Category Archives: Ramblings

Just Tying the Shoes on the Final Post

Dear MediocreNINjA,

You have been a beautiful experience in a time of much stress and change.  I’ve always toyed with the idea of starting a blog; you are the blog that made this dream a reality, a breeding ground for creativity and the birth of a writer.  You were an awe-inspiring experiment, a window through which I realized a deeply buried passion for words.

We began our forray into the space between the lines precariously; I was lost and stressed and so very alone.  You listened.  You gave me encouragement.  Then one day, you began to inspire me to write happy thought bubbles instead of rain clouds.  We began to dance and think outside of the boundaries.  We dreamed.  And when we realized we could make people smile, the purpose began to creep in through our toes.  The purpose that gave us a purpose.  The purpose to do good in the world.

What started as a dumping ground for problems soon became a playground of words and stories.  Everything I’ve ever written has been first draft; I have learned how to get the words out.  However, being exposed to a network of writers through WordPress and college, I’ve come to realize just how powerful and poetic crafted words can be.  There’s a bitter and exhausting satisfaction to sculpting words, attempting to force words together into a luxurious sculpture only to conclude that the pieces will never connect.  You throw the mess to the floor in agony, only to realize the clutter you attempted to amass upon a pedestal was really a masterpiece of beautiful destruction upon the floor.  It was in the disarray you found beauty, not in the perfection of an impossible sculpture.

MediocreNINjA, it’s been quite the ride.  Created in the shadow of insecurity and defeat, we have risen to new places we never thought we’d be in.  We’ve risen above the mediocrity.  It is time to retire the bonds of self-deprecating labels and tackle new giants, label-less and free and utterly, hopelessly human.  It is time to be ourselves and inspire others to do the same.

Reader, if you’ve ever liked or commented on any of these posts, I appreciate you more than you will ever know.  You saved my life.  A word, a sentence, an entire post… I never knew another living being would read these brain thoughts.  What a bizarre world.  It is painful to exist, to be heard and acknowledged, but what a glorious pain.

With this post I bid you all adieu.  It is time to retire MediocreNINjA and move on to a space where I am not masked, a place to flounder and struggle and create clouds from the slowly dying fires that used to consume a small girl with no hope.  MediocreNINjA will live on, but as a now-silent companion and reminder of what a beautiful experience a beginner’s writing can be.

Thank you for the ride.


Men-Wearing-Skirts Rant

If you want my superficiality to be the driving force behind my future album purchases, KPOP, you need to change up your game.


This is a Men-Wearing-Skirts Rant.


When I first entered the realm of KPOP, I had a vague understanding that the predominant feature of most males in the industry was their femininity. Their “prettiness.” Their 꽃미남 je ne sais quois.  I was totally okay with that; being 14, most boys my age looked more like girls anyway.

My parents, however, questioned my peculiar taste in men.

Is that boy wearing makeup?  Is that even male?  Does that boy know how to boy?


I understand their confusion. With infamous gender benders such as Nu’est’s Ren and SHINee’s Taemin, any untrained eye would question their preconceived notions of gender.  Even KPOP fans find themselves second-guessing the supposed sex of their beloved idols.

I forgot how to boy.

I forgot how to boy~

And with cross-dressing, fan service and guyliner, the men of KPOP are not doing much to further the case of their masculinity.

Google guyliner, for instance.

kpop and guyliner

The first related search-term is, no surprise, KPOP, followed by a drugged-up Zac Efron and very angry Russell Brand.

Russell Brand is not pleased.

Russell Brand is not pleased.

Honestly I have no qualms about the lack of masculinity in KPOP.  Besides the fact that I find fan service to be demeaning and unnecessary, I am surprisingly fine with the blurred gender lines.

I am not, however, fine with men wearing skirts.


Yes, I am all for gender equality.  Yes, I completely support self expression.  Artistic exploration, defining your individuality, freeing your balls, whatever.  Wear a skirt then.  However, you cannot force me to enjoy your foray into the artistic side of your soul where Madonna is your under-appreciated muse. I am a black-jeans-white-belt-v-neck sort of gal, and no outfit will ever turn me on more than that boy-next-door look.

Unfortunately, KPOP is the sort of place where attraction directly correlate with album sales. Your skirt, dear sir, is not attractive, and I no doubt that this will affect your album sales (given the superficiality upon which KPOP and its albums are often built).

I am not asking you to change your ways.  The fashion world is asking you to change your ways.  Don’t hate on the messenger.

Hate on the stylist.



Blurry Eyes Love Old Women

The day elderly women began rocking the Full House-era John Stamos quaff is the day I realized I could be accidentally bisexual.

I dare you to resist this.

I dare you to resist this.

As I  drove through the streets the other day using my superior 90/20 vision, a glorious (albeit blurry) image besought my irregularly-shaped eyeballs.  From across the street I beheld a gorgeous man, bedecked in flowing plaid khakis (always a classic) and a large polo shirt.  Even more striking than his classy swagger and timeless fashion-sense, however, was his magnificent head of flowing locks.  They were a gift from the heavens themselves; dark as sinful passion, luscious as candy lips, and fuller than an orchid’s bloom at midnight.  His hair was beyond anything I could have ever dared to imagine.

And at 5 yards away, “He” suddenly turned into “Her.”

At least 60-years-old, slightly hunched, bespeckled in Harry Potter rims and most definitely female.

Okay, in no way am I against freedom of choice.  Choose whatever hairstyles you desire; who doesn’t want to look like John Stamos?  However, keep in mind that certain people who SHOULD be wearing glasses do not do so (due to money issues, or laziness, or an attempt to rise against optic oppressors) and may experience around 2.7 seconds of intense attraction to your finely crafted quaff.  This could possibly lead to a permanent loss of sexual identity and/or a socially questionable relationship involving an androgynous grandmother and a confused minor.

Once you realize just how similar attractive men and bouffant-rocking women appear, you begin to notice other striking parallels.  Both enjoy food; both naturally breathe air; both blink and cough and sneeze.  Many members of the young male species and elderly women may enjoy partaking in Froot Loops or watching Breaking Bad or avoiding beaches during Shark Week or sharing the commonality of sharing nothing in common.

It’s creepy.  It’s weird.  It’s alarming.

And it’s all preventable with Lasik surgery.  Santa save me now before I accidentally marry Eugenia and end up with step-children 20 years my senior.

Hideous and Lovely (But Mostly Hideous)

You are all gorgeous,” says the Hollister-wearing duckface with a #SWAG cap.

“No you’re not,” says me.

There is an illness among us.  A rampant virus devastating the web, specifically targeting social networking sites and the blogosphere.  It creeps in silently, hidden among your daily readings and mindless scrolling, just aching to slide in through your eyes and into your helpless brain.  Despite it’s wide-spread influence and the travesty it wreaks, it is nearly undetectable.  But it is present.  And it is waiting.  And it is deadly.

This illness has a name.  A phrase that resonates from within the memory bank, a universal phrase you can never quite place.

“Everyone is Beautiful.”

If you have somehow managed to avoid these poisonous posts filled with ignorant rallying, consider yourself lucky.  These poorly-worded rants are often naive, dense, and grammatically-suicidal, if not outright stupid.  And they usually go something like this:

Hey you.  Yeah you.  That ugly face that you see in the mirror?  That’s not your face.  You’re actually beautiful.  Just like everyone else.  We’re all beautiful.  You can trust me because I’m ACTUALLY beautiful.  The Jimmy Choos that I’m wearing prove it.

I understand that the writers of these posts mostly have good intentions, such as stroking your offensively low self-esteem or trying to appear saintly or attempting to get internet famous.  But they’re going about it the wrong way.  They’re lying.

And liars never win and quitters never win and pants on fire or however that saying goes.

I am here to tell you the truth, a truth that will give you wings and set you free: YOU. ARE. UGLY.  And it is a great thing to be ugly.

Beauty is stifling; if you have ever thought yourself to be attractive, you know what I’m talking about.  There is pressure to be physically perfect, always dress fashionably, constantly radiate charisma and create an atmosphere of happiness and beauty 24/6 (beautiful people get a break every Tuesday).  You can’t make dinosaur noises or pretend to be a noodle or lay in a sandbox; you can’t even complain about your insecurities because “You’re beautiful so you don’t know how it is to be insecure.”

Beauty is a prison, and the day I discovered I was a hideous human being was the day I was set free.  Ugliness is freedom.  Ugliness is what the Constitution is all about.

Sure beauty has its perks.  For one, people tend to love you more.  And you get more things.  And life is generally easier.  And you get a lot of attention.  And you might even make a job out of it.  Actually, beauty is pretty much all perks.  However, it is also deadly.  People get so caught up in the shallow pool of vanity that they forget just how deep and complex we as human beings actually are.  Life is not just about looks and dieting and money and status.  It’s about letting go of the insecurities and inhibitions and spazzing to Barbie Girl.  It’s about learning and compassion and snowball fights and soup.  Its about everything, the good and the bad, and the beautiful.  In small doses.

Embracing your Ugly will make your soul soar.  Everyone has flaws, you may as well claim yours as the undisputed best.  So what if you’re a zit face?  Those pimples set you free!  Buck teeth?  More like Buck Liberty.  Too short?  Short enough to escape the oppressive clutches of beauty.  Too fat?  FAT AND FREE.

In a way we’re all ugly.  It just takes some longer than others to embrace it.

And if you’re one of those nay-sayers who is all “when we say beauty, we mean inner beauty and goodness and personality!!!”, I have a different word for that definition of yours.

And that word is “AWESOME.”

Recreating Jared Leto

I have had a little too much free time lately.  Work is slow, my “BESTEST FRIEND EVER WHO I COULDN’T LIVE WITHOUT” is in Canada and unable to reply to text messages, and my martial arts dojo is closed for the week due to a ninja infestation.  I could be doing something productive like working out or learning a new language or weaving baskets, but that’s not how my short attention span likes it.

Instead, Paint.

It all started with trying to find a picture of black hair with red lowlights (because I need bombshell hair for my totally bombshell lifestyle of playing Sims and throwing chips at my dogs).  However, no suitable pictures were found so my brain was all “Hey, how about we just draw a sexy version of you and force the stylist to believe its a good idea to dye hair based off a drawing?”

So that’s how this picture happened:

Hair like this should be total husband bait.

Hair like this should be total husband bait.

I’m actually pretty proud of this.  It’s a good first attempt at a portrait.  So good in fact that I decided to recreate a portrait of someone famous.  Someone whose hotness could match the sexiness of my own portrait.

Jared Leto was the obvious choice.

The original picture:

Gimme dat with nachos any day of the week.

Gimme dat with nachos any day of the week.

The recreation:

If this isn't almost an exact replica, I don't know what is.

If this isn’t almost an exact replica, I don’t know what is.

Besides the fact that I have no idea how to blend the background colors, I think it’s pretty obvious that this is just as sexy as the original picture, if not more.  Just look at dat 4 o’clock shadow.  And smoldering gaze.  And totally buff arms.  If you look really closely, you’ll see that my version of Jared Leto possesses no visible neck.  And what’s sexier than an angst-ridden head connected directly to the torso?

That’s right, nothing.

After working diligently upon Leto’s quaff for a couple hours, I decided to move on to greater projects.

Like a tyrannosaurus rex fangirling over Bruce Willis riding a skateboard.

Even extinct reptilians can't resist John McClayne.

Even extinct reptilians can’t resist that beautiful bald head.

Or a very accurate recreation of me when I was 12.

I was a happy child;

What a looker.

By the time I finished the last carefully-measured stroke of hair upon my cartoon self’s prepubescent head, my arm had seized and it was time to call it quits.  I gently put aside the mouse and leaned back, triumphant.  This morning I had been but a girl; now I was a Painter.  An emotional T-Rex and Jared Leto had led me to my true calling.  The calling I had been desperately searching for my entire life.

Who am I?

I am an artist.

Darth Vader Keeps it Classy in Canada

I have a confession to make.

Canada has never been a favorite of mine.  I admit I have been the procurer of many a Canadian joke; maple syrup, mounties and passive-aggressive accents are only some of topics that fill my Canadian repertoire.  I am not proud of this fact… I am an avid dissenter of stereotypes, and yet I cannot break the habit of taking a stab at the U.S.’s good ol’ moose-riding buddies every now and then.  No matter how hard I tried to stop being a hypocrite, I could not find a cure for my Canadian Conundrum.

Until this picture came into existence:

This is exactly what it looks like.

This is exactly what it looks like.


Yes.  That is indeed a picture of Darth Vader playing the violin in the streets of British Columbia.  Recently my “AMAZING BESTEST FRIEND FOREVER” (exact quote from the best friend herself) went to Canada and sent me this picture.  Rather than the immediate disapproval of Canada I should have experienced upon the viewing of this picture, I felt a spark of interest.  Do Canadians drive on the left side?  Is free burgers in Canada a thing?  Do 3-way stops exist?  Are Canadians only allowed to wear stripes and plaid?  Is the bus full of British dissenters?  Are buses called “trolleys” in Canada?

So many questions.  So little time, eh.

Infinite’s “Destiny” Butters my Bread

I acquired approximately 4 hours of sleep last night because a certain Korean boyband decided to release a song and accompanying music video at 9:00 at night.  This would usually pose no threat except for the fact that I physically COULD NOT pull myself away from the screen for 5 hours.  5.  Hours.

You guys just don’t understand.  I…I just…It’s just… I pride myself on being a rational and (relatively) calm fan of Korean pop music.  I honestly dislike even being considered a “kpop fan” because it connotes images of ignorant shallow desperate fangirls who are the very definition of insanity and immaturity (DISCLAIMER: I know not all of y’all are like that).  However, yesterday night my senses were beyond blown.  It’s like Santa Claus implanted a geyser into my esophagus and from it sprung forth a multitude of unstoppable giggles.  My brain could not even process the enormity of this single event the first time around.  The stars fell and volcanoes erupted and the world ended and I was in love.

It was that epic.

This defining moment has a name.  And it’s name is “Destiny.”


Firstly, the song is absolutely brilliant.  The composition is so compact and clean it brings OCD-infused tears to my eyes.  The whole grungy electronic sound with a splash of dubstep and enough piano to keep it musical makes my ears dance.

Secondly, the dance is just straight up perfection.  Beyond complicated yet seamless.  I can’t even imagine how someone would come up with choreography so…perfect.

Lastly, everything else.  The setting, the camerawork, the outfits, the hair, the concept, EVERYTHING is so my style it’s not even funny.  It’s like Woollim Entertainment probed my brain and took every aspect of life I cannot resist and put it into one amazing moment that lasts 4 minutes 11 seconds.  Except even I could never come up with something this tremendous.

The part that gets me the most is the end bit of the music video where everything just goes to hell and it’s pure chaos.  Everyone bursting into flames and exploding and insanity rampant in everything and just CRAZY.  Conveying all the feels exactly how I feel them.

Just…good job Infinite.  Good job Woollim.  Good job producers and cameramen and directors and choreographers and stylists and EVERYONE.  GOOD JOB YOU FOR MAKING IT THIS FAR.

Pat yourself on the back and treat yourself to 5 hours of Infinite.