Mulder, it's me...

Earlier tonight, I hosted an X-Files mini-marathon in my livingroom. Eight of my closest fan friends, a whole lot of snacks and beverages, and a very nice projector pointed at a plain white wall of the room, and I was on. There is perhaps no other time in which I'm more in my element than when people are quizzing me about things that happened, lines that were uttered, or actors who played whom on "The X-Files". I love that T.V. show, and probably know it better than any other T.V. show I've ever followed. Certainly better than any life I've ever led. (No matter how much you pay attention to things happening in your own life, you'll never be as familiar with it as you can be with something that you can view over and over again. And, let's be honest, nobody's writing books that cover seasons of your life, episode by episode, which you can use as reference material.)

My good friend Marin started me collecting all the seasons of The X-Files on DVD a few years ago. She successfully bid on the Season 1 set on eBay, and when she gave it to me, the floodgates opened to a yearning to be 9 seasons strong, and I didn't look back until eBay, Amazon used, and Best Buy in-store sales made me so. Now, I'm working my way through the entire show again, episode by episode, season by season, until I get to that 1-hour, 30-minute series finale again and we start the cycle at the Pilot once more. All the while, throwing little marathons like this one, in which I curate what episodes I see fit, according to any themes I've been thinking of, requested eps I've been asked to show, or because there's some new X-Files event coming soon.

Which brings me to the reason I had this marathon tonight: In 7 days, the new X-Files movie will premier, and while I'm excited to see what's become of our heroes, I'm a little worried that the magic won't still be there. You never know how weird dinner with an old lover will be. You never know how reunion tours will sound.

So, I had to get into the mood by screening a few episodes (5, in the end) of Chris Carter's primer list of what to watch before you see the movie if you're new here.

These were the 8 on his list:
Pilot (season 1, episode 1)
Beyond the Sea (season 1, episode 12)
The Host (season 2, episode 2)
Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose (season 3, episode 4)
Memento Mori (season 4, episode 15)
Post-Modern Prometheus (season 5, episode 6)
Bad Blood (season 5, episode 12)
Milagro (season 6, episode 18)

A DVD of these 8 eps has been released to consumers, making this seem like a cheap way to get more DVD sales out of fans, at least new ones, which makes me kind of sad. I love Muldy, and I try to emulate Scully in every pinched and concentrated face I make, so I have all 9 seasons in boxed sets on my shelf. But, who loves them so little that they would buy some random collection of 8, yet loves them so much that they would buy some random collection of 8? It doesn't make sense to me.

I sure hope the movie itself makes better sense and lives up.

Word Juices

Has it really been a month since my last blog post? For shame, me! For shame the muse that has evidently left me! I've spent most of today reading some of my favorite writers so that I could get my juices flowing again.

Word Juices: They flow at inspiration gained from the likes of Clive Staples Lewis, whose masterpiece that he spent most of his life thinking about, Till We Have Faces, is the Greek myth of Cupid and Psyche, beautifully retold to make even a grown-up feel like she's reading a bedtime story. The title page inside the edition I'm holding has this enigmatic quote under Lewis' name: "Love is too young to know what conscience is." I'm still wrapping my brain around all the different things that could mean.

The second great writer, Wystan Hugh Auden, wrote a number of poems that I've read and loved for a while. I'm not a big reader of poetry, but his stuff inspires me to action...

Leap Before You Look (W. H. Auden)

The sense of danger must not disappear:
The way is certainly both short and steep,
However gradual it looks from here;
Look if you like, but you will have to leap.

Tough-minded men get mushy in their sleep
And break the by-laws any fool can keep;
It is not the convention but the fear
That has a tendency to disappear.

The worried efforts of the busy heap,
The dirt, the imprecision, and the beer
Produce a few smart wisecracks every year;
Laugh if you can, but you will have to leap.

The clothes that are considered right to wear
Will not be either sensible or cheap,
So long as we consent to live like sheep
And never mention those who disappear.

Much can be said for social savoir-faire,
But to rejoice when no one else is there
Is even harder than it is to weep;
No one is watching, but you have to leap.

A solitude ten thousand fathoms deep
Sustains the bed on which we lie, my dear;
Although I love you, you will have to leap;
Our dream of safety has to disappear.

How far can the fruit fall from the tree?

This weekend, I went to Southern California (Orange County to be specific) for a few days to undergo some obligatory, family events -- a cousin's oldest son was having his first communion, my godson was doing the same thing, and my parents celebrated their 41st anniversary. A lot of parties were had. A lot of excessive eating, gossiping too loudly, and carrying on took place.

It's no secret to most people who've witnessed one of my hater moods that I don't like Orange County. I don't like anything about it: the way it's called The O.C. (as if it's serious enough to carry a definite article a la the Hague), the homogeneous conservatism that persists still now after 2 terms with George W., and particularly the people who inhabit it, and the sprawl that they inhabit. Yet, 90% of the extended family I knew growing up, which in turn is about 60% of my existing family overall, lives there. They grew up there, live and work there, and have chosen to raise a whole new generation of my kin there. From my two older sisters to about 7 cousins that I hung out with in my childhood, with just a few exceptions, no one has left that 'burb, and never will. They shop at Walmart, they don't recycle, they drive SUV's, they get their news from primetime television, and they all vote republican, when they do vote.

Therein lies the chasm that separates me from them. After leaving predictable and convenient South Orange County for college life in Berkeley and then staying north, I'm a changed sheep and am barred from talking about politics at the dinner table when home with the fam.

But, on this last visit, something unexpected happened that gave me a thrill of hope. The afternoon before I left, my sister's kids, Preston and Taylor, accompanied me to the local park in my parents' neighborhood for a few swings and slides on the playground equipment. As we walked past neighbors' houses with Taylor in the lead discussing the plot of Cinderella III: A Twist in Time, and not caring if anyone was listening, 8-year-old Preston randomly started asking me about my experience in Vietnam, following the war, before we (his mother's side of the family) fled as refugees to the US. He asked me if we left Vietnam because our side had lost. I've never been asked about anything as important as war before by a child and I didn't know what to say. Of all the soapbox speeches I've given in my life, they've never been ones geared toward young, impressionable children who aren't prepared to debate any points with me, and who only sincerely want to get my take on things.

So, I was actually thoughtful and measured with my response, a style I don't commonly practice when talking to my family. I told Preston that we probably would've fled Vietnam when we did no matter how the war turned out because it's very hard to live in a country where something like that has taken place. I said that regardless of what side you're on in any war, you're bound to suffer, because death and destruction affects both sides. I didn't realize, but Preston is apparently old enough to know that the U.S. is fighting a war in Iraq right now. He pointed out to me that despite the fact our country is at war, he's not suffering very much. So, I said that he's only spared the kind of suffering I'm talking about because he's not there, in Iraq, to experience this war. I told him that however this one ends, there will be people in Iraq who will wish they could leave and start a new life somewhere that hasn't been bombed into oblivion, and that it's just like our family felt when we had to leave Vietnam 29 years ago.

Preston thought over what I said for about half a block and then asked me, without affect or agenda, "Then, why is there war?"

Pause to recover from the enormity of that question coming from a little boy who's worldview is just now being formed.

"No one knows why there's war, Preston. Grown-ups are always arguing about it, and yet they still can't figure it out. I think it's more important that we know how we feel about war, and if we don't like it, how to avoid it. When you become a grown-up, you might be in a position of leadership and you might get to decide if there's going to be a war or not. But, even if you aren't, you'll be able to choose the people who do decide those kinds of things. And, that's important too when you know what you think about war."

Preston just looked at me thoughtfully and didn't say anything else. I don't know what went through his head right then, but since he didn't turn away from me and start singing any of a number of SpongeBob SquarePants songs I know he's fond of, I can only guess that I was able to shape him a little differently than all the other adults around him are likely to do. I know he has another 10 years in Orange County before he's legal to leave, but maybe there's hope that the fruit, which doesn't fall far from the tree, will nonetheless roll a significant distance in a direction heretofore unexpected.

I Heart Tech Support

Tonight, after a lovely evening of drinks and a Cambodian meal, my good friend Gene, the person in my life that I run to when I have REAL tech questions, about REAL tech matters, like programming language issues, not just end-user "Why is my iPod doing THAT???" whines, took me back to his office with him and fixed some formatting issues on my blog to make everything look better. He also explained to me some things about html so that in the future, I can fix these little things on my own. I always think it's better if he teaches me to fish, so that I can feed myself. Though, I tell him that since he works only about 5 blocks from me, he could just bring me fish for lunch every day if I never learn to. But, this is not the spirit of growth, I'm told.

Gene answering any sort of tech question of mine is common practice. Just like Marin serving as my own personal iTunes support person. And, Shrey taking my calls at any hour of the day or night to field urgent ProTools questions. I just got it like that. It's great. I am the question ninja, popping out of a darkened corner in my shinobi shozoko and without any introductions, asking my tech question, getting the answer, and fading back into the shadows.

Though, I'm sure that these people in my life, so victimized because they know stuff and can explain it really effectively, must take a lot of abuse from those of us less knowledgeable all the time. They have to explain things over and over again. They can't speak in shorthand because the people they're addressing would never understand them. They don't get paid for these consulting services they're providing for family and friends. Yet they still take my phone calls. I'm so impressed by their generosity. I'm so thankful they took the time to learn all this stuff that I didn't. And, really, I'm so glad I've got them on retainer -- friend retainer. I love my tech support!

Proud to be an Athletic Supporter

It's easy to love the A's. It's easy, and I do it. Even when they lose. Even when there are only 10,000 fans in the stands with me. Even when it's cold and raining, and there's no ride home from BART after I reach 19th Street and I have to walk the 20 minutes uphill at 11:00pm, on a weeknight. Even when my boss, a FORMER A's fan, hassles me at work the day after they lose a game. Even when the team threatens to leave Oakland and move to the suburbs of my behated Southbay. Even when a lot of things.

The reason it's so easy is not just because I always love the home team, or even that this home team exemplifies me really well with their scrappy sort of attitude. It's because they're fun. Win or lose, they have a good time, and keep it light, and show their spirit, and maintain their camaraderie. With heroic star players or with no-name newly-acquireds, they give me someone to love and cheer for every single time. Take Big Joe Blanton, or not-born-in-Japan Kurt Suzuki, or the new Nick Swisher Andrew Brown -- that's the spirit of the A's club that you'll never find in a contending team like the Yankees. (Plus, the A's have Stomper, who's new Make Some Noise video featuring the Stomper Trumpet Puppet is the funniest thing I've seen at a ballpark EVER. After several viewings, I'm STILL laughing.) So, that's why I love this team. And, it's EASY.

My beloved doesn't write that often. (Maybe that's why, when he does, he commits so many little grammatical errors that the OCD in me flags.) But, when he does write, it's good stuff. It's insightful, it's poetry, and it makes me laugh. And by far, the best thing he's ever written, in my opinion, is this, a blog entry from the past winter break, when the A's front office traded away the fans' most beloved player, Nick Swisher.

I'm not going to complain about anything that happens this season. I'm just going to attend all the home games I can wearing my old Jason Kendall tee-shirt, and being thankful to be back in Oakland, where I can root for my A's in person or over the radio, and I never have to contend with a 9-hour time difference, or the inefficiencies of mlb.com's hissing audio stream.

Let's go, Oakland! Clap-clap, clap-clap-clap!

My Pre-Radio Life

This morning, my sister emailed me this picture of a cute baby wearing headphones and called it "Young Martina". I guess it was the headphones that made her think it was me. But I was never that cute, or pale, a baby.

I had to respond and tell her that no, it wasn't me. Despite how obsessed I am with all things radio now in my adulthood, I wasn't so into it as an infant that there ever would have been gigantic, professional grade headphones on my head at any point while I was in my crib. And certainly, I was not the type at that time to listen to anything with such a blissed-out, bemused, eye-closed look on my face. She's so silly, that sister of mine!

Looking back, I'm sure I wasn't very aware even of all my radio listening options let alone how to actually make radio when I was a child. Growing up in SoCal in the 80's, we had one very old, used tuner that was probably donated to the fam by some local church and it was always tuned to the Mighty 690, an AM station that played a lot of Top 40, only 10 songs on their playlist at a time. But, those were my favorite 10 songs of that particular month, easily. That's also where I always got my Sunday hit of Casey Kasem whom I thought was a genius. I remember my sisters and I always freaking out when someone tuned the stereo away from that spot on the dial. I was convinced I'd never find it again on the crowded AM spectrum out of L.A. and San Diego.

Unless you count me recording the Silver Spoons intro theme onto a portable cassette player by holding it up to the TV so I could have it on a mix tape, I also never had aspirations of becoming a radio producer. When you listen back to those tapes now, you can actually hear 9-year-old me off-mic shushing people in the room. God, I was a control freak even then! Or, when I used to read books out loud into the same tape recorder and play it back to myself at night as I went to bed because no one ever had the time to read me to sleep. That's more audiobook than radio broadcast. Sigh.

I must've been cute in those days, but not cute like that kid in the picture. My cute was one of patheticness. That's a totally different kind of cute.

Back at It

After what I comfort myself by saying is an understandable 6-month hiatus from this blog so that I could return home to the San Francisco Bay Area, find a place to live, get a job, and resettle into a life of familiarity and comfort among all my favorite things, a confluence of events has started me back on this path of chronicling my meandering and multi-claused thoughts. I'm financially comfortable now after an impoverished re-entry into my lavish American lifestyle so no longer have to hustle up money and thus have more time on my hands. I recently reconnected with someone I've known for a few years whose writing I've always enjoyed, and he encouraged me to get back to blogging despite my new life of uninteresting bliss back in my element. And, I'm getting tired of only presenting any little witticisms I have in quickies on Facebook. It's too small an audience. It's too scattered across all of my friends' Facebook pages. So, I'm back. Here.

I realized that I used my travels in Europe last year as an excuse to blog, because it was the thing that made me interesting and gave me something to talk about without exposing too much of my more personal musings. It shames me that I didn't think my personal musings were worth posting online when any number of illiterate asses with a broadband connection will create their own websites dedicated to some lame obsession of theirs and post all over the web with their bad grammar and poor punctuation and overuse of little initials (NOT acronyms, dammit!) like LOL and IMHO. It shames me that I needed a gimmick to open myself up in this public forum when I'm always verbally pounding away at my family and friends about the importance of being honest about your thoughts and emotions and sharing more. There's nothing wrong with talking about the pubradio job I got 2 months ago that I love, the cute apartment with wood floors and great natural light I now live in on the north side of Lake Merritt, or how I enjoy going to all my favorite places around the Bay with all my favorite peeps. Bliss can be interesting too.

Okay, fine. The money is now where the mouth is. For every blog entry I write from today onwards, I'm putting a dollar into a piggy bank and then doing something REALLY GOOD with that money when I've amassed a bunch of dollars after another year of blogging. I'm paying MYSELF for posting to my own blog! HA!

So, on this warm and glorious weekend in the Bay, what things, great and small, have I honed my senses to in the world around me so that I might take an interest? The vertical blinds waving and clapping against each other in the breeze coming through my bedroom window keep reminding me that I need to get outside and move around. One cannot enjoy the weekend by laptop alone. I'm putting on a skirt and enjoying the sunshine now.