Okay.  So I gave Kafka on the Shore  a shot.  When I started off I thought the book was an over-bloated, pretentious piece of crap.  Then, about a quarter way through, I came to a chapter that was so utterly profound that I had to sit the book down and meditate on it for a moment.  I forged on towards the end, biting my nails, waiting to tell the *internet* world about an amazing, enlightening piece of work I'd just finished. 
And then I get to the end and realize the book is an over-bloated, pretentious piece of crap. 

Doubt me?

Check out this excerpt from the books "plot summary," on Wikipedia:

After the novel's release, Murakami's Japanese publisher set up a website allowing readers to submit questions regarding the meaning of the book. 8,000 questions were received and Murakami responded personally to about 1,200 of them. In an interview posted on his English language website, Murakami stated that the secret to understanding the novel lies in reading it multiple times. Murakami: "Kafka on the Shore contains several riddles, but there aren't any solutions provided. Instead, several of these riddles combine, and through their interaction the possibility of a solution takes shape. And the form this solution takes will be different for each reader. To put it another way, the riddles function as part of the solution. It's hard to explain, but that's the kind of novel I set out to write."

That fell under the header "Understanding the Novel" on the article's page.

Alright.  If you have to set up an entire website just so readers can figure out what the fuck your book was even about, something is very wrong.  The book is encrypted with riddles?  Awesome!  Unless those riddles have no fucking solution and we're given some b.s. 'the answer is inside each and every one of you," response.

Fuck you, Murakami, you self absorbed, bourgeois, beatnik bastard. 
Fuck you.

I can't wait till decades from now, when 80's will become vintage, and all the cool kids looking for an underground subculture all want to get perms and listen to Berlin and electro on a continuous loop.  I want there to be clubs where pop, locking, pony-ing and prepping is the only way to dance, and my grandkids will post pics of me in online forums as a toddler in my strawberry shortcake pajamas, or my day glow green outfit and matching socks. 
I'm not talking about these emo-tards who brandish Depeche Mode patches on their canvas messenger bags and smurfs cartoon T's, chaffing from their skinny jeans.  I want to see kids in headbands and red jackets rivaling the neo-rockabillies of today and beyond.

I've been reading Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the Shore and the story has become just interesting enough that I'm going to continue with it until the end.  I'm barely over a hundred pages in, no large feat, but the writing style has bits that I've found hard to swallow along the way.  It's just that most of the dialogue *told predominantly in first person* is like, uber pretentious with a mix of gen x wisdom that comes across like some over-ambitious teenage writer who's read too much Victorian poetry.
 I've cut Murakami some slack seeing as how his work has been translated from Japanese, and yet I still find myself annoyed with all the minor details. I mean, the main character, Kafka, can't just have himself a drink of water; we have to observe what type of glass it is, what obscure mountainous region in which it appears to have been made, the 18 steps it takes to get to his lips, and this somehow connects to a tangent about his missing mother and sister.

*I'm barely exaggerating.*


I had a zen moment in the crown glory of places to have a zen moment:  Trader Joe's.  No seriously.  The employees were apparently on an 80's kick yesterday evening.  I think it was around Tears for Fears' Everybody Wants to rule the World that I became overwhelmed with a sense of peace and euphoria, so much so that I treated myself to a 40oz Iced Tea and a package of rare hybrid fruit called angelcots.  By the end of my trip, I'd filled two reuseable bags and was rockin' out to Planet Claire while watching a gay dad bond with his pre-teen daughter.  I've never felt so at home amongst the Who's Who of organic yuppie-dom.  

**********

I went to Tahoe over the weekend.  Just a few hours, by myself.  My co-workers seemed to think I had some sort of journey-of-the-soul intentions, but, as my roommate bugged her eyes out in confusion when I explained the same scenario, I was looking to get me some tanning.  Yes, Julie, brown people can physically get browner as well as possess a desire to do so.


Oh, yeah.  And I got a tattoo. 
Details later.

The obits (as in -tuaries) lady asked me to file obituary request forms and mail the enclosed photos back to their owners.  And of course, I don't just stuff the pics into envelopes and send them on their merry way.  I read the attached obituaries. 

First one, I pull out an 8x10 photo of a woman with long blonde hair who looks like she could be my friend Nen in about 20 to 30 years.  But then I think about the rate in which Nen chain smokes cloves, and I think 15-20 years.  Then I come to realize that the photo I"m holding, and all the paperwork that came with it, reeks of cigarette smoke.  I looked through her obit, cuz I just know this woman had to have died of lung cancer or something, and lo and behold, they mention thanking the people over at some radiation therapy clinic. 
If that aint a sign...

And why I'm really going to burn:
Another obit featured an older man, somewhere in his 60's.  HIs obit is riddled with all kinds of errors "he loved playing at the casion, etc..."  But the part that gets me is
"Born in 1847..."

BAAAAhahahahahahahaha!!!!  Damn, he lived himself a good, long life.

Oh, come on.  You know these people must've had a sense of humor when they were alive. 
Being able to make somone laugh after you're dead is one hell of a feat.

I feel like I've been waking up from a two year coma.
That's how long I've been here in Reno.
I like it here.  I like the weather, the people are friendly, and there's stuff to do if you go looking for it.

What's been bothering me about moving here from Vegas is the fact that ever since day one, it seems as if I've been met with
nothing but opposition everywhere I turn.  I think it has less to do with the environment itself, and more to do with the fact that I'm living
on my own and trusting my own reasoning, judgment, and personal credos more than ever before in my life.  And with no one to turn to but myself, I've been questioning whether it's really me, or is it just the people around me who are uncomfortable with me because they can't bend me to their will or see my point of view.

I mean, when I first arrived in Reno, I felt naturally sad and lonely from being so far away from home.  And it just seemed as if my friends up here took my depression personally, and inadvertantly turned on me when I wouldn't adhere to their quick fix solutions.  It felt as if that, instead of simply being allowed to confide in a friend about a problem I was having, for the mere sake of needing to vent, my friends would just become irritated, and even resentful, of me because I just wanted to talk about my feelings and take time alone to myself until I felt rejuventated. I was made to feel like some sort of traitor if I chose to handle my problems this way, and the guilt that ensued made me feel ten times worse.

And then towards the end of my first semester at UNR, I had my stupid dorm mate go off on me and accuse me of "taking advantage of her," after I made a joke to her on myspace about taking the t.v. when she moved out.  Apparently I failed to realize that access to her crappy t.v., microwave, and 70's era mini-fridge were a privilage bestowed upon me by a great magnanimous gesture on her part.  I also failed to grovel at her feet for all the times she cleaned up after me, i.e., vaccuming the apparently not-so-invicible crumbs on the floor, and throwing away my copy's of the San Francisco Chronicle I was still reading when they inched a little too close to the center of the room.  Oh, yes, and let's not forget all the food I ate "without asking," referencing the Warm Delight I consumed after it sat there for a whole month and after she'd offered it to me...

Then, once I start dating Adrian, I had to endure that bitch Ariel suddently flipping on stereotypical Big Black Diva mode, and out of nowhere I can't go anywhere near her bedroom, or be greeted by anything more than a grunt when I walk in the front door, and relay stories to Adrian of how apparently some of our friends apparently don't like me because I "snap at them all the time," which couldn't be any further from reality considerng all I ever do is smile, nod, and kiss everyone's motherfuckin' ass.  And then has the nerve to have her friends keep an eye on me during her and Adrian's year end company party, and come back with this story about how all they saw me do all night was "not talk to anyone, get drunk, and hang all over Adrian at the bar all night.' Like it's any fucking business of hers.

And then there's *almost* any number of bosses I've had like:

•  Mr. Spends-3/4-of-his-day-getting-drunk-at-the-hotel-bar telling me I have a " very poor work ethic," after I made one minor mistake.
• The bitches at Iron Mountain, who constantly informed me on how much they needed me at their company because I'm so good at data entry, and then suddenly asking a series of nosy questions about my personal life, then speaking right in front of me about a "friend" of theirs who needs a job, then suddenly I receive a phone call from the temp agency telling me that I'm no longer needed.
• And lastly, that east coast fuck from Starbucks telling me that I'm very slow with everything I do because he's still resentful of the fact that I *calmly* called him out months earlier on the fact that he incorrectly made coffee drinks and how it was slowing the rest of us down and making customers irritated with us. 

And even though Adrian's been a nice guy, he still let's me know how much he hates all my music, and tastes in general, and barely acknowledges the few things I'm more skilled at than him. 

I am      so     fucking     tired      of apologizing for existing. For being me.  I'm tired of feeling guilty for not being the most talkative person in a group.  I'm tired of people getting angry with me because I don't cut corners to perform a job correctly.  I'm tired of having to defend my own personal style, the places I go to for fun, and my way of life in general. 


I think the main reason I'm ranting about all this now is because for the last few weeks, I've been working at an amazing new job, where everyone is extremly friendly, warm, helpful, and welcoming, and treats my presence as if it's actually worthwhile.  I realize now that this is how I always should have been treated.  I'm so completely happy with my life, that I can't imagine why anyone would want to try to make me feel any different.

So work is awesome.  Apparently I'm a coordinator for the sales reps.  That description brings to mind all kinds of Ugly Betty/Devil Wears Prada images *neither of which I've sat down to watch voluntarily; I know, I know, but ermigawwwd, Adrienne...esssoooogeeehhd. You have to see them both! 
I'm actually treated like a competent employee.  And I never realized that even after sitting in a cubicle for 8 hours you can become physically exhausted.  But in a spiffy, I just jogged to the am/pm for some more good stuff, exhausted.

Supposedly, they're looking to hire a second coordinator to fill the remaining 20 hours, as I'm currently part time, but from my view, and apparently the view of some of my co-workers, I do fairly well on my own.  I'm gonna see if I can coax the rgj to hire me on as full time.  Why not?

And you would not believe the commission I've seen some of the girls in sales pulling out!   At least three or even more earning over a grand in commission during one month!  And one of them is only19!  Shit...and they keep hinting at me possibly earning commission someday...

When I'm not helping the boss organize her shit, and posting ads online or running to the newspaper 'morgue,' (it really is that creepy), I"m eavesdropping to non-work related phone calls about someone's little sister/friend/cousin/neighbor sleeping with six guys, comparisons over who produced the most mucus that day, including the color, leading to conversations on the weather, then 'did you feel the earthquakes' yesterday, yeah, my  kids just are gonna have to stick to pull-ups for now, and oh, my God! Did you sign ****'s Birthday Card???

I love office politics.

Here in Reno we've experienced HOW MANY earthquakes this past week?


RENO, Nev., April 25 (UPI) -- A series of minor earthquakes hit the Reno, Nev., area Thursday, with the largest ones rattling some buildings in the city.

The U.S. Geological Survey said there were about 30 quakes that measured 1.0 or more on the Richter scale, the Reno Gazette-Journal reported. No injuries were reported.

Thousand of quakes occur every day, but most are below 3.0 on the Richter scale, too light to be felt.

The two strongest quakes in Reno occurred just before 4 p.m. Thursday and measured 4.1 and 4.2 on the Richter scale. Earthquakes of that magnitude cause noticeable shaking but rarely cause any damage.

That's not including the two that occured just as I'm sitting down to type on this here computer.
AND THE ONE MOTHERFUCKER THAT JUST OCCURED AS I WENT BACK TO EDIT THIS BITCH!!!  
UGH!

I don't care if they "rarely cause any damage."  
I'm from L.A.  I expect my quakes to get in, cause alotta  noise, and get the fuck out.  

I don't need all these baby ones keeping me on my toes and causing my mom to call  five seconds after each one happens at two in the moring, tellin' me all about how "the big one's comin'."

It was an interesting week.
I had an anthropology exam on Monday.  I got penisey and decided "eh, I've gotten A's on every exam and piece of crap I've turned in."

So I didn't start till 7 p.m. Sunday evening.  After making sure I got in a good, solid 2-3 hours on GTA: Vice City Stories.

And of COURSE, Adrian calls me up around 10:30 p.m., the sounds of all kinds of fun and drunk relatives competing for his voice in the background, telling me to "comeonnnooover, my cousin I aint done seen in 10-15 years is here, and she wants to seeee you!"

nO!!! I cried.  I am a serious student.  Any and all acts of jubilation will inhibit my chances at academic success.

An hour and a half later I'm slumped onto Adrian's leather couch, with his sister leaning over on either side of me and an over emotional drunk chick, holding a 24 oz glass of questionable pink liquid asking, "anyone wanna try a Party Ender?"

Yeah.  Just like the old days of partying at  TK E.
Well, that one time a friend of a frat boy invited me to the party.

I got an 87 on the exam.   And full credit on the day late essay.  Apparently, the suckage from inadequate detail, length, and basic comprehension of the topic by the majority of the class caused my teacher to tack on the 5% I was supposed to have had deducted back onto my score after seeing that at least one person had been paying attention this semester.