anyway… they are like..”, he searched for words and gave up, and then brushed it off as he focused on a sorority girl wearing her letters who had watched the whole thing take place and was laughing hysterically.

“I’ll take 3 of your belly button piercings! The pink one, the double edged one here, and…. that one right there”, she said while laughing, while pointing out various items of jewelry

“Allright! Good lady! And if you bring a friend, I’ll give you another for free!”

Friendship (My last post here)

I have friends. Everyone does.

So often people give their friends what they want and tell them what they want to hear. I tell my friends what they need (in my opinion) to hear and what they don’t want to reveal. In either case, I tell the truth and my intentions are genuine. But rarely do I resort to consorting with other friends. I tell the friend in question personally. And rarely does it leave my mind and your ears.

Never will I put the well being of my friends over my own well-being. If you don’t agree with something, then fine, so be it, don’t agree. I won’t ask you for help in that particualar situation. I understand your feelings. Doesn’t mean I won’t be your friend or remember what you have done for me. I’ll always remember how you stood up for me or helped me in many other cases.

Never will I put the monetary benefit of myself over those of my friends. Never will I do that. I may borrow, but I always have and will always be proactive in paying back as soon as I can. I may bitch and gripe to you about you using my food or housing or electricity, but I am your friend and I will always be on your side. I will always be the first to tell you that what I think you are doing is wrong. I will listen to your concerns over what you think I am doing is wrong. I may fume, I may be angry, but I listen and will always hear what my friends will have to say. But I intensely dislike it when you will not say it to my face. I do the same for you, I expect you do the same for me.

Never will I put myself into a situation where what I do may affect my friends. If there is a risk, be assured I’ll be taking the responsibility for my actions. Never will I do anything to jeopardize a friendship because

If you are my friend, do not doubt my friendship to you. If you are my friend, I will make an attempt to befriend those you befriend, but know that it’s not mandatory nor guaranteed nor will I sometimes give a chance. If you are my friend, I will make an attempt to like those you like, but be assured I will give you some of my thoughts whether you want it or not. That is how I work. If you are my friend, I will give you many many chances. It took me a long time to befriend you, and I will not ditch you.

If you are not my friend, don’t presume anything from me. I am not obliged to help you unless you are a good person. I am not obliged to give you things. I do not have to talk to you. I do not want to talk to you. If you are not my friend, you are nothing to me. I’m not obliged to care if you are hurt. That doesn’t mean I won’t talk to you, that doesn’t mean I won’t help you, that doesn’t mean I don’t care, it doesn’t mean I will be mean to you. It doesn’t mean I won’t befriend you, it doesn’t mean I won’t care for you, but remember, I’m not obliged. Usually I have no opinions at all, and what you do is of no concern to me. Unless of course it effects me.

If you are not my friend, don’t say things my friends say and presume to know the situation. You don’t know me. You will never know me. All you’ll get are smiles or frowns, a joke or a thought, but you won’t have me. My friends are allowed to speak ill of me to me. They deserve it. They put up with my ego-trips, my rants, my rough humor, my sarcastic asides. But do not speak ill of me if you are not a friend.

If you are my friend, I am with you for a long time. It takes a lot of things to not be my friend once you already are. Don’t say you know you are my friend or when you are not my friend. Don’t ask me whether you are my friend. My deeds should reflect my stance towards you.