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Trini Quiroz
Quote of the Moment
“We know where she is at this very moment. We’ve got a lock on her. Soon as I finish these Chicken Tickles, we’re gone. It’s destiny.” The Man in the Hat, Tokyo Suckerpunch by Isaac Adamson
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| Outpouchings in the Primordial Mouth Cavity |
[ | | 02.05.10 at 2:36pm] |
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mood |
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 tired |
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Had my third night of class last night, and two others last week. It's so completely different from MIIS that I feel both awed and underwhelmed. Awed because this program is what I want and need in order to be a healthcare interpreter, and underwhelmed because of the language skills of my classmates. Out of 43 of us, 3 are not immigrants, and only seven or eight sound perfectly fluent in English, with only one of them being Asian. All of the Spanish speakers sound fine in English though, just heavily accented, and most of the Korean, Mandarin, and Vietnamese students wouldn't have a chance of getting into MIIS. One Chinese guy in particular is utterly incomprehensible to me.
Everybody is really nice though, despite it showing that most of these people haven't been in a classroom for a very long time. It's a very slow start, but the instructor, Nora, is patient and goes just fast enough to keep them on their toes, I think. My only real complaint is too much audience participation and making lists of qualities an interpreter must have, reasons immigrants need to know their rights, etc. We need to shut up and listen more, I think. Also, Quickly is far away and understaffed enough that if I want boba at lunch on a lab day (some Saturdays), I lose a half hour of my hour-long break.
I'm in good information according to gramma. Right now she's saying goodbye and feels like she doesn't know how to express love. When she's like this it's usually best to ignore her- I think talking like that is her repetitive tic, along with fussing with the bedsheets and wadding up tissues. If you listen too deeply and you're in the wrong state of mind it can be quite haunting, especially because there's just nothing you can do for her.
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| Any Less |
[ | | 01.27.10 at 10:26pm] |
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Okay, the only problem I've discovered with Gisèle Lagacé's thus far is that it reminds me too much of some of the comics from Mad Magazine. Though the humor in Ménage à 3 is crude enough to get close to Mad level, come to think of it...
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| The Woods Were Named for Hills |
[ | | 01.27.10 at 1:09am] |
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mood |
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 silly |
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I remember perfectly well how I got into webcomics, and it's a bit embarrassing now, especially because I still read that comic even though I've hated it for a long time.
It was a slow afternoon/evening at the library and I was finishing up shelving the young adult section before I went to take my shift at the circ. desk. Of course the YA section is also where all the comics that aren't Edward Gorey and Maus are kept and a pretty good collection was starting to build up. One of the last books I had to shelve was a brand new copy of Megatokyo by Fred Gallagher (this was when volume 1 of the print book had only just come out). I got intrigued because it was sketchy manga by an American guy, and I was looking for some manga to read that wasn't Ranma 1/2. So I checked the book out and read it in one night and then started reading the archives and catching up online.
(The embarrassing part is that Megatokyo is frequently ridiculed as being a Bad Webcomic because the art is lazy, the characters are snout-faced, Piro is a Gary Stu, and Gallagher is a total weeaboo. I don't even understand the plot anymore because all the female characters (read: most of the characters) look the same, and with complex story lines, a huge cast, and densely packed panels, and an unpredictable schedule, it's hard to keep track of everything. I want to stop reading but I can't!)
Somehow from there I discovered Ctrl Alt Delete, another panned webcomic with a frothing-at-the-mouth following. Now this one is worth a chuckle now and again when there's no video game humor and catering to teenage boys, but the characters all come from a supply of pre-drawn body parts that all look the same and are just assembled. The dialogue fills up entire panels because each page is only four panels long. Also, the author is a douche and may or may not also be a pedo. I've long since quit reading this.
Besides CAD, I also stumbled upon Something Positive by RK Millholland. Now this is a good comic. I've been happily reading it for over six years now. Distinct art, dark comedy, sufficient drama. This was my comics routine every day until sometime in college (before Randall) when I discovered Questionable Content. Also excellent, albeit unpredictable because Jeph Jacques changes drawing style almost constantly in the beginning. It's got a nice little sci-fi twist that blends in perfectly and only serves comedic purposes. I love it!
So now, I read too many comics online. Besides Megatokyo (gag!), Something Positive, and Questionable Content, I've also become a huge fan of Rene Engström and Anders Loves Maria, Girls With Slingshots, Piled Higher and Deeper, and Achewood. I also read Bellen!, Wondermark, Basic Instructions, Instant Classic, and XKCD, but I'm too lazy to write all that out. Dear lord, way too many comics. I should also mention that I just finished reading Cool Cat Studio tonight. Weird, but the beginning is cute, and I love the art style used for the last chapters.
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| Mr. Creakle Was Disappointed |
[ | | 01.25.10 at 2:11pm] |
Not looking forward to work today. Nope. Not one bit. I switched Monday shifts with Celia because she has to take her father to dialysis Mondays and she can't easily get to San Ramon in time in the evening. That means I get to deal with her from four to eight tonight, when she's usually at her most confused and awake. Yesterday she spent a solid three hours asking about the whereabouts of her dead brother and mother. Brother's death certificate is worthless and explaining that if her mother were still living she would be 123 years old is meaningless because she'll recollect a dream or random old event that tells her otherwise.
My only hope is that Celia can stimulate her enough that she'll be tired by the time I get there. Otherwise I'll be sent out to look for Howard and Delilah when in reality I'll be in the bathroom screaming into my sweater. She'll be getting lots of warm milk from me on Mondays, that's all I have to say.
I've been extremely restless all weekend and the lack of stimulation is getting at me a little. Class starts on Thursday at least, so I've got that to look forward to at least. Interacting with people and geeking out to medical stuff is exactly what I need now.
I also need Nigel to take his freaking vibramycin.
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| Tabs and Chords in the Database |
[ | | 01.23.10 at 7:03pm] |
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Well this ended up being a pretty lame Last Saturday. I should have just gone to the Movits! concert by myself.
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| Good Sir, Speak Plain |
[ | | 01.17.10 at 11:24pm] |
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mood |
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 itchy |
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Ah life. Aside from today being a First World Problems kind of day- not including the truck which is a problem anywhere- things have been prooty good. Nigel's URI came back by Friday after he went off the baytril for a couple days, so he's taking it again. Fortunately Randall discovered that the little fuzz absolutely loves Ensure, so we've been mixing his meds in with that. So far aside from some sneezing he seems to be doing fine, and the PEWs aren't sick.
Sometime in the next week or two I'm going to drop my Bank of America account once and for all, and I'm bracing myself for a lot of really bad service next month at Welles Fargo when I make my next student loan payment, assuming that I can't defer. I really need to look into that actually... Anyway, on Friday when I went to pay my bill I got lectured by all six people who were assisting me (they couldn't find my account despite having my number) about how I should leave BofA and bank with them because of X reasons and that I'd be screwed whenever I leave PatelCo's range of branches and pay insane ATM fees- which is actually not true, I kept reminding them. I got so fed up when the manager started explaining this to me that I loudly told her off and stormed out of the bank. It was my proudest moment, I think. I hate banks.
I need to buy my textbooks before class starts the week after next. I've got a bunch of medical dictionaries and an anatomy book, and a copy of The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down, a pretty amazing book that I read years ago. It's about a Hmong family living as refugees in the US with their severely epileptic daughter, and the failings of the US healthcare system in effectively helping this family due to the lack of cultural understanding and competent interpreters in the Hmong language.
And now my train of thought is gone so I shall wrap it up here for the night.
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[ | | 01.12.10 at 1:17am] |
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mood |
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 confused |
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On a lark I opened up the program I use to backup my LJ instead of going to bed and the first entry to appear means that at some point in the last six years my journal got hacked by somebody that's obsessed with constipation and colonoscopies. Wonder if that actually happened while I was in high school, or if somebody just edited the date to a random day in 2004. I did have a couple of really immature enemies in 12th grade after all...
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[ | | 01.06.10 at 10:02pm] |
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mood |
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 jubilant |
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I got in to City College of San Francisco! I'm gonna be a medical interpreter!
YEAH!
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| Must Be Taken in Hand |
[ | | 01.05.10 at 1:06pm] |
I just remembered my dream from last night again, and I feel I should write it down. Also, I have nothing else to do.
I was at home and Randall and possibly my sister were also there for no apparent reason. And I had a step tansu by my front door instead of a book case. For some reason all of my neighbors were running around the grounds as though there was going to be a barbecue or something even though it was January. I found a scrap of paper on the tansu and it turns out it was a ticket for a Morrissey concert three days ago that I had completely forgotten about. I was floored and trying to figure out what to do to him without making it seem like it was my fault for forgetting the show, when suddenly a hallway opened up where my closet normally is and a bunch of people started rushing through my apartment in order to get their mail.
Eventually The Fatties Club showed up and rather than join in the Humboldt Gardens picnic as a proper Fattie should, we got in a helicopter and somehow ended up at the park on top of the hill my old landlady in Monterey lived on. No Morrissey, and a bowl of mashed potatoes appeared out of nowhere. We soon feasted on those mashed potatoes.
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