I'm not crying

In my younger years, I hoped for an adulthood with better food, a clean bathroom at every intersection, and yes, to be free of crying. Ah those frightful moments that cause us to leak brain lubricant from our eyes. My first painful memory was lunging for fruit snakcs and receiving a foot in the crotch. Later tears flowed because an older bully brother threatened to mince my body, and eat my innards. 

My maturity yard stick used to be measurements of sobbing. If you drop one tear, then you are an adult. If you have a 15 min episode, you might be a teen. If you are known more for your crying than for your words, you might be a baby. So naturally, by the age of 30 I hope to abolish all weeping, sniffling, and sobbing.  Looking around at society, those are pipe dreams.

Sure, go into your average office building or unionized workforce and you will be hard pressed to find sorrow. People will instead find other avenues to cry. Gunnish video games are the avenues for the angry mourners, food a welcome friend, running a mobile refuge. I had hoped with advances in genetics, surgery, and drug treatments, that there might be an end to sorrow. 

Guess not.

Writing Frustration

Again my writing leaves me speechless. My brain watches as my fingers patter away. My eyes read the words that worm their way on the screen. Often times I find myself chuckling as I set up and deliver my own jokes. My writing sounds great.

Sometime later, I open the same entry to find strange writing on my blog. I can't understand it. It is as if a toddler took random words from the thesaurus and tried to make a word picture. Again, it is MY writing. Is there any reason why I shouldn't understand it? Do i have a magic encoder but not the matching decoder?

My initial guess is that it's television. I'm not sure why or how, but TV has served as a good scapegoat so far, so lets keep blaming it. I was probably good at reading and writing when it was black and white, and when TV switched to color, it was all game over, time to write cryptic hieroglyphs.

On a related note : I hope this isn't blasphemous, but I now can understand how the writers of the bible might have had divine inspiration. Perhaps they too, sat down one day, wrote all that they could, and in the following years, looked back and wondered, "I sure use 'like' a lot" or " man, i'm terrible with run on sentences".

Resolve: I am going to keep writing till I get this down. BLargh

Relating to Family

Nephews and nieces are like alien clones. They act similar to you, they have similar features, yet as my friend puts it "they look all funky". The weirdest part about clones is not the science, or
the 90% chance they are made from frog DNA; the weirdest part is that they act like, well, you.

How do they act like you? It's either the yelling, or saying "boofay" instead of "buffay" (buffet). It's the evil eye scowl that you saved for demolishing egos. It's the sweet charm of a smile and happy eyes to get ice cream. Yes, all your best weapons have been stolen. They are now wielded indescriminately by tiny big headed people whose sole desire is ice cream and pooping. Ah, the chaos that is children.

I suppose it is God's curse against man to watch his own mini clone reflect all his worst strategies. I watched one of my nephews do one of these numbers-

"I want ice cream"
"But you didn't eat your dinner"
"I did, I did, I did," *strong nods*
"No I remember, you didn't"
*Cry* "I hate you"

This brilliant ploy in adult terms would be something like:

"I want a raise"
"But you don't show up to work; you don't do your work; and ...you smell like a walrus in heat."
"I did to show up. Remember in 1994? I came for a whole week!"
"Your time card says otherwise"
*Cry* "I'm going to kill you"

So the apple falls right next to the tree. Nephew used the "yelling to make it true" strategy, as well as the "threaten the peace" strategy. No wonder the bible says "do unto others as you would be done to". I'm going to give everyone lots of money. LOTS OF MONEY.

Summary: Joy fills my heart at the thought of children, but fear floods my mind at the thought of the evil I would bring to the world.

Sidenote: Why is it that the people you seem to get along with the least are your family? Isn't that just strange? How the same pool of DNA can make incompatible people? I mean really, how does that work?

What's in my Pockets?

If i had 25 dollars, i would buy...

Everyone has their 2% of them that should be locked up in the looney bin. My 2% craves office products. For my high, I need a pencil cup full of nice Pilot G2 7mm pens. Black. Not stirred. ooooooo! 

Awesome Afternoons

At 4pm I like to sproul out on the grass looking waiting for serenity. Today's method is a mid-afternoon nap, which is the closest ill approach to getting high on grass. I have three books and a mild breeze to keep me company.

Light lover's chatter drifts from far away, friends descend brick steps, and it smells like fall. It makes me laugh. Why? Because I have discovered what technology has long tried to emulate. The majority of my time spent indoors is devoted to staring at new amazing technology or gadgets that are *drum roll* trying to be pretty. Pixels, features, functions; they are all just fancy dresses on different flavors of distraction. One day I imagine they will make a HD-HD TV that will be completely "life-like". I imagine the conversations between the lead engineer and the manager to be like this:

Eng: We have successfully replicated sunlight, the colors of trees, grass, and landscape. The pixels are so small that the naked eye can't see the pixelation.

Mgr: What about smell?

Eng: Excuse me?

Mgr: I want it to SMELL like outside!

Eng: if you want smell outside, why don't you go out?

Mgr: Don't you get it? I want to be inside, and I want it to feel completely like I am outside, but I don't want to actually be outside. Duh.

traffic on the freeway

Morning arises. The sun breaks. Alarms warm me to a new morning. My stomache instead feels like I'm pregnant with rocks. This is the smallest of my pains. I am actually aware of my intestines. Normally my path of digestion remains covert to my conscious brain, but I feel like someone stuffed a 50in garden hose into my abdomen, turned on the hose and capped the other end. Its not pleasant.

Ah constipation.

Was it the cream pasta? Was it the sausage rigatoni? Was it the baker dozen of garlic bread? Perhaps my dietary sin lies somewhere among my many indulges of chips and salsa, ranch ruffle chips, and of course, Snapple. No matter the riches, no matter the stature, all men are brought low by the two terrors, diahrrea and constipation. Nice to know that all men will never get alway from the basics.

How do I free my self of my self-impass? Squatting over the pot with a bottle of water and a lot of time.

Ahhhhhhh mondays...

What I'm reading

"Where'd you find that book?"

Its true. I confess. I read books, and not for pictures. As my cousin so often points out "there is nothing but words in there, you know?"

Media Unlimited - I found this book skulking amazon.com. One of the more addictive features is the "users also bought". There is a one inch space on the website that displays more books, or more CDs that other hapless victims also bought. If all people follow the same buying habits, why not make it a terminal mass and buy the same similar products. Anyways, this little nugget of words popped up as a suggestion off one of my more maniacle choices: Dumbing us Down, and the Disappearance of Childhood. Both good books to spook any adult into a healthy fear of television, marketing, and advertising at large.

CandyFreak - this book has a more interesting story. Staving off summer boredom, I visited a friend in SF. Instead of wandering ikea or walmart, i opted to check out some used bookstores that litter the main streets of SF. I happened on a surprising "new" looking book called "Not that you Asked" by Steve Almond. I read my $2 gamble in a day, and loved style, and then bought his other book, Candy freak.

I often attract questions like "why are you reading that?" The question hopes to uncover some sort of purposed grand design for my mental muscles. 'Perhaps this "candyfreak" book will help him understand the psychotic and mal-logiced?' Sadly that is not the answer. No, reading is the same as any B-rated movie; you read it for the cheap thrills. Ironically, with movies, one would think with so many people working on the movie, that it would be obvious what will win you grammys, and what will chew up your career and leave you on late night cable. In comparison I would expect books to be full of grammatical trash, stylistic nonsense, and enough narcissim to surpass MTV. But from my experience, even the worst of books can beat out Terminator 5,6,7, infinity etc.

But how do you communicate the joy of reading to another? It would be like asking 'how i can get you to worship 'heroes' Tv series, or how do i get you addicted to 'arrested development'? You don't. You find the mind-numbing gravity of these dumb shows, and then slowly let them suck the life out of your companions. Its viral marketing, buddy sharing, or whatever you want to call it, but the same is with books. The only thing that is missing?

Patience.

Summary: Get some books. Get some patience.

The side effects of love

When you fall in love, there are certain expectations. Hand holding emerges, unusually placed smiles grow, and a lot of time is spent looking at the other, an invisible tractor beam linking eye to eye. Some of my friends have caught this disease called love. The side effects have left many a male friend in the middle of espirit, or the wrong section of AE outfitters. For some odd reason the guidance system on a regular pair of legs is debilitated. You will often find lovers bumping into one another in grocery stores or on wide sidewalks. I'm sure it's playful and intentional at first, but as they say, a little goes a long way towards an adulthood tripping your spouse.

Romance explains all, but haircuts.... ? Love leads you to trust another human more than others. She will not kill you, she will not steal from you, she general endures your cheese stench, and though she may make fun of your obesity, she in some miracle of the mind, loves you. As a result you may share credit cards, bank accounts, cooking secrets, and embarrassing body malfunctions. Why? because her love guarantees that you will not be ousted as the blight to society that you are.

Love may qualify you as a caretaker, compassion may qualify you as a investor, trust may permit you as secret holder, but what qualifies you to cut hair?

I assume it is especially dangerous because the Girl generally cares how the guy looks, and the guy more often than not has better motor skillls. Seems kind of backwards? Why should the one who has the greatest stake and least skill cut their hair?

My mom cut my hair. But i was 3 back then, and I grew hair like a chia pet feeding on rogaine. My haircut wasn't going to distract from my crooked teeth. Girls were the plague. Was there any GOOD reason to have a good haircut? And as i started to vacuum hair off the kitchen floor, if you had asked me if I was getting a 'good' haircut, I would have just shrugged.

Well hopefully your wonderful romantic trim doesn't result in the expression of the guy above.

Add some water?

As my skin turns to rubber, my memory fogs into a gray smog, and my muscles atrophy because of the internet, I refuse to change habits. There are some routines in life, intentional or not, that will never change. Showering in the morning is refreshing; showering in the previous evening creates morning hair configurations seen in Rock music vidoes. Eating heavy lunches creates heavy eyebrows in the afternoon; tasteless sandwiches leaves enough unhappiness and frustration to keep me working for the next few hours. (Added bonus, nasty lunches make dinner very tasty.)

One routine that i've had is to make the above dish with the blind precision of pavlov's barking. I can do it without a conscious thought. Yet, I don't make this dish very often. Why not? This is what happens: My brain will picture the delicious noodles and meat, but my hands sweat in rebellion. Why? Dealing with noodles in comparison to rice is like shipping from the 80's vs. shipping from the 2000's; it takes 3 times the energy. Noodles traditionally require two types of babysitting. First watch them boil like a witch in a cauldron, then you watch them fry with some seasoning or other taste incentive. Rice, on the hand gets washed once, and then is put in the rice cooker.

To the praise of God almighty, today I decide to try something new. Did you hear me? New. "New" is not something I easily walk into anymore. "New" has left me with green jackets, bright red pants, guitar Pajamas, and several expensive electronics that have never seen the light of day. There is a lot of waste with "new". I've become more cautious of "New" dishes, electronics, clothes, and whatever. Often times its like running into an ex-girlfriend, different clothes, some new interfaces, but ultimately the same processes under the hood. So, why bother?

And it pays off. Instead of pulling apart noodles with my Ogre thumbs and blunted pointer fingers, now I boil the whole pack, and the noodles come apart by themselves. Instead of 15 mins, it takes 2. I feel liberated from menial oppression. This must be the same feeling for the guy that invented defrosting with the microwave. I imagine for years he used the warm water method, or just flat out "held the meat till it went soft".

Maybe new isn't that bad.

Chicken Bake Noodles:
Chicken
Spicy Bake Mix (this is the literal name)
Bok Choi
Enough Garlic to kill Dracula
Any pack of Rice noodles

Instructions -
1. Cook everything separate with garlic. Cook chicken with Spicy bake mix.
2. Mix it all together

Secret
- When breaking apart rice noodles, it has a consistency of sunburnt patchy skin. In otherwords, the noodles don't stick together. The secret is to break up the noodle pack in to long chunks then boil them in water
- THEN fry liberally with oil

How to waste money

Ipod Touch : $300

Am I bad with money? Yes. How bad? Pretty darn bad. I was okay in the previous years, indulging in two orders of large fries, or chewing a whole pack of gum at a time. And all was well, my indulgence was an extra dollar here, an extra dollar there.

And then came music equipment. 

The cheapest guitar is 300 dollars. The good ones go for 600. The nice ones go for 1200. The ones i wanted? Much much more. I was filled with evils, false belief that better instruments = better musicians. And secondly i was just greedy. So I traded up, and traded up, and trade up, and now i have 3 guitars and a history of bad monetary decisions.

How do I pucker up? Well based on the photo, looks like i haven't got it figured out yet.

So, if you want to be like me, buy electronics. It's exciting opening up fancy packaging, dreaming of the frolicking with electronics or new car and the wonderful goodness of life that will congratulate you, "thank you for buying me". And for a moment, like a sped-read fairy-tale.

1 Ipod later. I'm still an asian male. I still have moderate grades. I still feel unhappy after a good meal, and find that hobbies that fall short. And now i have some electronics. Yippee. 

Do not forsake the Lord, or his precepts, his words. They and they only hold the words of power. The rest just holds well.... 32GBs of ways to past the time.

Late Night Ritual

"Don't touch me!"
"What you going to do?"
"Deeeeeennnnnnissss!"
"Yarrrrgh"
These are the sweet sounds that guide me to sleep at night.
The night isn't complete without one essential component: Sissy fighting.

There is no crime that isn't worth a couple of slaps to the face. Shoes put in the wrong place? A badly timed fart? Slap some retribution into your roommate. In this case the crime was : boredom. Ah, how boredom creates some of america's best time-burners. Television, internet entertainment, blogging, nachos, and of course the ultimate form : napping.

Still, watching these two go about it like monkeys fighting for a plastic banana, I can't help but wonder how parents keep their sanity. These two are college students, granted in this case you can't tell. I can't imagine dealing with this slapping fistycuffs in the movie theater, in the mall, at the restaurant. It is no wonder my mom has developed a voice that defrosts frozen chicken, and a finger strength of a pair of pliers. And lord help me, I will probably do the same.

I laugh when I think of the educational level I am at now, and eventually with my own little spawn, what educational level I will display!

"What the monkey is the matter with you!!!! This is not a gymnasium!! This is a restaurant!! People eat here!!!! Food is not for mashing into your brother's face!!!!! Yarrrrrrgh!!!"

Brilliant

Morning Studying

So it was the tuesday of a Midterm and my study buddy Jenny are going at it in Powell. I would try to write something funny here. But there isn't funny here. It's studying at its purest, books, shallow walls, fluorescent lights and Ipods.

On a side note, the library was packed, people wanting to study enough to sit right next to strangers. The unspoken arrangement is to skip chairs, but not today. There is a strong population with serious looks white knuckles and books. There is a 30% contingent that lounge on the couch in ways that guarantee future scholiosis. There is another 10% that fall asleep when stationary. They are draped over the couches, or other soft surfaces in the library. This shows the library is the perfect intertwining of two values.

Sleep and Learn.

The Pain of pictures

I just received my renewal for my driver's license. Luckily, God's grace hasn't let my road barbarism be known to the department of motor vehicles. A couple of crazy U turns, running a few red lights; I've got my share of un-ticketed favor. Still my valid license shows a funny boy looking to the right.

For the record, I am not look sneaky because I am planning to blow up the world. My
"friend" actually tried to take a picture of me while i was getting my photo snapped by the DMV. And trying to silence here i was muttering sharp commands when the DMV finally stole their shot. And of course, they didn't tell me my picture resembled a burglar with diamonds in his pockets making his get away.

It is strange to admit that I'm bad at smiling. It sounds like I don't know how to be happy. Out of all the things to fail at, taxes, math, speaking in pubic, interacting with women, i should hope that even the ugliest of this sapien race knows how to be happy.

I have many theories why smiling has taken a nasty turn. Most of them involve strange companions in High school, or awkward situations with parents. My leading guess is that when I am happy, thus I smile, and suddenly, that makes everyone not happy. As a result, I have tempered my smile from greedy-goblin to steal your guts to fake fast food mascot. I believe this an improvement. My only hope is that more years practicing "smiling" will one day leave me acceptably photogenic.

And then I won't have IDs that look like these

The benefits of interviews

Pens.
Mountains and Mountains and Mountains of Pens! The interviewer could be a dirty italian, or a high powered brainiac from secret government lab, but give me those pens!

Free fair pens are curious weapons. When i buy a box of ball points, half of them don't work, a quarter of them are like my sense of humor; they work when you don't need it and dry up when you do. The last quarter of pens have a future as spitball cannons, stints, or nervous chew toys. But not free pens. Their sizes and shapes range from chunky munitions, to short carrots. But man, do they work! the smoothness, and the darkness. It's unmatched!

As you can tell from the picture, I have had many Quests for work. This week alone, i have two more interviews. Ill be honest, I'm stressing quite a bit. Imagine a squirrel on top of your head pulling your ears back, riding me like a war beast. When an interview approaches, I can't help anticipating the awkwardness, the questions, and even the imaginary answers I am going to have. I picture the 20 mins like an old DVD, and comb it over and over and try to make adjustments.

Slow emo music plays. A frazzled young asian male wanders into a small round, rubs his chin several times, screws a smile to his face, and starts answering for the future. His hand slowly reaches for the free pens.....

Day 1: My two weeks

Two weeks? Three weeks? 1 day its all the same in the libary!

Three maple boards and a squeaky chair have been my home for the last three weeks. I like study stalls. Walls hug the space, blocking distractions. A bright light blazes at all time, blurring the difference between day and night. Also, an iPod; a defense for boredom, the numbing to the passing of time, and a sound barrier for wandering chatterboxes.

It is the library. My home away from home away from home. This last week I clocked 20 hours in the library reading equations, writing greek (not for the bible) and ticking the keys for a computer program.

I'm debating if I can continue at this pace. Pride wills me on to foolish endeavors, staying at the library till I smell, or reading till my eyes dry to prunes; it is late. Such is a life of a student, dedicating mind and energy into a system that promises wealth, cars, and comforts. But you have to ask yourself: after writing till your hand cramps, sitting till you have butt caluses, hunched over till you permenantly smell your knees, thinking so you can churn out math like corn from Iowa:

Do I remember how to have fun?

Shorts:

Sunday Bonus: Today's sermon was on words. Bad words. Very bad words. Ideas that imply bad words. Basically, a hot coal in the kisser is not that bad of an idea.

Sunday College Bonus: The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge. Wisdom. Much different than: the best plan for the next 10 years is the beginning of wisdom.

Till tomorrow