HOLY COWPIES We're Three Years Old

So, about halfway through my 8th grade year, I wrote some stuff about woodshop safety rules at a high school I was looking at. I probably wrote some other stuff, too, but I wrote it, clicked the big orange "PUBLISH POST BUTTON" and a few days later, someone commented, and then, for some unfathomable reason, decided to follow my blog. 


And that's how my blog was started, three years ago today. 


And I wrote pretty much a post a day, and most of it was complete and utter crap. After a while, I posted every few days and my writing became a bit better. Now, I post every month if I remember, and my writing is still crap. 


But, somehow, I was able to get 16 or so followers, and it looks like people actually read my writing. 


And, uh, I guess I wanted to take this chance to thank you guys. I mean, this blog's not a particularly huge part of my life, but I do enjoy it and I do find joy in reading your comments. There's the whole, "This blog wouldn't be here without you guys," which, frankly, is cheesy and not entirely accurate, but, really, thank you. Thank you for having read, reading and continuing to read this blog.


I think I probably missed my blog turning a year old, and then two years, but, hey, third time's the charm! Or something like that, I really don't know. 


I actually don't have much to talk about (then why have you written so much already??) so I guess I'll stop here.


But, again, thanks. 


And I hope you guys will continue to read this blog, but, really, if you do have any intentions to do so, you should get yourselves checked out. 










Just in case I don't post tomorrow, Happy Thanksgiving! 

The only cure for idiocy is death

Okay, okay, this is probably old news by now, considering it's been out there for quite a few hours, but I just woke up less than an hour ago, and I'm just mind-blown.


What... what the hell? What the hell, America? What... I can't even... 


It seems that pizza is now a vegetable. 
Congress has decided that what little tomato may or may or exist on your average pizza (because who knows what shit that's made out of) lets it count towards your daily servings of vegetables. 
Just...
The f*ck? 


Oh, I see. This must be punishment for me stating that I respect America a few days ago. 
I'm sorry, America, I'm sure you know I didn't mean it. 


What were they thinking when they decided to pass this bill? 


Alright, we need to make these kids healthier. How do we do that? 


We could put more fruits and vegetables in their lunches, and quit it with the fast food. 


What? You crazy! Someone shoot that guy! 


I know! Let's just say what they eat already are vegetables! 


Omigod! That man's  genius! Give him an award! 






Cuz, see, it's cheaper to give kids shitty processed no-I'm-not-telling-you-what's-in-it whatsit. Instead of trying to appear as if they're making an effort, they'll just go in a completely opposite direction. What? Raise the standard for lunches in school? What bullshit! Lower the standard, and it'll look like our kids are the healthiest people on earth! Wonderful! 


You know what? This country probably deserves it. 
So, go ahead, America. Eat five pizzas a day, declaring to the world that you do love vegetables! And you will be healthy and proud and wondering why on earth you're dying at 40 of heart disease and diabetes and high blood pressure. 


And go f*ck yourselves. 


We are America and we are proud. 


























Also, does Congress know that tomatoes are not vegetables?

People Say the Darndest Things

(or: Cheese is important to me) 

I am not a very hateful person, I hope you guys know. I am a very angry person, but I usually try not to expend too much effort on hating anyone/anything-- that requires a vast amount of anger over a long period of time, and while that person/thing isn't there. That is energy I could put towards keeping myself alive.

But I really hate this phrase:

“Well, good thing we're in America, huh?”

It's not really that I hate the phrase itself (I'll concede that America's not a terrible place to be) but I really, really, really, really-- I cannot tell you how many “really”s I would need to write in order to express the degree of my hatred towards this phrase, as such a number doesn't exist-- hate it when used under certain circumstances.

I am Korean. In truth, I'd like to call myself Canadian, but when I say that, people ask me, “No, what are you?” as if I hadn't understood the question, when, really, they didn't understand what I meant by my answer (by the way, I am a human. That is what I am) and my response ends up being “I'm Korean” in a defeated tone, anyway, so let's stick with that. I am Korean and, while it's not always a wonderful thing, my reactions to certain events will reflect that Korean heritage. It's no fault of mine; I was raised by two people who grew up in Korea, and they were the biggest influence on my personality in my developing years, so I sometimes act Korean.

For instance, I dislike writing names in red, and I don't consider a slap to the face a light joke between friends. In Korea, you only write a person's name in red if they're dead, and a slap to the face is just offensive. What's wrong with you, American teenagers? I really don't appreciate it. No, none of the readers of this blog whom I know personally have ever hit me, but it seems to be acceptable to some. The fact of the matter is, I am uncomfortable with both, and sometimes I just feel the need to bring it up. No problem, right? I was raised by Korean people, and in Korea, these things just aren't done. All good so far, right?

But, whenever I try to bring these up, whether I'm telling a friend not to write my name in red or asking them not to hit me in the goddamn face (they've since stopped, but the use of the phrase hasn't gone away), the response I get is never a polite, “Oh, sorry about that. I'll try not to do that from now on.”

No. The answer I get is invariably, “Well, good thing we're in America, huh?” followed by an optional “USA! USA!” depending on where this exchange is taking place.

Now, I have no problem with patriotism. People need something to distract themselves with when another society is brought up in the news. But does this have to extend into pride in your ignorance of other countries? Not only are you proud of the fact that you have no idea about the social customs of another person, you refuse to accommodate them. As if your place of birth entitles you to be an ass.

I'm not saying you have to obsessively research the nuanced customs of every ethnic person you know. No, that's led to the War on Christmas and the silent, self-struggle of Christianity in accepting this multi-cultured world, and that's just dumb. You will be ignorant about some things. You are human, and that's okay. I can't say otherwise, because I am also human. All I ask is that if the person is your friend, whom you've know for a while, and has brought it up politely-- politely, mind you-- that your actions conflict a bit with their social comfort, then please, just politely agree to stop doing that, and it'll be fine.

Even if you are polite, smile, nod and say, “Oh, sorry about that. I'll try to stop doing that in front of you,” you will not spontaneously combust.

No matter how you choose to deal with it, do not say, “Well, good thing we're in America, huh?”

(self-entitled little...)

Because, too bad not everyone who lives in America is an American.

Thank you.

In fact, this doesn't even apply only to Americans. All of you. I'm asking this of all of you. Be polite. Just... please. 

_______________

Do you guys think you can handle another rant?

Yes?

Yay!

No?

Too bad.

I got two more comin'. So just skip down to my final comments if you don't feel like reading, 'kay?

______________

There is this delightful girl who is also on staff at my school's magazine. Every morning, when we're told to stand up for the Pledge of Allegiance to this wonderful country of freedom (because, as a citizen of this country, you're obligated to swear fealty to a piece of fabric you can buy for a buck), she always claims that she refuses “to pledge allegiance to a land of corruption.” Sometimes, she'll refuse to stand and get shouted at, either by one of the editors or by the supervising teacher.

It's really a wonderful way to start every other day at school.

It's not. I hope you all could perceive my sarcasm, because I hardly find people or countries delightful or wonderful. If at all.

In any case, I think I would have agreed with her and sympathized a couple of years ago, but now... Now, all the little teenagers screaming for independence and fighting against the norm... I find it very futile, and a little bit amusing, if I'm able to find that much sentiment at 8:30 in the morning.

That isn't to say I don't understand it at all. Even I sometimes find myself dreaming of the freedom of adulthood, though I doubt I'll ever find it. But that's not my point.

My point is that she truly is very sour about it. All she has to do is stand up to show respect. No one's going to shout at her for not saying the pledge-- everyone recognizes that countries are corrupt, anyway-- but it's just the lack of respect.

Do I respect America? I may have to give a begrudging “Yes.” Perhaps I do, the idea of it, and it's accomplishments. America's been able to do some great things, some terrible things, and some downright embarrassing things. But it's a country that's populated by humans. What do you expect, eh?

But I am a little sad that she tries so hard to rebel. I'm not trying to be motherly, or patronizing, or snarky (well... not completely. Not towards her, anyway). What I mean is, why does she feel the need to vocalize her opinion of America? Every morning? Even the most adamant patriots recognize that America just sucks sometimes (though they somehow feel a sort of misplaced pride in it).

Again, she doesn't have to say the pledge out loud. She won't get in trouble for that. She just needs to stand up and think about how intelligent she is for not being fooled by the media and politicians.

Besides, it's not like she'd really be pledging to a land of corruption. The pledge is someone swearing their allegiance to a flag and what the flag represents. And the flag represents freedom, and equality through struggle. So, in pledging allegiance, she is not swearing fidelity to a country of oafish politicians, massive consumerism, football and fat kids. She's swearing allegiance to a magical land where everyone's equal and healthy and happy and loving. In this country, democracy works, and people aren't subconsciously unforgiving racists, and everyone loves each other. Money grows on trees and every week, cake and pie and cookies fall from the sky onto millions of kind, accepting, intelligent, and artistic individuals who are productive and innovative.

It's like Oz, or Narnia, this wonderful country of America.

So don't be afraid to pledge you're allegiance. It's all a farce, anyway, but it's nice to pretend.

_____________

I came upon a rather unsettling discovery yesterday, and even now it makes me feel ill.

Loss. I feel loss, like something that was vitally important to my childhood was wrenched away from me while I wasn't looking.

The discovery?

American cheese isn't real cheese.

Ha! Just kidding!

The joke here is that I totally mean it.

I feel like I've been lied to. By an entire country.

Okay, so, yeah, I grew up in Canada, that magical nation just north of the good ol' US of A, so maybe I should've known this, as Canada's really just a lesser-known version of America, but this really hit me hard.

American cheese isn't real cheese. You know, it can't legally be sold as cheese. In the US. American cheese cannot be sold as “cheese” in America. No, it has to be labeled as processed cheese, or some other term that lets people know it's not real cheese. Did you know it's called plastic cheese in the UK? That sh*t ain't real cheese.

I mean, I never liked American cheese that much anyway-- I prefer white cheeses, myself. But I've always thought, you know, that it was an actual cheese, or maybe a type of cheese. There are different types of cheddar, right? I thought it was like that. I thought it was a type of cheddar with freedom and fireworks and reality TV and unicorn sh*t mixed in, you know?

They recently added a deli line to my school's cafeteria. Like, the ladies take bread, put some turkey or ham or chicken on it, cheese, slap some lettuce, tomatoes, onions, some mayo if you're weird (I like mayo) in front of you. And they put it under a panini press and it's legit food, and it tastes like food. Quality stuff, as far as cafeteria food goes. And the most popular cheese to put on these sandwiches? American. (I usually go for provolone or mozzarella. I have seen a couple people who don't know what provolone is. Am I weird for letting that bother me? You know what? Leave me alone.)

I always thought it was a nice patriotic gesture. American kids eating American cheese, and all is right with the world. And it is, in a way. Processed meat stuff, processed bread stuff, processed soup stuff, processed I-don't-know-what-the-f*ck-that-is-maybe-you-shouldn't-eat-it stuff. It's very American, okay. But if you're going to put a nationality in the name of of a food, it's like you're trying to define that nation's cuisine, and, in a way, the nation itself, through that food. French bread, Swiss chocolate, Belgian waffles. Good stuff, all of it.

But then you've got American cheese. Processed whatsit made of milk, some semi-edible by-product a farm sold for cheap and whatever was on the floor that didn't have eyes and wasn't moving.

So, it turns out, Kraft's patriotic, trumpet-filled marketing campaign wasn't just a ploy to exploit the people's love for their country. “Kraft, the American cheese” is truly American cheese.

America, land of the free, home of the brave, country of democracy and capitalism, victor of wars and second to no country.

America.

Land of processed cheese, and we are proud.

But, seriously, no. Don't call it cheese. It ain't cheese. Call it sandwich slices or processed dairy product-- whatever the cheap stuff has in fine print. Because that ain't cheese and I will not stand for it.

FINAL COMMENTS.

SKIP TO HERE IF YOU DIDN'T FEEL LIKE READING THAT CRAP

So, I will pretend as if I have more than, say, three readers (if that) and ask you guys to comment on any (or all) of the following questions:

a) What kind of cheese do you like best? It's okay to say American (EVEN THOUGH IT'S NOT A REAL CHEESE).

b) If you don't like cheese, tell me why you don't. In case you're answer's something like, “It smells,” tell me about an embarrassing incident that involved cheese. Or any incident. Just comment.

c) What terribly politically incorrect/socially unacceptable atrocity have I written this time? Feel free to ignore all rules of grammar, punctuation, spelling and capitalization, and use as many internet abbreviations as you wish.

d) Should the name of this blog be changed to “Complaints and Grievances”?

I don't think I'm an otaku. Also, some grievances

Hi.
It has been a while.
So, hi. It's... um... been a while. 
So... yeah. 


Um, and the first thing I will do sine coming back to this blog will be... complaining. As I always do, and as you can tell by the title. 


I went to tae-kwon-do for the first  time in a week. It was also the first time since elementary school that I almost threw up. My eyes were watering and everything. But I hadn't been there in a week, and I've been sleeping pretty badly the past few weeks, because of a mix of homework, tests and just plain bad judgement. However, because we didn't spar today, I was not in an awful mood after, and so I am able to enjoy my Friday. 
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SKIP THIS IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ A RANT!!!!!!!!!!!!


You know, I realized today that I am probably no longer an otaku. Yes, I have a collection of manga and I like anime, but I watch maybe two episodes once a week. Pathetic, I know, but it is still enough for me to call myself an otaku, since I still enjoy talking about manga. However, the biggest indication of my otaku-self dying came today during lunch.


Some girl from the Japanese Club (that sounds a bit bitter, but I am a bit bitter towards her for reasons other than what I am about to relate to you) asked one of my friends if she liked Pandora Heart. She said she loved it, and they launched into a heated conversation about it, and for whatever reason, I was locked out of it even though I love that series to f*cking death. But that's not my point. She said, dramatically, looking off into the air just above her head:
Gilbert is my favorite anime character ever.


Which is fine. Gil is adorable and he deserves that. But. Oh, but, she didn't pronounce his name as "Gilbert." She said it as "Giruberuto," as in the romaji for it, or how it would be pronounced in the Japanese language.


Now, I understand that Pandora Hearts is a Japanese manga created by a (talented) Japanese women and published in Japan, but Gilbert is a western name. Just pronounce it as it's supposed to be pronounced. You wanna put a Japanese accent on a Japanese name, go for it. I will love you to death for it. But Giruberuto? No. Just, f*cking....


And this was what told me that I am no longer an otaku. A year ago, I would've been fine with it. I would have understood it; it would have made sense to me. That's the scary thing. A year  ago, saying his name like that would have made sense to me. But today I just wanted to scream at her for it. The *****ing weaboo. That was what I thought.


Am I making too big a deal about this? I'll say Kinomoto Sakura or Kurozaki Ichigo with a Japanese accent. They're Japanese characters with Japanese names. But Mochizuki Jun meant for Gilbert to be pronounced as f*cking Gilbert. Mimicking the Japanese accent like that is, frankly, patronizing and a little bit insulting, isn't it? I understand that anime fans love Japan and, for various reasons, want to act as Japanese as possible, but, really, must they? 


Do you have to add "nya!" or "day-soooo" or "kuh-waaah-ee" to every sentence? Do you have to use "baka" at any opportunity to insult somebody, and then laugh at them because they don't watch anime or read manga or interact with anything remotely Japanese and thus have no possible way of knowing what it means? Do you have to worship j-rock and visual-kei like sun gods and does every second you spend reading have to be manga? 


Because, I am (was) an otaku. I watch(ed) a ton of anime. I learned Japanese and am proficient. I learned a f*cking thing or two about Japan and I can accept a Japanese person being not awesome because, frankly, the majority aren't. Which is the case with any nationality; I am not bashing Japan in any way. I like very few Japanese artists. I also read. Real novels. Like, upwards of 200 hundred pages, real literature from various countries. 


What really worries me, though, is the realization that, Oh sh*it, otaku-ism has probably been like this. For a while. I just never noticed. I went through an intense weaboo phase, but it went away by the time I reached high school. But it feels like the world I chose to assimilate myself into , the world I chose to put in effort to understand has, in fact, all been a farce. People who like anime are not multi-culturally minded. They don't like putting more than a certain amount of effort to learn new things. They're frikking morons. Maybe it was because I avoided uber-Japanophiles like the plague, but I never noticed it until now. They're all just a bunch of rebellious teenagers who want to stick it to society. They want to say "Oh, I'm so open minded I watch animes and I loves Japan and its awesome and I wanna live there and be a mangaka cuz my parents and classmates are all close-minded idiots but looky here I'm watching anime like an individual! **** yeah!" 


But they're not. And everyone's like this. Sure, most people grow out of it, but why must it be to this much of an extent for such a long time? Do they not realize how stupid they sound, even to fellow otaku like me? 


So by the time their awful conversation ended, I decided.
I don't want to be an otaku anymore.


From now on, I am a casual anime fan who's watched a few series. And that is all, and I will be proud of it.


END OF RANT
_____________________


When I was buying lunch a couple days ago, one of my classmates kept trying to talk to me. He said, "it's called small talk."


I really need to work on my social skills...






ALSO
I am teaching myself how to juggle. I can almost juggle three balls. As in I throw each of them once, catch them, and then realize I'm not coordinated to keep going from there. I am working on it, and it is very fun.


I am really, really sorry about this post. More of it was complaining than I meant for it to be. I am so, so sorry. 


And I probably won't be back for another three weeks. 


Again, I am so sorry, readers.


I'll try (again, TRY) reaaaally hard to write something more intelligent next time. I promise, okay?


Okay.