..:: Kellog ::..


Saturday, December 20, 2003

Say Aye!

Phew! An A for my Economics of development class and A-friggin'-plus for my Political Economy class this semester! Kelly's a happy trooper. A "phew!" because of all the nights of clubbing and partying I've done kinda made me doubly determined to not have my grades slip. My philosophy is that insufficient partying dampens my enthusiasm for studying; and insufficient studying lessens my enthusiasm for partying. It all works out.
kellykelly, 12/20/2003 05:39:00 am | link | 0 comments |
Ass-Spankin' Fun...C'est Magnifique!

My Christmas gift to Patrick was a ticket to Cirque du Soleil's Alegria. It was an awesome Christmas gift to myself as well. It was my first ever live circus act and Cirque du Soleil just takes it to another level of showmanship. My favorite was the fire spinner. He was just a beautiful man, that Samoan. In fact, all the performers were beautiful. I couldn't help but notice how beautiful all the male (and female I guess) performers' butts were...so tight, taut and utterly spankable. Those men would be raped in the Castro.

A couple of hours of dancin' to Galen and Jellybear at The Endup after the show and a snuggle in bed afterwards, and there was our perfect Christmas date.
kellykelly, 12/20/2003 05:32:00 am | link | 0 comments |

Friday, December 19, 2003

Fighting Left

Living in Berkeley/San Francisco, I struggle to find my own mind outside tree-hugging, leftist-liberal adbusters-ist sentiments. As with ultra-conservative right-wing folks, I'm suspicious of rants on either side. But the Bush administration's sure making it easy for the leftists to complain. This article in the SF Chronicle (whom I usually hate) surprisingly made me nod in agreement. I had the same sentiments when I read about Saddam's capture.

Yesterday, I bought Paul Krugman's (Economist turned political writer) "The Great Unraveling" which basically states how the Bush administration is a "revolutionary force" that doesn't see the current American system of liberty/democracy as legitimate and seeks to change it. Surprisingly strong words from Krugman.

The left is getting more vociferous and I am increasingly starting to believe they are justifiably so. Taking courses where Eric Schlosser's Fast Food Nation is required reading and living in the Castro (where one can be surrounded by gay erotica and porn in 'A Different Light' bookstore and have an intellectual conversation with hot-black-gay-man-at-the-counter about political economy books and later have him explain to me about their best selling Christmas item 'Gayopoly' ("The Versatile Gay and Lesbian Board Game!")) and not watching CNN/Foxnews/pretty much any TV at all is taking me away from my old conservative-leaning moderate views.

Quick! Someone give me a copy of The Economist for a conservative-fix before I start buying organic granola.
kellykelly, 12/19/2003 05:01:00 am | link | 0 comments |
Nabokov, Nabokov

Continuing my current Nabokov obsession, google-ing and reading everything about Nabokov (something I do after every author whose book I finished and loved), which The End of The Finals (last Friday) has allowed me to pursue, I envisioned myself, should I have the chance to go back in time and meet him, to fall absolutely in fascinated love with him in the first 3 hours, after which I'd find him too infuriatingly on a different plane(t) because my mediocre mind wouldn't be able to keep up.

I love this interview.
kellykelly, 12/19/2003 04:47:00 am | link | 0 comments |
Delicious Words

A quote from the back cover of 'Pnin': "Nabokov writes prose the only way it should be written, that is, ecstatically." --John Updike.

Here is the evidence:

Sometime in the early thirties Pnin, by then married too...saw Mira again. They exchanged a few words, she smiled at him in the remembered fashion, from under her dark brows, with that bashful slyness of here; and the contour of her prominent cheekbones, and the elongated eyes, and the slenderness of arm and ankle were unchanged, were immortal, and then she joined her husband who was getting his overcoat at the cloakroom, and that was all--but the pang of tenderness remained, akin to the vibrating outline of verses you know you know but cannot recall.

And, and, it gets better...

What chatty Madam Shpolyanski mentioned had conjured up Mira's image with unusual force. This was disturbing. Only in the detachment of an incurable complaint, in the sanity of near death, could one cope with this for a moment. In order to exist rationally, Pnin had taught himself, during the last ten years never to remember Mira Belochkin--not because, in itself, he evocation of a youthful love affair, banal and brief, threatened his peace of mind... but because, if one were quite sincere with oneself, no conscience, and hence no consciousness, could be expected to subsist in a world where such things as Mira's death were possible. One had to forget--because one could not live with the thought that this graceful, fragile, tender young woman whith those eyes, that smile, those gardens and snows in the background, had been brought in a cattle car to an extermination camp and killed by an injection of phenol into the heart, into the gentle heart one had heard beating under one's lips in the dusk of the past. And since the exact form of her death had not been recorded, Mira kept dying a great number of deaths in one's mind, only to die again and again...

Fuckin' A.
kellykelly, 12/19/2003 04:23:00 am | link | 0 comments |

Wednesday, December 10, 2003

of Political Economy, African refugees, Russian Professors and Butt-Fucks

It's the Finals week. That explains the lack of verbosity on Kellog. 14 political economy papers on globalization, markets and democracy, the European Union, politics of identity and the Asian NICs and the Financial Crisis in one day makes a rather tired, but quite excited Kelly. The world becomes more complex and more structured at the same time the more I read about it. Thank god I love the subject (it's a love that, I hate to admit, rises and falls with the subjective accolades I get from it: when I thought I fucked up my midterm paper, I hated political economy; when it turned out I got a 97 for it, the love flows rrrrrright back. Love is therefore a vanity.); reading one paper after another for 8 hours straight would have been quite ardous.

On another topic, the weather has turned horridly cold and rainy here. San Francisco lays in that range of temperature that never gets too hot nor too cold enough to equip every place with air-conditioning (I never really felt cold in Chicago when it was way colder because I just hopped from one heated place to another). Hence, I feel cold far more here then say butt-fuck Indiana.

While warming my ass by the fire one night last week, I thought about how I have never really known the concept of feeling a chill-to-my-bones-that-you-can't-get-ride-off-unless-you-take-a-warm-bath till I got out of Singapore. Sure, there was air-conditioning. But you turn that down or just step out of the room should you feel chilly. My tropical upbringing has thus made me terribly intolerant of any temperature below 60F. Then I recalled an article by Sara Corbett about the Lost Boys of Sudan, about how these Sudanese refugees had no concept of cold whatsoever before being brought over to the US:

"In the meantime, the temperature in Fargo has dropped to 15 below. The boys tell me that, until now, all they have ever known about cold is what they felt grasping a bottle of frozen water. An aid worker handed it to them one day during a "cultural orientation" session at the Kakuma Refugee Camp, a place where the temperature hovers around 100 degrees."

And lo-and-behold, the very next day, a random surfing on the web in sfstation brought me to Roxie theatre screening the documentary Lost Boys of Sudan. What a great documentary, following the hilarity, pathos, sadness and confusion of living in American society...just as my Berkeley courses (my Geography 110 lecture on Consumerism, particularly in America, where people have brought consumerism into their homes--work 60 hours a week to fill their big houses with stuff) and my 10 days in Florida (land of the consumerist sub-urban plenty) have led me to take a 2nd look at the Plenty surrounding me at Safeway and Macy's. Please go watch it if you get a chance to.

Going along a similar train of thought, I'm in the middle of a book also filled with hilarity, pathos, sadness and confusion of living in America, starting with Mr Timofey Pnin taking the wrong train. Another example of random bits of information entering your brain that leads to you finally taking action (this is how advertising works with their repetitiveness I guess): a google hit to kellog with "zadie smith pnin" and Michelle's Desuetude entry led to the impulse to finally bloody buy the book. And thank you subliminal (or not) messages to the brain cos Pnin is such a wonderful and hilarious read. It's been some time since I last seriously laughed out loud while reading something--I have done that at least 6 times till the middle of the novel. ("Pnin had been totally unable to combine perceptually the car he was driving in his mind and the car he was driving on the road. Now the two fused at last. If he failed the first time...it was mainly because he started an argument with the examiner in an ill-timed effort to prove that nothing could be more humiliating to a rational creature than being required to encourage the development of a base conditional reflex by stopping at a red light when there was not an earthly soul around, heeled or wheeled." or ""Reality is Duration," one voice...would boom. "It is not!" the other would cry. "A soap bubble is as real as a fossil tooth!")

...or if you aren't interested in anything that requires thinking (political economy nor African refugees nor Americanized Russians), check out the Worst Album Covers Ever! (as forwarded to me by bralaha from butt-fuck Indiana)
kellykelly, 12/10/2003 02:15:00 pm | link | 0 comments |

Tuesday, December 02, 2003

0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, 233, 377, 610, 987,...

Absolutely fascinating, Fibonacci! Comes from watching mind-fuck Pi. Reading about this, or Richard Feynman for example, makes me wish sometimes that I had gone into a harder science than the sometimes/almost/seemingly namby-pamby affections of political science and economics.
kellykelly, 12/02/2003 03:18:00 pm | link | 0 comments |
Thank You Thanksgiving

Oh boy...I have hardly ever not wanted to return to SFO since I moved here, but the past week in Florida has just been fantastic. Raving to Paul Van Dyk at Club Space on our 2nd night, driving back at 6am to catch 3hrs of sleep before watching the Rockettes; spoiled by great luncheons and dinners almost everyday, sprinkled with sunbathing by club pools and beaches on Palm Beach and hot-tubbing in private pools; highlighted by two fab thanksgiving dinners and one beautiful wedding (Patrick's mom).

It's a life of manicured lawns and beautiful people all beautiful in the same boring way (blond, tanned, blue-eyed, khaki pants and polo t-shirts, pecs, six-pack torsos, (big/fake) tits-and-asses, bikinis and miniskirts) and too many cheesy beautifulpeople clubs with bad music that I don't want, but damn, is it a great place to visit! Even so, as we smiled at the lesbian couple (one with bright green hair) on the BART (train) home with 10 different races in one train, lots of beautiful people on the streets all with different flavors and styles, I'm glad to be home. And I'll be more glad after Dec 12th when my final exams end, which means that I'm fucked with only 2 weeks left to hit the books.
kellykelly, 12/02/2003 04:10:00 am | link | 0 comments |