Home sweet home. Boy it feels good to be back. I knew it was going to be good when the pilot said the evening in Long Beach was a "bit chilly", somewhere between 60 and 65 degrees. I should really apologize to the Southern California weather for having taken it for granted. Seeing snow again was a good experience but I've realized I would much rather admire snow from my window than navigate around it in face-numbing cold. Even the squirrels, which abound on campus due to the lack of natural predators, struggle to eat acorns because of their shivering paws. I must admit their suffering brings me some pleasure.
My first semester at Harvard, though, was pretty good all in all. I love the fact that all students I've met are full of personality and know how to have fun. They are intelligent and remarkable people, no doubt, but you know them for their quirks and their life outside the classroom. So even though people are settling into comfort zones and identifying their closest circle of friends, I've been trying to get to know new people, or at least reconnect with those who shared the first meals at Annenberg with me. In the process, I've learned that my memory serves me well for these encounters. Many times I've come up to a person, addressed him/her by name, recounted the occasion responsible for our meeting, named the two or three other students who had sat next to us, and recapitulated one of the topics that had surfaced during the conversation. Creeper status? Maybe. But if you tell me you are from San Antonio and not aware of Tim Duncan's existence or if you are a polite, mild-mannered Caucasian girl who listens to MF Doom, I aint gonna forget it.
Speaking of quirks, many people at Harvard have begun to identify mine as my high regard for Latinas. My mission to raise awareness of their beauty and charm is now in its fourth or fifth year, and my efforts have been rewarded by their increased presence in rap music videos, alcoholic beverage commercials, Yahoo! Personal Ads, and of course Brazil's winning the bid to host the 2016 Summer Olympics. So it is only appropriate that I now gain a bigger audience for my outreach in the Harvard student body. I have made conscious efforts to make it a topic in dinner conversations, and it's been a pleasant surprise to see the number of people who agree with me. But on a more serious note, the conspicuously small population of Latinas on campus is a bit troubling. Clearly, more work needs to be done to provide them the counseling and resources earlier in their educational pathways so they can get that college degree.
One of the four classes I took this semester was Japanese Culture & Buddhism. I picked it because I really enjoyed reading Siddhartha (by Hermann Hesse) in high school; the idea that sexual encounters are necessary for enlightenment struck me as truly badass, and I was thinking I would give conversion to Buddhism a serious thought if I could confirm such tenets existed. Unfortunately I have found Buddhists are not unchaste at all, and they certainly don't believe hedonistic behavior facilitates self-awakening. Rather, they emphasize ridding oneself of all attachments to the world, whether they be desires for material possessions and social statuses or emotional attachments to people. None of the things we value truly has a "self", or its own identity, and we can only talk about them in relation to other things. It is only when we realize this "emptiness" of things - and their impermanence - that we can begin to embark on the path to enlightenment.
For some reason, these ideas really stuck with me and have dramatically changed the way I think about my life. For one thing, they cemented my desire to pursue a career in the non-profit sector, most likely an NGO that does international development or global health work. I've always thought there are two main ways to live life - find what makes you happy and do it or abandon your pursuit of happiness and help other people. I'm not saying that helping other people can't make you happy. But I'm drawing a distinction between helping other people because it makes you happy and helping other people for the sake of helping other people. Also, I think there are varying degrees to which we live out altruism. Most of us like helping others but also have other goals like raising a family, finding a job that suits their interests, earning enough money to support their family, and maybe buying a nice house or car. We all have priorities, and helping other people is not necessarily at the top of our list. In Buddhist terms, we are all invested in some sense of "self."
Recently, I have been thinking a lot about what really matters to me, and I've decided that my goal is to further shed that sense of self and live my life for the good of others. This is partly because there are very few things that make me happy anyway, and I am lucky enough to have them already. I have food, clothing, shelter, computer with high-speed Internet, hip hop music, and access to free streaming of Laker games. But the other reason is that I feel morally compelled to help the less fortunate. Helping people doesn't make me happy but I find it unfair that out of chance, I was born into a healthy body with a caring family, reasonable government, access to education, and a full set of rights while some kid halfway across the world will never learn to read and write or suffer from malnutrition just because the world is like that. And yeah, shit happens, life is unfair, and the world will never be equal, but I think to myself what it would be like to be that kid. At the end of the day, the things that will make me happy won't really matter because I will be dead but maybe if I can raise the standard of living in a community, families and their future families will be better off. Yeah, I'm an idealist.
I haven't yet figured out how I can best help people. Get an advanced degree after college, try some field work, begin working for an NGO with a proven track record, and work my way up to management? Who knows.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Brief College Update
Yesterday marked the beginning of my second week at Harvard. It feels I have been here much longer, which is usually a good thing, and I have indeed experienced moments of happiness that were so elusive in my high school years. But they have been sudden and short bursts like smoking a blunt for a millisecond - most likely caused by that strange ability of the human mind to glimpse over the landscape of an experience and see only the sunlit grounds, even when darkness attacks the corner of the eyes. Unless I get laid on a regular basis, the familiar machinery of academic routine should suppress this silly impulse.
My classes began two days ago, but I can't say much about them because the professors just gave brief overviews of the material. In fact, I am still in the process of choosing my courses. It is very likely that I will either study myth and folklore or Buddhism in Japan, though. Should be interesting.
All the students I've met so far have been friendly. I have yet to pick up a negative vibe from anyone. The most striking quality of my peers is diversity of background and culture. Coming to a global university like Harvard, I expected this, of course, but I am still amazed by the variety of countries from which students have journeyed. I have personally met people from Ukraine, Bulgaria, China, Canada, Australia, Congo, and Zimbabwe. If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.
Ironically, the single annoying aspect of my experience so far has been making new friends - and watching other people make new friends. Whenever I eat at Annenberg Hall, the designated cafeteria for freshmen, I plop down next to a bunch of strangers, introduce myself, and listen to others introduce themselves. Then we exchange forgettable information about our dorming arrangements, hometowns, career aspirations, and prospective classes, and often ask the same questions again when the awkward silence falls. Not that I scorn this practice or have a better idea. Our deathly fear of loneliness is just a bit tragic.
I live in a three-room suite with three other roommates. From what I've seen, our bedrooms are smaller than those at other dorms, but our in-suite bath somewhat makes up for it. Our dorm is also located right next to the Main Gate, allowing easy access to Harvard Square, CVS, Staples, and the bookstore. These things matter.
Because there is no air conditioning and the infamous New England weather has yet to set in, I turn on the fan almost all the time. I am really hoping the temperature starts dropping fast. I brought too many winter clothes for this nonsensical quasi-Californian weather to continue.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Hot Latina Waitress
The life of a teenager, it seems to me, is most dramatically shaped and defined by memories made at night. This is true whether you spend your nights playing dota at a brofest sleepover, grabbing a midnight snack with your friends at Carl’s Jr or smoking the shit out of your consciousness at a house party. Sometimes it’s merely the glamour of secrecy, that guilty pleasure that comes with knowing your parents have no fucking idea what you are up to. Your friends are your accomplices in a shared crime. Sometimes it’s the range of activities that are well, only available or legit at night. Like having a session at an empty parking lot. But sometimes it’s just the vibe. There’s an electrifying mystery in the night air that leaves tingles of unfounded fascination and ecstasy.
The night of my visit to Hollywood with three friends, as described in the previous post, was already fantastic for the above three impulses. And then I got an icing on the cake.
After an exciting day of watching the screening of Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader and gazing at the L.A. nightscape from Griffith Observatory, the four of us headed over to Katsuya restaurant. My friend had reserved seats for the four of us at 10 p.m. I am usually wary of eating dinner past 9, but the restaurant was supposed to be a hot spot for meeting celebrities and I was willing to allow the inconvenience in exchange for meeting Kobe Bryant.
A burly man in tuxedo opened the door for us as we came in. We walked straight into the middle of what seemed like a museum exhibit; rectangular glass prisms mounted on slender marble platforms studded the waiting area in front of the bar like a checkerboard. Each prism contained a crystal figure or design, though I can’t recall any specific one.
The restaurant was composed of three large areas, all of them seamlessly joined by a walkway. There was the bar and artistic flurry described above; a rather spacious sushi kitchen with dining tables around it; and then more tables on the opposite side of the restaurant in a more secluded setting. I was confused why there was such little separation between the bar and sushi tables. But most people didn’t seem to mind. They ordered a drink at the bar to raise their spirits, chatted with some friends, exchanged some hugs, and usually spilled out to the tables with new munchies.
The music was incredibly loud in all areas of the restaurant. I can’t recall the genre or quality of the music played. I just remember wondering out loud how people could hear themselves above this cacophony. People don’t come to Katsuya to have a decent audible conversation or enjoy a quiet meal.
What perhaps surprised me most that night was the age group of the customers – almost all of them were in their late 20’s and mid 30’s. I guess it does take a reasonable amount of time to amass enough money to afford eating at such high-end restaurants. But somehow the idea of a “hip” bar / sushi joint for wilting flowers that are human beings at the age of 30 seemed foreign and gaudy. When I think of that stage of human life, I envision settling down, going fishing, or playing at Bingo Club – not wild drinking nights, double dates, and one night stands. And this is coming from a guy who will soon turn 20. I will be a miserable bastard very soon.
Anyway I am describing all these things before even mentioning the dining experience because I did a lot of watching and waiting before eating. Our reservation at 10, well, didn’t quite mean anything. Apparently a restaurant frequented by Jay-Z cares little about honoring promises to us common folks. We were given a table by the sushi kitchen at about 10:20 after watching special guests take their seats at empty tables. I’m pretty sure our reservation had an asterisk next to it.
It was about 10 minutes after we got seated that a waiter showed up with empty glasses. He would’ve done us a favor if he had just filled them with cold water when he first brought them. I guess I looked like I needed a drink that night.
Our waiter was a gregarious Asian guy in his mid 20’s, who, according to my friend who is male, was rather handsome. He gave us a quick overview of the menu and made some recommendations that he said could “really change our lives.” We ordered two rolls, a sashimi dish, crunchy rice with tuna, and spicy albacore with onions. Each of the dishes ranged somewhere from $8 to $15, which seemed pretty reasonable at the time.
It wasn’t until we saw the portions that the cruel joke became apparent to us. The rice in “crunchy rice with tuna” was composed of four spoonfuls of rice fried into little squares like graham crackers. A piece of tuna the size of a mini-oreo sat atop each of these culinary monstrosities. I said out loud, “What the fuck do I do with this?” It sounds amusing but after shelling out $14 for nanoseconds of salivary stimulation (the food was good), I was rather genuinely pissed off.
So the dining proceeded in a similar fashion for the rest of the night – the four of us eagerly anticipating the next dish, only to be disappointed by the meager servings.
But my night did conclude with fireworks. Before explaining what happened, though, I have to provide a context for my actions.
It’s funny how the things we read, see, and hear can have unexpected and far-reaching consequences in our lives. At the moment of absorption, the external stimuli seem to possess no significance at all. They are shoved into some compartment in our brain without our knowing, dormant but surely there. Then later we encounter another seemingly ordinary stimulus, and it triggers the release of one of these captured memories. Together they shape our response.
At the time of my visit to Katsuya, I happened to be reading John Steinbeck’s East of Eden and watching Two and a Half Men on a nightly basis. These two informants of my psychological and moral condition made the outcome of that night inevitable. Steinbeck’s profound veneration for that thing called free will empowered me to act and decide my own destiny. Charlie Harper in Two and a Half Men reminded me of the arena of life in which this free will could be exercised.
It was between nibbles of the crunchy rice with tuna that I glanced up and happened to notice her. The beautiful Latina waitress was in her mid-20’s – I would say 24 or 25. She was wearing the same chaste and demure black uniform like all other waiters, but my God, that did not stop her from flaunting that figure. Not that she was the type of girl to flaunt her figure. When your booty has that extra oomph, well, your booty has that extra oomph and no earthly power can do anything about it. Hips are one of the few creatures that always speaks the truth.
But the feature that initially caught my eyes and that convinced me she was a very special beauty indeed was her face. Never mind the flawless bronze complexion and the majestic sharp features unusual for a Latina. Her eyes were round and clear and literally sparkling, the kind of eyes that bewitch princes and kings in fables. But they also projected a gentleness and shyness that made me feel all snug and warm as if huddled under a blanket.
I pointed her out to Alex, the same guy who had called our waiter handsome.
“Dude she is hot.”
“Who?”
“The Latina waitress over there.”
“Oh, yeah she is hot.”
In a few minutes, I saw her heading toward our table illuminating the ground beneath her with her purity.
I stared. Her eyes met mine just as she reached our table, and I knew she knew. She gave me a shy smile that killed me.
She passed by our table about three more times and each time, my eyes never wavered from her face from the moment she appeared in my view to the moment she left. Each time, her eyes met mine and that subtle knowing smile haunted me. Each time, she became hotter and younger.
I put my head on the table and started thinking. “What kind of a person was she? Was she really as nice and innocent as she looked? Was she sympathetic and sensible?” The nagging thought of her being a bad girl tormented me.
While I was silently writhing in my seat, our waiter had arrived to check on us. By this time, we had struck up several conversations with our waiter (who happened to be from our area) and were on friendly terms with him. At the behest of the other two friends, Alex began talking.
“So we are aware that there is a pretty hot Latina waitress that works here.”
“Hot Latina waitress?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
Alex correctly identified her, even with her back turned.
“Oh, her. Who thinks she is hot?”
My three friends pointed at me. I raised my hand.
“I think her name is Charlene,” the waiter said.
Damn right she was a Charlene. She looked like a Charlene.
“Does she have a boyfriend?” I asked.
“Yeah… and her boyfriend is me.”
In the dramatic two seconds or so that followed, my mind violently recoiled. The waiter then changed face.
“I’m just kidding. She’s dating that white guy over there.”
I craned my neck to see but had trouble finding him and frankly didn’t care. Suddenly I became irate at the prospect of a white male stealing yet another beautiful exotic woman.
“You should try to date her,” I said to the waiter. “She’s a beauty.”
“But she has a boyfriend.”
“Fuck that. You can take him. People come and go.”
“Are you going to have dreams about her?”
“Nah I’m too old for that.”
I paused and thought. Then I said what had been at the back of my mind all along, the strange truth that had eluded articulation.
“I just want to make sure that she’s a good girl. I guess it’s like a paternal instinct. I just want to know if she’s a good girl.”
The waiter laughed for a while and jokingly said something about her being the exact opposite of what I envisioned. He was joking though.
A few minutes later, Charlene made her way toward our table again but this time, stopped, looked at me, and then extended her hand.
“Hi my name is Charlene.”
“Hi my name is Min.”
Her hands were soft like the cold side of the pillow. I don’t recall anything else that was said then, and I don’t have the imagination to guess either. All I remember is that I noticed her nose piercing for the first time, and it gave her a sort of new sinful appearance, which excited me.
Our waiter returned to the table with a smile.
“How was that? Did I embarrass you?”
“Nah, that was fucking great. The only thing, though, is that I didn’t get a picture with her.”
I don’t think I would’ve said that in any other situation because I hate to make others feel uncomfortable. I mean this wasn’t Hooters or anything. I didn’t want to act unprofessionally. But I figured you only meet so many special women in your lifetime. Might as well take a picture to remember the special occasion.
So Charlene was gracious enough to come over once again. We were wondering where to take the picture, and then our waiter made a brilliant suggestion. He led us to the ginormous canvas of a woman’s sultry, bright red lips that hung against the wall. Taking a picture there would be like metaphorically making out with her.
By the time we found the desired location and got ready to pose, I saw a small crowd watching the spectacle from behind the table where we had dined. Two Mexican waiters were clapping and laughing. I beamed. I hope her boyfriend was watching.
The picture doesn’t do her justice but I plan to go there again during winter break. Whenever I think of that night though, the song that runs through my head is “Today was a good day.”
The night of my visit to Hollywood with three friends, as described in the previous post, was already fantastic for the above three impulses. And then I got an icing on the cake.
After an exciting day of watching the screening of Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader and gazing at the L.A. nightscape from Griffith Observatory, the four of us headed over to Katsuya restaurant. My friend had reserved seats for the four of us at 10 p.m. I am usually wary of eating dinner past 9, but the restaurant was supposed to be a hot spot for meeting celebrities and I was willing to allow the inconvenience in exchange for meeting Kobe Bryant.
A burly man in tuxedo opened the door for us as we came in. We walked straight into the middle of what seemed like a museum exhibit; rectangular glass prisms mounted on slender marble platforms studded the waiting area in front of the bar like a checkerboard. Each prism contained a crystal figure or design, though I can’t recall any specific one.
The restaurant was composed of three large areas, all of them seamlessly joined by a walkway. There was the bar and artistic flurry described above; a rather spacious sushi kitchen with dining tables around it; and then more tables on the opposite side of the restaurant in a more secluded setting. I was confused why there was such little separation between the bar and sushi tables. But most people didn’t seem to mind. They ordered a drink at the bar to raise their spirits, chatted with some friends, exchanged some hugs, and usually spilled out to the tables with new munchies.
The music was incredibly loud in all areas of the restaurant. I can’t recall the genre or quality of the music played. I just remember wondering out loud how people could hear themselves above this cacophony. People don’t come to Katsuya to have a decent audible conversation or enjoy a quiet meal.
What perhaps surprised me most that night was the age group of the customers – almost all of them were in their late 20’s and mid 30’s. I guess it does take a reasonable amount of time to amass enough money to afford eating at such high-end restaurants. But somehow the idea of a “hip” bar / sushi joint for wilting flowers that are human beings at the age of 30 seemed foreign and gaudy. When I think of that stage of human life, I envision settling down, going fishing, or playing at Bingo Club – not wild drinking nights, double dates, and one night stands. And this is coming from a guy who will soon turn 20. I will be a miserable bastard very soon.
Anyway I am describing all these things before even mentioning the dining experience because I did a lot of watching and waiting before eating. Our reservation at 10, well, didn’t quite mean anything. Apparently a restaurant frequented by Jay-Z cares little about honoring promises to us common folks. We were given a table by the sushi kitchen at about 10:20 after watching special guests take their seats at empty tables. I’m pretty sure our reservation had an asterisk next to it.
It was about 10 minutes after we got seated that a waiter showed up with empty glasses. He would’ve done us a favor if he had just filled them with cold water when he first brought them. I guess I looked like I needed a drink that night.
Our waiter was a gregarious Asian guy in his mid 20’s, who, according to my friend who is male, was rather handsome. He gave us a quick overview of the menu and made some recommendations that he said could “really change our lives.” We ordered two rolls, a sashimi dish, crunchy rice with tuna, and spicy albacore with onions. Each of the dishes ranged somewhere from $8 to $15, which seemed pretty reasonable at the time.
It wasn’t until we saw the portions that the cruel joke became apparent to us. The rice in “crunchy rice with tuna” was composed of four spoonfuls of rice fried into little squares like graham crackers. A piece of tuna the size of a mini-oreo sat atop each of these culinary monstrosities. I said out loud, “What the fuck do I do with this?” It sounds amusing but after shelling out $14 for nanoseconds of salivary stimulation (the food was good), I was rather genuinely pissed off.
So the dining proceeded in a similar fashion for the rest of the night – the four of us eagerly anticipating the next dish, only to be disappointed by the meager servings.
But my night did conclude with fireworks. Before explaining what happened, though, I have to provide a context for my actions.
It’s funny how the things we read, see, and hear can have unexpected and far-reaching consequences in our lives. At the moment of absorption, the external stimuli seem to possess no significance at all. They are shoved into some compartment in our brain without our knowing, dormant but surely there. Then later we encounter another seemingly ordinary stimulus, and it triggers the release of one of these captured memories. Together they shape our response.
At the time of my visit to Katsuya, I happened to be reading John Steinbeck’s East of Eden and watching Two and a Half Men on a nightly basis. These two informants of my psychological and moral condition made the outcome of that night inevitable. Steinbeck’s profound veneration for that thing called free will empowered me to act and decide my own destiny. Charlie Harper in Two and a Half Men reminded me of the arena of life in which this free will could be exercised.
It was between nibbles of the crunchy rice with tuna that I glanced up and happened to notice her. The beautiful Latina waitress was in her mid-20’s – I would say 24 or 25. She was wearing the same chaste and demure black uniform like all other waiters, but my God, that did not stop her from flaunting that figure. Not that she was the type of girl to flaunt her figure. When your booty has that extra oomph, well, your booty has that extra oomph and no earthly power can do anything about it. Hips are one of the few creatures that always speaks the truth.
But the feature that initially caught my eyes and that convinced me she was a very special beauty indeed was her face. Never mind the flawless bronze complexion and the majestic sharp features unusual for a Latina. Her eyes were round and clear and literally sparkling, the kind of eyes that bewitch princes and kings in fables. But they also projected a gentleness and shyness that made me feel all snug and warm as if huddled under a blanket.
I pointed her out to Alex, the same guy who had called our waiter handsome.
“Dude she is hot.”
“Who?”
“The Latina waitress over there.”
“Oh, yeah she is hot.”
In a few minutes, I saw her heading toward our table illuminating the ground beneath her with her purity.
I stared. Her eyes met mine just as she reached our table, and I knew she knew. She gave me a shy smile that killed me.
She passed by our table about three more times and each time, my eyes never wavered from her face from the moment she appeared in my view to the moment she left. Each time, her eyes met mine and that subtle knowing smile haunted me. Each time, she became hotter and younger.
I put my head on the table and started thinking. “What kind of a person was she? Was she really as nice and innocent as she looked? Was she sympathetic and sensible?” The nagging thought of her being a bad girl tormented me.
While I was silently writhing in my seat, our waiter had arrived to check on us. By this time, we had struck up several conversations with our waiter (who happened to be from our area) and were on friendly terms with him. At the behest of the other two friends, Alex began talking.
“So we are aware that there is a pretty hot Latina waitress that works here.”
“Hot Latina waitress?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
Alex correctly identified her, even with her back turned.
“Oh, her. Who thinks she is hot?”
My three friends pointed at me. I raised my hand.
“I think her name is Charlene,” the waiter said.
Damn right she was a Charlene. She looked like a Charlene.
“Does she have a boyfriend?” I asked.
“Yeah… and her boyfriend is me.”
In the dramatic two seconds or so that followed, my mind violently recoiled. The waiter then changed face.
“I’m just kidding. She’s dating that white guy over there.”
I craned my neck to see but had trouble finding him and frankly didn’t care. Suddenly I became irate at the prospect of a white male stealing yet another beautiful exotic woman.
“You should try to date her,” I said to the waiter. “She’s a beauty.”
“But she has a boyfriend.”
“Fuck that. You can take him. People come and go.”
“Are you going to have dreams about her?”
“Nah I’m too old for that.”
I paused and thought. Then I said what had been at the back of my mind all along, the strange truth that had eluded articulation.
“I just want to make sure that she’s a good girl. I guess it’s like a paternal instinct. I just want to know if she’s a good girl.”
The waiter laughed for a while and jokingly said something about her being the exact opposite of what I envisioned. He was joking though.
A few minutes later, Charlene made her way toward our table again but this time, stopped, looked at me, and then extended her hand.
“Hi my name is Charlene.”
“Hi my name is Min.”
Her hands were soft like the cold side of the pillow. I don’t recall anything else that was said then, and I don’t have the imagination to guess either. All I remember is that I noticed her nose piercing for the first time, and it gave her a sort of new sinful appearance, which excited me.
Our waiter returned to the table with a smile.
“How was that? Did I embarrass you?”
“Nah, that was fucking great. The only thing, though, is that I didn’t get a picture with her.”
I don’t think I would’ve said that in any other situation because I hate to make others feel uncomfortable. I mean this wasn’t Hooters or anything. I didn’t want to act unprofessionally. But I figured you only meet so many special women in your lifetime. Might as well take a picture to remember the special occasion.
So Charlene was gracious enough to come over once again. We were wondering where to take the picture, and then our waiter made a brilliant suggestion. He led us to the ginormous canvas of a woman’s sultry, bright red lips that hung against the wall. Taking a picture there would be like metaphorically making out with her.
By the time we found the desired location and got ready to pose, I saw a small crowd watching the spectacle from behind the table where we had dined. Two Mexican waiters were clapping and laughing. I beamed. I hope her boyfriend was watching.
The picture doesn’t do her justice but I plan to go there again during winter break. Whenever I think of that night though, the song that runs through my head is “Today was a good day.”
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader?
I am on a fucking blogging roll. Honestly I'm trying to write everything down before I get to Harvard because I know I am not going to have time to do it as often (it referring to blogging.) So I am just taking care of business like Rick Pitino. Yes, every blog post from now on will have a reference to Rick Pitino.
I had seen the FOX show “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader” only twice or so, but I was nevertheless excited about attending my first television screening. My friend from Gamut invited me to spend the day with her and her two friends, one of whom happens to be a friend of my old friend from elementary school. Not that this matters, but he is my closest look-alike I have ever seen; I plan to employ him as a stunt double or alibi should such a need ever arise.
When we arrived at the venue and patiently waited in line for the start of the screening, we were rather surprised by the demographics of the audience. A sturdy representation of white folks was present, as expected. But hardly any Asians, if at all (we saw an Asian guy coming out of the previous screening with a white girlfriend, which greatly lifted my spirits). This was a free event, an opportunity made for our people. There should have been throngs of them waiting in line two hours prior to the screening, eating cup noodles and playing hand games to withstand the boredom. There is even Korean folklore about our brave mothers walking miles for free shit. I guess our relatively short history in this beautiful continent has kept us from discovering these hidden sources of entertainment. After all, this was my time going to a screening too.
Once we passed the metal detectors and were finally let inside the set, I was struck by how small it was. Cameras and angles blow up a musty auditorium half the size of the Oxford gym into a fancy technological cathedral of huge proportions. After all, this is Hollywood. The four of us were comfortably seated on the bleachers and ready to welcome host Jeff Foxworthy to the stage when one of the production managers, a white woman, told me and my friend our shirts were too bright and reflecting the light. They had us switch places with – surprise, surprise – two handsomely dressed black gentlemen. People just won’t let them alone, won’t they?
In my quest to discover my future profession, I have only had success in eliminating jobs I know I cannot stand. After the screening, I added one more to my list: the poor bastard who has to signal the audience to clap and laugh throughout the screening. The guy said he had completed eight screenings before we came that afternoon. That’s about 96 times he’s had to fight for the crowd’s fake laughter and about twice as many for applause. Living is hard, man.
Another thing I learned about game shows – they are nowhere near as intense or dramatic as they seem on television. Really, the only person nervous in the room is the contestant. When the woman on our show was getting ready to make a pretty important $5000 decision, there was a sense that neither the audience nor the host really gave a damn. I suspect this is not always the case in shows where more money is involved or the audience actually participates, like Who Wants to Be a Millionare. Still, the incredibly pedestrian nature of the whole affair was startling. People are walking out of there with thousands of dollars!
Some other notables from the actual show:
-One of the fifth graders aiding the contestants was a real smart black kid named Malakai. Actually, all three of the fifth graders were really smart, but I found myself rooting most heartily for Malakai. What a name.
-One of the contestants was a white female junior high teacher from Tennessee with a thick Southern accent. She had loads of trouble trying to figure out the question, “True or false. The sum of any two odd numbers is even.” She was confused because seven plus eight is fifteen.
-There were at least three questions I couldn’t answer. One asked for the two states from which the first five presidents of the U.S. originated. The second asked for the state that has the yucca plant as its state flower. The third had something to do with Greeks.
-Jeff Foxworthy is not as bad a comic as I thought he was. He thinks well on his feet and cracked a couple funny jokes.
-Toward the end of the show, my friend and I, who had been forced to switch seats with two handsomely dressed black gentlemen earlier, were told our bright shirts were reflecting too much light again. We were told to switch seats with – surprise, surprise – two handsomely dressed black women.
Next up: Hot Latina waitress at sushi restaurant
I had seen the FOX show “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader” only twice or so, but I was nevertheless excited about attending my first television screening. My friend from Gamut invited me to spend the day with her and her two friends, one of whom happens to be a friend of my old friend from elementary school. Not that this matters, but he is my closest look-alike I have ever seen; I plan to employ him as a stunt double or alibi should such a need ever arise.
When we arrived at the venue and patiently waited in line for the start of the screening, we were rather surprised by the demographics of the audience. A sturdy representation of white folks was present, as expected. But hardly any Asians, if at all (we saw an Asian guy coming out of the previous screening with a white girlfriend, which greatly lifted my spirits). This was a free event, an opportunity made for our people. There should have been throngs of them waiting in line two hours prior to the screening, eating cup noodles and playing hand games to withstand the boredom. There is even Korean folklore about our brave mothers walking miles for free shit. I guess our relatively short history in this beautiful continent has kept us from discovering these hidden sources of entertainment. After all, this was my time going to a screening too.
Once we passed the metal detectors and were finally let inside the set, I was struck by how small it was. Cameras and angles blow up a musty auditorium half the size of the Oxford gym into a fancy technological cathedral of huge proportions. After all, this is Hollywood. The four of us were comfortably seated on the bleachers and ready to welcome host Jeff Foxworthy to the stage when one of the production managers, a white woman, told me and my friend our shirts were too bright and reflecting the light. They had us switch places with – surprise, surprise – two handsomely dressed black gentlemen. People just won’t let them alone, won’t they?
In my quest to discover my future profession, I have only had success in eliminating jobs I know I cannot stand. After the screening, I added one more to my list: the poor bastard who has to signal the audience to clap and laugh throughout the screening. The guy said he had completed eight screenings before we came that afternoon. That’s about 96 times he’s had to fight for the crowd’s fake laughter and about twice as many for applause. Living is hard, man.
Another thing I learned about game shows – they are nowhere near as intense or dramatic as they seem on television. Really, the only person nervous in the room is the contestant. When the woman on our show was getting ready to make a pretty important $5000 decision, there was a sense that neither the audience nor the host really gave a damn. I suspect this is not always the case in shows where more money is involved or the audience actually participates, like Who Wants to Be a Millionare. Still, the incredibly pedestrian nature of the whole affair was startling. People are walking out of there with thousands of dollars!
Some other notables from the actual show:
-One of the fifth graders aiding the contestants was a real smart black kid named Malakai. Actually, all three of the fifth graders were really smart, but I found myself rooting most heartily for Malakai. What a name.
-One of the contestants was a white female junior high teacher from Tennessee with a thick Southern accent. She had loads of trouble trying to figure out the question, “True or false. The sum of any two odd numbers is even.” She was confused because seven plus eight is fifteen.
-There were at least three questions I couldn’t answer. One asked for the two states from which the first five presidents of the U.S. originated. The second asked for the state that has the yucca plant as its state flower. The third had something to do with Greeks.
-Jeff Foxworthy is not as bad a comic as I thought he was. He thinks well on his feet and cracked a couple funny jokes.
-Toward the end of the show, my friend and I, who had been forced to switch seats with two handsomely dressed black gentlemen earlier, were told our bright shirts were reflecting too much light again. We were told to switch seats with – surprise, surprise – two handsomely dressed black women.
Next up: Hot Latina waitress at sushi restaurant
Friday, August 14, 2009
Summer Highlights Cont.
Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles / Santa Monica Pier: I have been craving Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffle’s pretty much ever since Tim reviewed the restaurant in The Gamut, but lack of transportation and general laziness had delayed my satisfaction. Finally the wingless streak ended when Brian invited me to have lunch at the Los Angeles location with Peter and another friend.
As usual, the L.A. traffic was horrible, and we arrived at Roscoe’s about an hour and a half later than we had wanted. That meant I was feeling extra hungry so I went ahead and ordered two waffles with ½ chicken. Peter did the same. I hadn’t seen a real chicken in so long I didn’t realize how big they could be. I’m sure they didn’t really bring me ½ of a whole chicken, but considering the portions were large enough to warrant a tray the size of a small pillow, the difference must have been pretty slight.
To be honest, the chicken wasn’t spectacular. And I don’t blame the chicken. I had been building up so much hype about the chicken for the last two years that it could not possibly live up to my expectations. But the waffles? Quite spectacular. I tried the first waffle with generous servings of syrup and butter, and it was great. I did without the condiments my second time, and it was even better. The round crispy buttermilk waffles don’t need a sidekick, just as Rick Pitino… well, never mind.
The lunch turned out to be more entertaining than we expected when Peter took it upon himself to finish his entire meal. By the time I stopped eating, I had one piece of chicken left, a gargantuan monstrosity big enough to contain the chicken’s soul and moral compass. Peter faced a similar workload and still had a good chunk of waffle on top of it. But he insisted on plowing right through, though his breathing was noticeably heavier and his hands showed some of the tremor that is so natural to me. It was agonizing for the rest of us to watch this ordeal. His pace of eating had considerably slowed, as if he himself were swimming in that thick pool of syrup, and watching the endless sluggish routine of his hand made me dizzy too. To fight the boredom and nausea, I began videotaping the scene, and Peter’s expressions are hilarious in that they seem to capture the broad spectrum of emotions present in the human experience. Anyway, Peter finished everything except for the skin of the chicken. A pretty impressive but completely unnecessary feat.
After lunch, we headed over to 3rd Street Promenade and Santa Monica Pier. I’m not sure if it’s because there is an Urban Outfitters store in that area, but people there were dressed very.. distinctly. Some street performers we saw were a trio of dancers that talked more than danced, a Mexican breakdancer who claimed to “fly” and hardly got off the ground, and a pacifist playing some mutant guitar. We mostly sat on the beach and talked. Then I discovered an avocado seed and proceeded to throw it at pigeons that walked my way. I am usually very kind toward animals, but pigeons sometimes piss the shit out of me. I hit one on my second try, and to my surprise, it fluttered helplessly for about five seconds as if its wings could no longer support its weight. Again, I was reminded of Hau on the basketball court.
One note of caution about Brian’s ipod: It has nothing but Euro trance and Jack Johnson.
Elementary School Friends Hangout: I got to meet up with two friends from elementary school, both of whom were in my second grade class (with Kendra) and lived in my apartment complex (Kendra did too). It was a pleasant surprise because I never expected to see them again after elementary school. Especially the friend who moved to the East Coast after sixth grade. But rather miraculously, I was able to keep in touch with her via AIM and Myspace throughout high school. Then, I hadn’t heard from her in about two years until this summer, when she found me on Facebook. She told me she was visiting California for a little while and wanted to meet up. These social networking utilities are pretty amazing if you think about it.
I was pretty nervous about meeting someone I hadn’t seen in seven years, but once we saw each other, neither of us acted surprised. Her face certainly hadn’t changed. She said the same about me. There was a sense, though, that too much had happened during those years of absence for us to ever become close friends again. We were strangely distant though as far as I could tell, our personalities hadn’t changed much. I guess life does that to you sometimes.
After eating at Guppy’s, the two of us – and a sidekick from Oxford I will not name – went to pick up my other elementary school friend. Then the four of us went to Long Beach Towne Center to talk. It was well past 11 p.m. The one memory that’s come to stick out most in my mind about my second friend is the two of us eating lunch together during a 3rd grade field trip to a local museum, and her proceeding to eat most of the kimbab my mom had packed for me. This I shared with her, and we all had a good laugh about it. As we started reminiscing, we realized how much we remembered of our elementary school years. It’s strange I can’t recall my junior high and high school years with the same sharpness. We sat and talked for about an hour before heading home.
I think I will always remember that night – a sort of dreaminess crept up on me that I hadn’t felt before. I suspect it was mainly a feeling of having grown ridiculously old. Yet I seem to have been comforted by the sight of my old friends, knowing they have been safe and sound all these years and that they all have seen enough good things in life to keep fighting and pushing on.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Camping Trip to Kings Canyon
I tutor the 8th grade daughter of my mom’s long-time friend, and when the mother told me about her family’s upcoming camping trip to Kings Canyon – and innocuously asked if I wanted to come along – I casually replied that I appreciated the offer but would decline. Even though our families have known each other for years, I hardly knew the girl I tutored or her older sister, a high school senior. Imagine how awkward it would be if I came along!
Then I got to thinking about it some more, and I started taking her offer seriously. I had gone camping only once before, with Chad’s family, and that was really fun. This time, I would be camping for five full days at a beautiful national park. With college and adulthood starting soon, I wouldn’t have such an opportunity for a long time. Still, I couldn’t make up my mind so I consulted few of my friends. I give a lot of credit to Jonathan Lee for convincing me to go. He said the awkwardness would go away in time – it would just take time.
It turned out that the two sisters were very very close to each other. They did most of the talking to themselves and politely ignored me. They also brought along their golden retriever, which demanded most of their attention and adoration. I ended up talking mostly to the parents, and whether it was because I tutored their daughter or because they thought of me as the son they never had, they were extremely kind to me.
I now realize that camping holds no beauty of its own, at least for me. Sleeping in a tent in Mother Nature is pretty cool, but I am a man who loves modern amenities. What really killed me was not being able to take a shower every day. The showers were located several miles from our campground and besides, they charged $4.00 for 10 minutes. That plus the absence of cellphone service and Internet connection (Lamar Odom signing happened while I was gone) nearly drove me crazy. Camping definitely made me develop a greater appreciation for what I have. But it’s one of those travails I love only after having done it. I’m not sure if I will ever willingly share a sink and bathroom with 50 other people again.
The sisters’ father is a hiking veteran who has conquered some of the longest and most difficult trails in parks across the nation, including Yosemite, Grand Canyon, and Yellowstone. Bearing a heavy backpack with water and his high-tech camera, he led the sisters and me on some intense hiking excursions – they were intense for me anyway. I believe we hiked 12-14 miles in total. That doesn’t seem too bad but the high altitudes, uneven grounds, and lack of shade really took a toll on me. And on our longest hike, a constant uphill battle on Hotel Creek Trail (a fucked up name because there was nothing close to a hotel or creek in our sights), we made the mistake of not bringing enough water. Once we had reached the peak, there was one half-full water bottle left; we would have to survive the three-hour hike down with little to no water. That day I learned what it means to be thirsty, and I hope I never have to be reminded of such a burning desire for water. With two hours left, I began to feel dizzy and the sun was beating down harder than before. Now when I look back at those trying moments, I really do believe they will be my source of strength in the future.
Once the nightmarish trial was complete and we safely got into the car, we stopped at the nearest market to buy water and drinks. I bought three Powerades and drank all of them in one sitting. Once we returned to the campsite, I guzzled down two more water bottles. Needless to say, I passed on dinner.
Actually I did very little eating during those five days, and I am not quite sure why. The mother is a very skilled cook who prides on her creativity. She prepared traditional Korean dishes with unique ingredients, and every meal was a delicious surprise. But I filled my stomach with water. I really really love drinking water. My mom thinks I have diabetes.
There was a time when I used to love dogs, but I don’t anymore. They bark against your will. They pee and poop in the wrong places, and even when they do it right, you have to pick up after them. They shed hair. They bite and drool over your stuff. And if you manage to get past all of that and still love your dog, well, dogs only live for so long. Saying farewell to loved ones is a bitch. So I was pretty amazed by how much the sisters loved their golden retriever. The dog did pretty much all of the things I described above (except die) and yet the sisters still cooed and petted and hugged and kissed. I guess I am not cut out to be a father and I may never be ready for that.
The 8th grader is 5’7’’ and her older sister is 5’8’’. I think it was their height that intimidated me and made it so hard to break the ice. But the ice did break. That was the turning point of my trip and it came in the sluggish afternoon of the day before the last. The younger sister was taking a nap in her tent, and the older one was reading a book by herself on a mat. The older one asked me to look after the dog while she used the restroom. Then she came back, sat on the wooden bench facing me, and we talked. What did we talk about? I don’t even remember. It was small talk about our respective schools, interests, friends, hobbies – the usual stuff. But she laughed at the things I said. And for the first time, I knew she understood who I was. She knew me as a person and not her sister’s tutor or the son of her mom’s friend who is going to Harvard. I can’t describe how happy that made me feel. I really felt like jumping up and down in excitement. I can’t recall the last time that happened. I don’t even have a crush on this girl.
We always tell our friends not to change. It’s true that life and people around us make us change but I think more difficult than resisting that change is presenting our true selves to others. Shakespeare is famous for saying all human beings are actors in life. It’s true because we may know who we are deep inside, but we must learn how to transmit our real identities to other people through social interaction. Even if we do become good actors, however, others may still form distorted views of who we are. This is best illustrated by a case in which many people can look at one event and interpret it differently. Because of their background and personalities, they judge one’s actions and words in a unique way. As a result, they form different impressions of other people.
We may be confident with our personalities, beliefs, and moral values, but revealing them to new people we meet is another matter. It takes not only courage and initiative but also time. It takes time to truly get to know someone, and once we are fully understood by our new acquaintances – and accepted for who we are – then we experience that inexplicable joy of both belonging to a larger community and understanding we are unique individuals.
K I'm done preaching.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Road Trip
There is so much I have been waiting to write in here, but the lull of summer keeps drawing me back. Now there’s about two and a half weeks of summer left. There are moments these days when a vague excitement rises in me, and I begin looking forward to college despite knowing too well I am more nervous about it than anything. I think it started when I got my room assignments. I will be rooming with three other people in a three-room suite, among them a fellow from Zimbabwe. His middle name is Happy. It will be my first time meeting anyone from Zimbabwe, and I figure it will be his first time meeting anyone from Southern California, maybe even his first time meeting an Asian. Hopefully I will make a good first impression.
These next series of posts will be dedicated to some of the major highlights of my summer thus far, starting with my road trip to Big Sur and Monterey Bay.
Never mind that some of the trails in Big Sur were closed due to last year’s forest fire, that the Monterey Bay Aquarium did not actually have all the exhibits listed on its web site, or that planning the four-day trip was a mo’fucking hassle. This was a legit road trip, and my perception of how great it was will only sweeten as time passes. Seth, Charlie, Peter, and Erik: thanks for an amazing time.
1st DAY: Started out at 11:30 a.m. [Seth] Drove the 5 ½ hours to our lodging, Carmel Mission Inn in Carmel-by-the-sea. Stopped along the way to refill gas and grab Jack-in-the-Box. On a two-way, two-lane freeway, we were stuck behind a single European mother driving a navy blue jeep, which was stuck behind an unjustly large white square trailer. Cheered on the single mother to make the bold pass while no cars came in the other lane. After much craning of her neck, the mother overcame her fear, possibly adopted an attitude of cruel nihilism, and made the brave maneuver, which we executed moments later (on both the mother and the trailer). Miles up ahead, we faced a similar challenge: tired of tailgating a sluggish transport truck, we attempted a pass and came too close to crashing with the vehicle in the other lane because the trucker suddenly saw it as a symbolic battle of masculinity and sped up like a goddamn bastard.
Checked into Carmel Mission Inn at around 6. Enjoyed the 37’’ flat screen TV but did not enjoy getting my ass kicked in Halo. I come from the generation of Super Mario Bros and Dick Tracy so I didn’t stand a chance. Video games these days are too realistic. The fluid camera control, graphical precision, and painstaking ordeal of aiming before shooting make me feel like I’m really there. That must’ve been the case because the real me flinched every time the fake me got shot.
Had dinner at Tommy’s Wok, a Chinese cuisine. Before I describe the meal, I must explain something about Carmel-by-the-sea. Everything there is small and short. Street signs are at least half a foot lower than the ones in my neighborhood.
And there are many shops and restaurants lining the streets, but the catch is, you must find them first. They are not only crowded into small spaces but some of them are also located behind the single visible layer of stores lining the streets (that second layer is not visible on the next street over). Tourists must find street parking – which is very hard because there are apparently more cars than people in Carmel – and then carefully probe each nook and cranny to find dining.
It took us about 15 minutes to find Tommy’s Wok. We were exploring what seemed like a small alley that ran perpendicular to the sidewalk of the main street and at last we spotted the welcoming sign. The restaurant didn’t list its capacity but I would say any more than 20 people would’ve jeopardized the fire escape procedures. The entire restaurant was probably the size of a Sorrento home’s backyard. Maybe smaller. When the five of us walked in together, the waiter and manager both seemed bewildered. They acted as if they had never accommodated such a large group before. We saw an empty table for four and next to it, another empty table for two. Put four and two together, and you have six seats. The manager, though, seemed too baffled by the situation to see this easy solution, and instead told us to return in 15 minutes until the arrangements were ready. I think he just needed to compose himself.
The food? Quite delicious. We tried the chow mein, Orange chicken, duck, and a fourth dish I can’t remember, and they were all worthy of the compliments listed on the traveler’s guide. Surprisingly good Chinese food in an area with no Asians at all.
2nd DAY: Drove down highway 1 to Big Sur. It’s the scenic road, of course, and the overlooks of the ocean and inlets after every turn were breathtaking. In the morning, fog and cloud cast a gloomy shadow on the waters but in our return trip later in the afternoon, the sun gave the ocean an entirely new character. We hiked about three or four miles in Big Sur. It was disappointing that some trails leading to vista points were closed, but we were too tired by the end of the day to try another trail anyway. We did reach one vista point, and the view of the forests for miles around was awesome. The fresh air and smell of trees never get old. On our drive back, we stopped along the highway because the ocean was ridiculously blue. It’s funny that it was my first time seeing the real color of the ocean, the color an ocean is supposed to be. The vast majestic blueness (uninterrupted save for little cute rock islands) and the sun-bathed meadows that hug the coastline made for an amazing panorama.
For lunch, we had soggy Subway sandwiches. I had come up with the idiotic idea (any idea sounds fucking brilliant when you first think of it) of trying to preserve the sandwiches we bought in the morning with ice, and the ice melted and soaked the sandwiches.
Dinner was better for pretty much all of us except Erik. We went to Club Jalapeno, a dimly lit bar and restaurant that, well, didn’t actually resemble a club in any way or form. In fact, they gave us red non-reusable plastic cups for water, which are usually found at Mexican family get-together’s at your nearest public parks. Anyway, the reason Erik didn’t enjoy his dinner is that he’s a risk-taker. He ordered the House Specialty, an enchilada with the “Oaxacan mole” sauce. The rest of us had thought about getting it too but we didn’t know what it would taste like. And that can yield either a very pleasant result or a downright shitty one. In Erik’s case, the latter. Oaxaca is a southeastern region of Mexico that was initially occupied by Zapotec people, lovers of the chili pepper and tomato, which are the two fundamental ingredients of mole sauce. After watching the mole sauce’s effects on Erik, I now understand why the Zapotec people were so easily conquered. It was easy to see from his first bite that he detested the taste of it. But curiously, as Erik miserably consumed spoonful after spoonful, his very vitality seemed to be slipping from him. He became languid and sluggish, his speech slurred, and his eyes rolled about lazily. Erik seemed to clear up a bit after drinking water, but he is now a mole hater for life.
3rd DAY: Had some difficulty in finding Cottage Restaurant, our pick for breakfast. But the search was worth it because all of us, including Erik, enjoyed our meals. Their specialty was a kind of fat sausage called “Baby bangers”. The kindly old white lady who took our orders seemed to be aware of the unfortunate name and simply referred to them as “bangers.”
We went to Monterey Bay Aquarium. To be honest, the size of their collection disappointed me. I was expecting to see more exotic species, especially because they were mentioned on the aquarium website. What made up for it, though, was the series of astonishingly large fish tanks that reminded me of ocean’s and mother nature’s vastness.
Giant sea bass and tuna look even more intimidating when they have space to move about. Schools of fish are also extensively featured at Monterey Bay; there is one tank in the shape of a giant glass ring full of busy conforming masses of sardines.
My favorite creature was this sand crab that hides in burrows under the sediment floor and then tragically flounders in seemingly uncontrolled motion as it rises upward. It reminded me of Hau on the basketball court.
After going through all the exhibits, we went out to a kind of boardwalk that overlooks the ocean. The aquarium is located right at the edge of the coast, and we could see the water for miles around. We spotted a small colony of seals and otters basking atop some jutting rocks in the warm afternoon sun. They were lazy sons of bitches and shifted their weight uncomfortably as the tide started rolling back. One seal, positioned on its side, strained to lift its head above the water even as the rest of its body was nearly submerged. I am tempted to say it is something Kevin Yoon would do, but I know it’s not true. He would say to his comrades, “Hey bro, it’s time to move to higher rocks” and then with surprising nimbleness and that quick triumphant smile of his, find a more permanent abode.
Dinner was at Persian Grill. Coming in, we had huge expectations because we had read rather a scintillating review: “ZOMG. BEST. LAMB. EVAR.” Now I should’ve known better than to trust a human being who uses “zomg”, but I have a soft side for lamb and so did the rest of the guys. The restaurant interior certainly looked legit. On the walls hung drawings of ancient gods and buildings, gilded with glorious gold, and subtle spices and fragrances formed visions of ancient Persia in our minds (I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. I don’t even know where Persia was/is.) When it came to ordering, I actually ended up not getting lamb because it was a bit pricey. I ordered chicken instead, and Seth, Erik, and Peter got lamb. Charlie got something else. When our dishes arrived, though, they were very much similar in a surprising way. One side of the oval plates was adorned by a single layer of meat. Mathematically speaking, the total surface area taken up by the meat would be about 15%. The rest of the dish? Rice. Rice and rice and rice. There must’ve been a rice factory in the kitchen with Oompa loompas running giant chaffing machinery. The restaurant could feed all the starving children in North Korea, and it would still have rice left over to help children in the South. If this was an accurate representation of ancient Persians’ diet… then we know why Persia doesn’t exist anymore. Just kidding. But I am not kidding when I say I have not seen so much rice before. And I eat rice every day.
There was another surprise waiting for us, however. The man who ate the most rice out of all of us was… Seth. The American. He finished all of his rice. And then Peter’s leftovers. And then my leftovers. That man is a beast. I’m glad someone finished his rice because I wanted to see if there was a congratulatory note hidden under the mountain of rice. There wasn’t.
4th DAY: We come home! Seth draws power from the 2 tons of rice he devoured the previous day and drives for another 6 hours straight.
Epic.
These next series of posts will be dedicated to some of the major highlights of my summer thus far, starting with my road trip to Big Sur and Monterey Bay.
Never mind that some of the trails in Big Sur were closed due to last year’s forest fire, that the Monterey Bay Aquarium did not actually have all the exhibits listed on its web site, or that planning the four-day trip was a mo’fucking hassle. This was a legit road trip, and my perception of how great it was will only sweeten as time passes. Seth, Charlie, Peter, and Erik: thanks for an amazing time.
1st DAY: Started out at 11:30 a.m. [Seth] Drove the 5 ½ hours to our lodging, Carmel Mission Inn in Carmel-by-the-sea. Stopped along the way to refill gas and grab Jack-in-the-Box. On a two-way, two-lane freeway, we were stuck behind a single European mother driving a navy blue jeep, which was stuck behind an unjustly large white square trailer. Cheered on the single mother to make the bold pass while no cars came in the other lane. After much craning of her neck, the mother overcame her fear, possibly adopted an attitude of cruel nihilism, and made the brave maneuver, which we executed moments later (on both the mother and the trailer). Miles up ahead, we faced a similar challenge: tired of tailgating a sluggish transport truck, we attempted a pass and came too close to crashing with the vehicle in the other lane because the trucker suddenly saw it as a symbolic battle of masculinity and sped up like a goddamn bastard.
Checked into Carmel Mission Inn at around 6. Enjoyed the 37’’ flat screen TV but did not enjoy getting my ass kicked in Halo. I come from the generation of Super Mario Bros and Dick Tracy so I didn’t stand a chance. Video games these days are too realistic. The fluid camera control, graphical precision, and painstaking ordeal of aiming before shooting make me feel like I’m really there. That must’ve been the case because the real me flinched every time the fake me got shot.
Had dinner at Tommy’s Wok, a Chinese cuisine. Before I describe the meal, I must explain something about Carmel-by-the-sea. Everything there is small and short. Street signs are at least half a foot lower than the ones in my neighborhood.
And there are many shops and restaurants lining the streets, but the catch is, you must find them first. They are not only crowded into small spaces but some of them are also located behind the single visible layer of stores lining the streets (that second layer is not visible on the next street over). Tourists must find street parking – which is very hard because there are apparently more cars than people in Carmel – and then carefully probe each nook and cranny to find dining.
It took us about 15 minutes to find Tommy’s Wok. We were exploring what seemed like a small alley that ran perpendicular to the sidewalk of the main street and at last we spotted the welcoming sign. The restaurant didn’t list its capacity but I would say any more than 20 people would’ve jeopardized the fire escape procedures. The entire restaurant was probably the size of a Sorrento home’s backyard. Maybe smaller. When the five of us walked in together, the waiter and manager both seemed bewildered. They acted as if they had never accommodated such a large group before. We saw an empty table for four and next to it, another empty table for two. Put four and two together, and you have six seats. The manager, though, seemed too baffled by the situation to see this easy solution, and instead told us to return in 15 minutes until the arrangements were ready. I think he just needed to compose himself.
The food? Quite delicious. We tried the chow mein, Orange chicken, duck, and a fourth dish I can’t remember, and they were all worthy of the compliments listed on the traveler’s guide. Surprisingly good Chinese food in an area with no Asians at all.
2nd DAY: Drove down highway 1 to Big Sur. It’s the scenic road, of course, and the overlooks of the ocean and inlets after every turn were breathtaking. In the morning, fog and cloud cast a gloomy shadow on the waters but in our return trip later in the afternoon, the sun gave the ocean an entirely new character. We hiked about three or four miles in Big Sur. It was disappointing that some trails leading to vista points were closed, but we were too tired by the end of the day to try another trail anyway. We did reach one vista point, and the view of the forests for miles around was awesome. The fresh air and smell of trees never get old. On our drive back, we stopped along the highway because the ocean was ridiculously blue. It’s funny that it was my first time seeing the real color of the ocean, the color an ocean is supposed to be. The vast majestic blueness (uninterrupted save for little cute rock islands) and the sun-bathed meadows that hug the coastline made for an amazing panorama.
For lunch, we had soggy Subway sandwiches. I had come up with the idiotic idea (any idea sounds fucking brilliant when you first think of it) of trying to preserve the sandwiches we bought in the morning with ice, and the ice melted and soaked the sandwiches.
Dinner was better for pretty much all of us except Erik. We went to Club Jalapeno, a dimly lit bar and restaurant that, well, didn’t actually resemble a club in any way or form. In fact, they gave us red non-reusable plastic cups for water, which are usually found at Mexican family get-together’s at your nearest public parks. Anyway, the reason Erik didn’t enjoy his dinner is that he’s a risk-taker. He ordered the House Specialty, an enchilada with the “Oaxacan mole” sauce. The rest of us had thought about getting it too but we didn’t know what it would taste like. And that can yield either a very pleasant result or a downright shitty one. In Erik’s case, the latter. Oaxaca is a southeastern region of Mexico that was initially occupied by Zapotec people, lovers of the chili pepper and tomato, which are the two fundamental ingredients of mole sauce. After watching the mole sauce’s effects on Erik, I now understand why the Zapotec people were so easily conquered. It was easy to see from his first bite that he detested the taste of it. But curiously, as Erik miserably consumed spoonful after spoonful, his very vitality seemed to be slipping from him. He became languid and sluggish, his speech slurred, and his eyes rolled about lazily. Erik seemed to clear up a bit after drinking water, but he is now a mole hater for life.
3rd DAY: Had some difficulty in finding Cottage Restaurant, our pick for breakfast. But the search was worth it because all of us, including Erik, enjoyed our meals. Their specialty was a kind of fat sausage called “Baby bangers”. The kindly old white lady who took our orders seemed to be aware of the unfortunate name and simply referred to them as “bangers.”
We went to Monterey Bay Aquarium. To be honest, the size of their collection disappointed me. I was expecting to see more exotic species, especially because they were mentioned on the aquarium website. What made up for it, though, was the series of astonishingly large fish tanks that reminded me of ocean’s and mother nature’s vastness.
Giant sea bass and tuna look even more intimidating when they have space to move about. Schools of fish are also extensively featured at Monterey Bay; there is one tank in the shape of a giant glass ring full of busy conforming masses of sardines.
My favorite creature was this sand crab that hides in burrows under the sediment floor and then tragically flounders in seemingly uncontrolled motion as it rises upward. It reminded me of Hau on the basketball court.
After going through all the exhibits, we went out to a kind of boardwalk that overlooks the ocean. The aquarium is located right at the edge of the coast, and we could see the water for miles around. We spotted a small colony of seals and otters basking atop some jutting rocks in the warm afternoon sun. They were lazy sons of bitches and shifted their weight uncomfortably as the tide started rolling back. One seal, positioned on its side, strained to lift its head above the water even as the rest of its body was nearly submerged. I am tempted to say it is something Kevin Yoon would do, but I know it’s not true. He would say to his comrades, “Hey bro, it’s time to move to higher rocks” and then with surprising nimbleness and that quick triumphant smile of his, find a more permanent abode.
Dinner was at Persian Grill. Coming in, we had huge expectations because we had read rather a scintillating review: “ZOMG. BEST. LAMB. EVAR.” Now I should’ve known better than to trust a human being who uses “zomg”, but I have a soft side for lamb and so did the rest of the guys. The restaurant interior certainly looked legit. On the walls hung drawings of ancient gods and buildings, gilded with glorious gold, and subtle spices and fragrances formed visions of ancient Persia in our minds (I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. I don’t even know where Persia was/is.) When it came to ordering, I actually ended up not getting lamb because it was a bit pricey. I ordered chicken instead, and Seth, Erik, and Peter got lamb. Charlie got something else. When our dishes arrived, though, they were very much similar in a surprising way. One side of the oval plates was adorned by a single layer of meat. Mathematically speaking, the total surface area taken up by the meat would be about 15%. The rest of the dish? Rice. Rice and rice and rice. There must’ve been a rice factory in the kitchen with Oompa loompas running giant chaffing machinery. The restaurant could feed all the starving children in North Korea, and it would still have rice left over to help children in the South. If this was an accurate representation of ancient Persians’ diet… then we know why Persia doesn’t exist anymore. Just kidding. But I am not kidding when I say I have not seen so much rice before. And I eat rice every day.
There was another surprise waiting for us, however. The man who ate the most rice out of all of us was… Seth. The American. He finished all of his rice. And then Peter’s leftovers. And then my leftovers. That man is a beast. I’m glad someone finished his rice because I wanted to see if there was a congratulatory note hidden under the mountain of rice. There wasn’t.
4th DAY: We come home! Seth draws power from the 2 tons of rice he devoured the previous day and drives for another 6 hours straight.
Epic.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Hm Love
Summer's been very relaxing. Even after recovering from the effects of Grad Night, I have gone on napping binges this first week and a half of vacation, as if I am compensating for all the sleep I've lost during my six years at Oxford. The greatest part about this summer is that there is no summer homework. As I've come to find out, those assignments are hardly worth any worry - and don't count for much of your grade anyway - but even my favorite escapist outlets like Madden 2003 and Kobe highlights on Youtube failed to shove unfinished Lively Art of Writing assignment out of my head last year. In the middle of breaking off on a 20-yd run with Michael Vick, I would be reminded of the elements of the full thesis, and that immediately deflated my excitement. Anyway, I am looking forward to my first stress-free summer in a long while.
One of my goals is to stop being so laid back. I've been wondering whether the label of Southern Californians as carefree and nonchalant is true, and all I can say for sure is that it seems an accurate description of me and people I know. It can be usually seen in the simple things in our daily lives: answering e-mails, returning phone calls, hanging out with friends, eating lunch together. There have been too many times when a friend sent me an IM while I was away, and I conveniently forgot to get back to the person. Too many times I've forgotten to reply to e-mails, too many times I've replied "maybe" to a friend's invitation and not given an update, too many times I've come late to a gathering because I had "something else going on." In some ways, I think Oxford has worsened my problem. Because there is so much work to do and so many deadlines to keep track of, we seek some sort of leeway and moments in unthinking vegetative state in other areas of life. But of course, that's no excuse, and I have to keep in mind that forgetting my obligations may make my life easier but other people's lives hell. I am going to start making sure that I am more prompt, organized, and respectful of others.
And well, the other reason I mention this is, you figure this is the sort of thing you have to master before you pursue something like, oh, let's say love. If you think about it, love and relationships are all about commitment and obligations. Especially if you are a guy. Aside from tasks like showing up to dinner on time and returning your girlfriend's calls (usually a wise thing to do), women expect you to respect the way they do things, to listen to their discourse on life, and make personal sacrifices for "us". This isn't anything unusual; any time you coexist with someone, you naturally learn to yield and compromise for the other person. Now I would imagine this dramatically ratchets up in intensity once you get married, and thus the reason why I'm planning to choose cohabitation instead.
But while we're on the subject of love... I keep wondering if it exists or not - even though the question doesn't really have a practical application. I used to think I was in love. I liked a girl for something like 3 years, and I thought the relative permanence of it made it special. At the time I appreciated her for who she was. But then things didn't work out and then I went through the coping period. The refractory period, if you will. But then a couple months later, I felt ready to "love" someone else. What the fuck was going on? That was when I started questioning love.
I tend to believe that what we call love is actually lust in disguise, an attraction that serves a biological purpose. Is there a way to tell the difference between love and lust? Many people who claim to be in love defend their feeling by saying they appreciate their significant other's personality rather than appearance. But just because an attraction runs deeper than skin, it doesn't mean an upgrade to love is warranted. Lust is a device for both survival and perpetuation of self through offspring, and finding someone with a suitable personality seems to aid both. In other words, personality is a factor that increases a partner's appeal just like wealth or good looks, and I see true love transcending any appeal of sorts.
I will, however, defend love for the following reasons. First, just because human beings are animals and share the same primitive instincts, it doesn't prove we are able to channel only the biological attraction associated with animals. We do have a more complex nervous system, one that has seemingly made religion and morals possible. Love could be another exclusive creation of our brain (but of course, so could be our psychological need to craft a word such as love). Secondly, many people have portrayed love as a kind of spiritual redemption, a definition that I honestly like. By learning to love another, human beings are able to reconcile with their own shortcomings and moral failures, and they come closer to achieving that permanent peaceful state of mind and knowledge of self that are so elusive yet desirable. They dedicate their lives to elevating the soul of their significant other, and doing so is emotionally and psychologically fulfilling.
As you may imagine, me being a soulless bitch and all, I have never personally experienced this however much I appreciate the definition. If this definition were true, though, it would be possible - and deemed necessary, in my opinion - to love more than one person in your lifetime. That's because presumably, it would take time and experience to learn to love someone properly. But that makes me wonder, does everyone have an opportunity to practice this kind of love and undergo spiritual redemption? I would think you would need to find a significant other who presents that opportunity for redemption. In Marilynne Robinson's Gilead and Bernard Malamud's Magic Barrel, the two authors hint that one needs to be have suffered to take part in this redeeming love. So does that mean love cannot be possible between people who don't understand suffering? Also, I wonder if one would need to have prior knowledge of this definition of love to even know to seek it in life. Without the aid of religious teachings or works like Gilead guiding us along in this journey, is it even possible to conceive of the deeper love? Is this love natural - and necessary - like language?
It's hot nowadays.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Graduation and Grad Night
I came home from grad night at 6 in the morning today and slept until 4 p.m., which is two hours ago. What a crazy two days.
A brief summary:
Senior Breakfast: Scrambled eggs and potatoes a.k.a. the entire meal minus bacon were terrible. But the senior video and open mic part 2 made up for it. An's speech was hm humbling and Jennifer Choi was hilarious as usual. I got the "most likely to take over the world with intelligence, wit, and humor" class award along with a package of army men. I think if I took over the world, the first thing I would do is demand my own massage parlor and then visit different parts of the world. For some reason, I keep thinking I would like multiple concubines but I wouldn't know what to do with them.
Graduation: I was anxious for no particular reason. I'm glad I didn't sign up for a speech because I would've been too nervous to deliver it properly, and the people who did deliver speeches did an awesome job. Jake and James provided a great opening punch with their interplay, which started with Kanye West's "Amazing." Peter was sincere and poised, Lauren humble and proud, and Anaoshak ooh'ed the crowd with his slight at the basketball team record (I heard Meloche praise the placement and rhetorical efficacy of the comment afterward).
After the ceremony, I took a lot of pictures with friends and tried to smile as often as possible. It felt good to shake hands and give them a pat on the back. And then I took some pictures with my entire family, which I hadn't done in many, many years.
Grad Night: I used to play mini golf quite frequently so I enjoyed reliving those memories. My putting skill was still intact and I sank several shots from the edges of the course. Erik Carpio lost something like four balls in a row because he tried to hit some of the props (lighthouse, windows of a mansion, etc). I played laser tag for the first time and it was ok. I wish the system kept track of my kills and deaths for bragging rights, but it was still pretty fun to run around sniping people. The whole maze setting with the pulsating music was entertaining. Arcade games were kind of boring just because I don't really enjoy racing or shooting games, and I also sucked at the mini bowling. I find it troubling that I can't even roll a ball straight.
The highlight of the night/morning was undoubtedly the hypnotist. One of the first things he said when he introduced himself was that he was a certified professional. I laughed because that's like saying you are certified in kicking ass or being a bitch, but I was intrigued nevertheless because I had never seen a "live hypnosis show" as he called it. I actually thought about volunteering for the heck of it but I figured I couldn't be hypnotized without a chemical aid. When the show finally started, the guy droned on and on about relaxing and going to sleep. Deeper and deeper, your worries and problems are melting away, blah blah that shit. Surprisingly, Kathleen was out in maybe two minutes. She was slumped forward with her head hanging down. Most of the volunteers- Rachel Burley, Boawen, Gerard, Peter Nguyen, and of course Albert- were not hypnotized but they decided to stay up there anyway and go along with it. Albert's acting was hilarious.
The two people that I confidently believed would not be hypnotized, however, did. Jake and Vaibhav. The hypnotist told Jake to make sure no one laughs, and he started getting angry at all of us. He was completely serious the whole time and took care of the situation the way I would expect him to in real life. I know he was not acting because knowing him, he would not have been able to hold back his laughter. Then in another sequence, the hypnotist told the volunteers to laugh at everything he said as if it were the funniest thing they had ever heard. Jake laughed the way he normally does - and even said out loud "what a funny motherfucker" - but there were clearly signs of derangement or an unnatural compulsion of sort. As for Vaibhav, when the hypnotist pretended to give out lottery tickets for a $80 mil jackpot, he started crying when he realized he hadn't won. And when told to show off a new Ferrari to a hot girl, he put on some hilariously grotesque face expressions I had never seen before.
Anyway while all of this was absolutely hilarious for the most part, I couldn't help feeling uneasy and at some moments, terrified by my friends' behavior. The thought of being able to control somebody like that is frightening. I still stick with my belief, though, that it is possible to "fight off" hypnosis by remaining skeptical and alert.
A brief summary:
Senior Breakfast: Scrambled eggs and potatoes a.k.a. the entire meal minus bacon were terrible. But the senior video and open mic part 2 made up for it. An's speech was hm humbling and Jennifer Choi was hilarious as usual. I got the "most likely to take over the world with intelligence, wit, and humor" class award along with a package of army men. I think if I took over the world, the first thing I would do is demand my own massage parlor and then visit different parts of the world. For some reason, I keep thinking I would like multiple concubines but I wouldn't know what to do with them.
Graduation: I was anxious for no particular reason. I'm glad I didn't sign up for a speech because I would've been too nervous to deliver it properly, and the people who did deliver speeches did an awesome job. Jake and James provided a great opening punch with their interplay, which started with Kanye West's "Amazing." Peter was sincere and poised, Lauren humble and proud, and Anaoshak ooh'ed the crowd with his slight at the basketball team record (I heard Meloche praise the placement and rhetorical efficacy of the comment afterward).
After the ceremony, I took a lot of pictures with friends and tried to smile as often as possible. It felt good to shake hands and give them a pat on the back. And then I took some pictures with my entire family, which I hadn't done in many, many years.
Grad Night: I used to play mini golf quite frequently so I enjoyed reliving those memories. My putting skill was still intact and I sank several shots from the edges of the course. Erik Carpio lost something like four balls in a row because he tried to hit some of the props (lighthouse, windows of a mansion, etc). I played laser tag for the first time and it was ok. I wish the system kept track of my kills and deaths for bragging rights, but it was still pretty fun to run around sniping people. The whole maze setting with the pulsating music was entertaining. Arcade games were kind of boring just because I don't really enjoy racing or shooting games, and I also sucked at the mini bowling. I find it troubling that I can't even roll a ball straight.
The highlight of the night/morning was undoubtedly the hypnotist. One of the first things he said when he introduced himself was that he was a certified professional. I laughed because that's like saying you are certified in kicking ass or being a bitch, but I was intrigued nevertheless because I had never seen a "live hypnosis show" as he called it. I actually thought about volunteering for the heck of it but I figured I couldn't be hypnotized without a chemical aid. When the show finally started, the guy droned on and on about relaxing and going to sleep. Deeper and deeper, your worries and problems are melting away, blah blah that shit. Surprisingly, Kathleen was out in maybe two minutes. She was slumped forward with her head hanging down. Most of the volunteers- Rachel Burley, Boawen, Gerard, Peter Nguyen, and of course Albert- were not hypnotized but they decided to stay up there anyway and go along with it. Albert's acting was hilarious.
The two people that I confidently believed would not be hypnotized, however, did. Jake and Vaibhav. The hypnotist told Jake to make sure no one laughs, and he started getting angry at all of us. He was completely serious the whole time and took care of the situation the way I would expect him to in real life. I know he was not acting because knowing him, he would not have been able to hold back his laughter. Then in another sequence, the hypnotist told the volunteers to laugh at everything he said as if it were the funniest thing they had ever heard. Jake laughed the way he normally does - and even said out loud "what a funny motherfucker" - but there were clearly signs of derangement or an unnatural compulsion of sort. As for Vaibhav, when the hypnotist pretended to give out lottery tickets for a $80 mil jackpot, he started crying when he realized he hadn't won. And when told to show off a new Ferrari to a hot girl, he put on some hilariously grotesque face expressions I had never seen before.
Anyway while all of this was absolutely hilarious for the most part, I couldn't help feeling uneasy and at some moments, terrified by my friends' behavior. The thought of being able to control somebody like that is frightening. I still stick with my belief, though, that it is possible to "fight off" hypnosis by remaining skeptical and alert.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Graduation
So tomorrow is graduation. It's ridiculous how quickly time passed. I can honestly remember my first day at Oxford like it were yesterday. Well not all of it but I remember coming home exhausted and having to take a nap. And then the next five years are a blur in my memory. Junior year was painfully long and so was much of this year but it's all over. I think many people will agree that it's unexpectedly a bittersweet feeling. As close as I've felt to my classmates, I was never really fond of Oxford and wanted to move on to college as soon as possible but I think I will actually miss this place. For me, the only thing that matters now about my past six years is the people I've met. I'm going to try hard to keep in touch with these people. Talking to my old friends and hearing what they are up to is one of the few things that gets me excited.
Let's see, senior week was pretty fun. At Sunset, it was nice to hear from a lot of people during open mic, and nice to hear that most of them leave with positive memories of Oxford. Thanks to Boawen, Tara, and Charlie for the letters - I will keep those in a safe place. At Senior Recess, I relived my semi-childhood days with a game of Jailbreak. I never knew a volleyball court is the perfect arena for this. The net is just high enough that you can reach up and drop the ball but it also allows the opposing player enough time to get it if he's quick enough. And at Senior Drive-In, I played some basketball with the guys. Highlights included me blocking Dho and Will Nguyen, Kristin actually joining us for a game, and then a halfcourt shootout with very very large stakes that was actually never agreed upon (not consensual). Anyway good opportunities to bond with fellow classmates.
This just occurred to me. Me leaving Oxford with an overall positive impression feels similar to forgiving someone. On paper, my experience at Oxford isn't probably all that great. But just as you inevitably forgive your friend's bitchass behavior, you somehow learn to soften and let things pass, perhaps even feel good about it. I am not too sure if this coping mechanism is a good thing. On one hand, it is helpful to not dwell on bad memories and stagnant relationships. But on the other, you are lying to yourself. You reinterpret your experiences with a bias, a bias not simply resulting from the fact that you are living your life and thus tend to look at things a certain way, but a bias intended to make good come out of bad. What your friend did is wrong, and you have every right to spurn them. It is your friend who should feel bad about the whole situation, not you. But you end up forgiving the person anyway whether it takes days, months, or years. Justice is not served. But oh well, justice is rarely served anyway.
Let's see, senior week was pretty fun. At Sunset, it was nice to hear from a lot of people during open mic, and nice to hear that most of them leave with positive memories of Oxford. Thanks to Boawen, Tara, and Charlie for the letters - I will keep those in a safe place. At Senior Recess, I relived my semi-childhood days with a game of Jailbreak. I never knew a volleyball court is the perfect arena for this. The net is just high enough that you can reach up and drop the ball but it also allows the opposing player enough time to get it if he's quick enough. And at Senior Drive-In, I played some basketball with the guys. Highlights included me blocking Dho and Will Nguyen, Kristin actually joining us for a game, and then a halfcourt shootout with very very large stakes that was actually never agreed upon (not consensual). Anyway good opportunities to bond with fellow classmates.
This just occurred to me. Me leaving Oxford with an overall positive impression feels similar to forgiving someone. On paper, my experience at Oxford isn't probably all that great. But just as you inevitably forgive your friend's bitchass behavior, you somehow learn to soften and let things pass, perhaps even feel good about it. I am not too sure if this coping mechanism is a good thing. On one hand, it is helpful to not dwell on bad memories and stagnant relationships. But on the other, you are lying to yourself. You reinterpret your experiences with a bias, a bias not simply resulting from the fact that you are living your life and thus tend to look at things a certain way, but a bias intended to make good come out of bad. What your friend did is wrong, and you have every right to spurn them. It is your friend who should feel bad about the whole situation, not you. But you end up forgiving the person anyway whether it takes days, months, or years. Justice is not served. But oh well, justice is rarely served anyway.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Prom
When my dad dropped me off at the empty parking lot next to Park Prive, I felt sick to the stomach for an odd reason. I had a pretty bad ache like I was reliving my appendicitis but the parallel that came to mind at the time was Roy Hobbs in The Natural. I was like Roy crouched next to the bed with naked Memo, doubled up in strange pain and falling into some abyss.
The first person I saw when I finally found my way to the party was Mr. Williams. He seemed confused that I was both arriving late and bent over in pain. Seeing him relieved me though. I also got to meet his girlfriend who was a very nice lady. I wonder if Mr. Williams is nervous about proposing to her. They already seem settled down like a married couple and would complement each other well.
I walked into the dining room and saw some different foods laid out on the table. Mostly veggies. The consensus of the people I talked to was that the food was horrible. John Suh wanted me to quote him saying, "I feel like a rabbit." The dessert also disappointed many because they were expecting cheesecake and instead got these small cookie things.
I apologize for my vanity but I made the biggest fashion statement among the guys. My new Air Force One's. Lots of people complimented them including Mr. Hoshi and two waitresses. Will Nguyen dusted off my shoes twice. As for the girls, many of them had picked out pretty cool dresses. Kelsy's and Katia's looked good.
My biggest complaint about the whole event was that there was no refreshment table. I wanted to mostly sit and drink, and they offered me neither. I also complained about their iced tea initially but after taking a couple more sips, it got better. Like girls at the club.
Considering how spacious the entire venue was, the dance floor was minuscule. People forced their way in as close to the middle of the pulsating mass as possible, and they floundered about, rubbing elbows and other parts. Compared to the dance at COSMOS - and dances at other high schools - it was pretty clean, though. People were in good spirits despite the crowded quarters, and the DJ seemed to be playing the right songs. If he played some DJ Premier or 9th Wonder though, who knows, I might have gotten in on the action.
I mostly chilled out with a glass on top of the giant rock behind the dance floor. I felt sluggish for much of the event and frankly that rock was the only place outside I could sit and watch the moving appendages.
As I lay there, I kept trying to observe and find something interesting about the whole affair so I could find an angle to my article but I couldn't do it. Instead, I kept thinking about myself. Somewhere along the way, I had a revelation about why I did not ask her to the dance. She was the only person I could have asked. If I had gone with anyone else, I would've had to greet her with a smile or polite hello as we catch each other's eye at the dinner table or run into each other on the dance floor. And as I dance with my date (who, many people tell me, would simply be a "cool friend" I enjoy spending time with), I would feel the pang of the other's absence streaked with envy, disappointment, and guilt for feeling so. So not only would I feel dissatisfied, but I would also ruin my date's night in more ways than those prescribed by my usual behavior.
So what if I did ask her? And managed to convince her friends beforehand that I was a worthy partner for the night, posed no threat to her current and future reputation, and could do a decent job of making it all fun for her? That would've been a good way to start. But there is no end in sight. What can I possibly accomplish by taking her to prom? We may become closer friends, which is what my logic wants. But I would soon be overwhelmed by the flowering of that tormenting emotion that is impossible to predict or control. If I had a great time with her at prom, it may have pushed me over the edge. Ruined my last two weeks of school. The Roy Hobbs parallel somewhat applies here?
I wrote this post hoping I would discover an article idea but this is fail. I wish I had a basketball court at my house.
Friday, May 22, 2009
So, Band-Aid was today. Overall I enjoyed the show (it was my first concert experience haha), and I thought the bigger lineup worked out well even though some parts dragged a little. Some notes:
-I didn't realize how popular AJ Rafael was. I had never heard of him until today. And I didn't understand why the audience broke into cheers during the first song. He was taking parts from different songs maybe? Anyway I felt like a parent at a Disney movie.
-Kris Mark's singing voice was several pitches above the average male voice frequency and never came down. His speaking voice, though, was much much lower.
-PushPushPull. I had a hard time appreciating their music because I kept getting distracted by the dude on the guitar wearing the U-neck shirt. I had never seen anything like it. It was more like a tanktop than anything else. He was clearly the "pull" in the trio.
-Seriously. The other rock band in the show. The guy that immediately caught my attention was the violinist. But uh he quickly abandoned his instrument and descended into the depths of heavy rock, also wearing less and less clothing as the performance went on. Lead singer was enthusiastic to say the least.
-Poreotics. I didn't understand why so many people headed for the exits after AJ Rafael's number. I mean it's not like a Laker game where you have to beat the L.A. traffic. Where's the love? But the dance trio handled all of it well and delivered a great performance.
Yesterday the most ridiculous thing happened. A FML-worthy event. And Sarah Kim told me it's my blog-worthy event so now I am writing about it. We were having an after-school snack party / bonding event for Math Club. I went to Mrs. Gibb in the main office during lunch to order three medium one-topping pizzas at Dominos. I was planning to call them to place the order but when I went on their website to get the number, I saw that they had an online order option so I decided to give it a try. Once I got to the toppings page, I made a crucial mistake - I followed their directions correctly. Too correctly. I literally picked only one topping for each pizza. See the thing was, under the toppings, there was "cheese" and "sauce". Thinking they were extra toppings, I did not select them. Wrong. My friends in Math Club, upon opening the pizza boxes, were greeted to the horrifying sight of desolate bread mass sprinkled with dessicated meats. No cheese or sauce. Domino's got my order exactly right. But now here are my arguments why Domino's is in the wrong:
1) There is only one "cheese" option under the toppings. Meaning if that is indeed referring to the "basic cheese" present in every goddamn pizza, I am unable to order cheese as a topping.
2) "Sauce", the way Domino's defines it, is not a topping. The tomato sauce does not go on top of the pizza... so it's not a topping.
3) Pizza without sauce or cheese is not pizza. Period. Did they really think that someone would pay to eat the crust? I ordered pepperoni and Italian sausage so clearly I am not vegan. C'mon guys, learn to use your noggins.
4) There was no option for "bread" but they gave me bread. So obviously they believe a pizza has fundamental, inalienable rights that are quite obvious. Bread/crust being one of them. Sauce and cheese being the others they conveniently disregarded.
Breaking news:
MoNkEyfAcE917 (12:32:22 AM): when are you gonna blog about the pizza? haha
MoNkEyfAcE917 (12:32:31 AM): i was just reading your latest post
Surk14 (12:32:36 AM): i just finished writing it actually
MoNkEyfAcE917 (12:32:51 AM): ohhh
MoNkEyfAcE917 (12:32:57 AM): wow what coincidence
Coincidence indeed.
-I didn't realize how popular AJ Rafael was. I had never heard of him until today. And I didn't understand why the audience broke into cheers during the first song. He was taking parts from different songs maybe? Anyway I felt like a parent at a Disney movie.
-Kris Mark's singing voice was several pitches above the average male voice frequency and never came down. His speaking voice, though, was much much lower.
-PushPushPull. I had a hard time appreciating their music because I kept getting distracted by the dude on the guitar wearing the U-neck shirt. I had never seen anything like it. It was more like a tanktop than anything else. He was clearly the "pull" in the trio.
-Seriously. The other rock band in the show. The guy that immediately caught my attention was the violinist. But uh he quickly abandoned his instrument and descended into the depths of heavy rock, also wearing less and less clothing as the performance went on. Lead singer was enthusiastic to say the least.
-Poreotics. I didn't understand why so many people headed for the exits after AJ Rafael's number. I mean it's not like a Laker game where you have to beat the L.A. traffic. Where's the love? But the dance trio handled all of it well and delivered a great performance.
Yesterday the most ridiculous thing happened. A FML-worthy event. And Sarah Kim told me it's my blog-worthy event so now I am writing about it. We were having an after-school snack party / bonding event for Math Club. I went to Mrs. Gibb in the main office during lunch to order three medium one-topping pizzas at Dominos. I was planning to call them to place the order but when I went on their website to get the number, I saw that they had an online order option so I decided to give it a try. Once I got to the toppings page, I made a crucial mistake - I followed their directions correctly. Too correctly. I literally picked only one topping for each pizza. See the thing was, under the toppings, there was "cheese" and "sauce". Thinking they were extra toppings, I did not select them. Wrong. My friends in Math Club, upon opening the pizza boxes, were greeted to the horrifying sight of desolate bread mass sprinkled with dessicated meats. No cheese or sauce. Domino's got my order exactly right. But now here are my arguments why Domino's is in the wrong:
1) There is only one "cheese" option under the toppings. Meaning if that is indeed referring to the "basic cheese" present in every goddamn pizza, I am unable to order cheese as a topping.
2) "Sauce", the way Domino's defines it, is not a topping. The tomato sauce does not go on top of the pizza... so it's not a topping.
3) Pizza without sauce or cheese is not pizza. Period. Did they really think that someone would pay to eat the crust? I ordered pepperoni and Italian sausage so clearly I am not vegan. C'mon guys, learn to use your noggins.
4) There was no option for "bread" but they gave me bread. So obviously they believe a pizza has fundamental, inalienable rights that are quite obvious. Bread/crust being one of them. Sauce and cheese being the others they conveniently disregarded.
Breaking news:
MoNkEyfAcE917 (12:32:22 AM): when are you gonna blog about the pizza? haha
MoNkEyfAcE917 (12:32:31 AM): i was just reading your latest post
Surk14 (12:32:36 AM): i just finished writing it actually
MoNkEyfAcE917 (12:32:51 AM): ohhh
MoNkEyfAcE917 (12:32:57 AM): wow what coincidence
Coincidence indeed.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
A couple weeks ago, while walking to the park in the evening, I discovered a pretty amazing sight - a sitting hummingbird. Because my mom has a sprawling garden in our patio, I have been able to see the hummingbird quite often since I moved into the apartment, but I had never seen one sitting on a tree branch. It was quite tiny, and I would have missed it if I had not seen it flying about from the distance. The sun was setting, and the bird sat on a high thin branch of a lemon tree that curled toward the hues of crimson and blue - it was really a beautiful sunset. As I went up closer, I saw that the bird's head was constantly twitching from side to side, probably keeping a lookout for a sneaky predator. I knew hummingbirds take these short breaks throughout the day because they use up so much energy when they fly, but I started wondering what that bird was thinking. Which thoughts would be within the hummingbird's intellectual capacity? It could be complaining to itself about how the life of flying for a bit and having to rest is fucked up. Especially if the bird is getting old and doesn't qualify for Social Security or Medicare. Well, maybe not complaining but animals often plan ahead to increase their chances of survival, and they could be thinking about their next flight already. Maybe the bird was thinking about its potential soulmate. It knows that the hottie hummingbird dining on daisy nectar on the next block (probably of Latin American origins) already has other suitors who are far superior, but he can't stop thinking about her. I mean those guys can stay in the air longer, drink more nectar than he can, and make cooler buzzing noises, but who knows? She may find his russet feathers attractive. All he knows is that he has to get married soon so that he can pass on his genes to his sons and daughters. Or maybe the bird was just admiring the sunset. He has a better view if he decides to fly, but then he would have to do a hurried corkscrew routine to make sure some cheap bitchass crow isn't waiting to devour him. Sitting on the tree branch would be much safer, and besides, the fragrance of lemons just gives off the right vibe for these things. A hummingbird sitting on the tree branch just chillin' out. Someone please roll up a blunt for this fellow.
Recently, I've fallen in love with massage. I've become stiff and inflexible over oh the last six years or so, and a lot of tension's built up in my back and neck. My temporary solution has been to ask Jonathan Chang for massages. That man knows how to give a proper massage. He is naturally gifted with strong, firm hands (reads like a WR scouting report), but his true prowess lies in his thumbs. Once he finds the stress spots, he presses gently and then makes graceful circles with varying force that really loosen the muscle up. After about a minute or two, I feel 15 years younger. All my worries and wants have disappeared, and endorphins surge from my pituitary gland. But I know I can't always go to Jonathan for massages because giving massage is a pretty tiring activity so I've been trying to find time to go to an official massage parlor. There are a few parlors around here, and I've researched prices and everything, but for some reason I can't muster the will to go. Part of the reason is that I have developed sort of an idealized vision of the massage parlor. Beautiful exotic women dressed in theme clothing (how much does the wild jungle mode cost?), fragrance of mango and perfumes satiating my senses, candles lit next to the massage bed... my god, a happy ending bitches! (Ok I am joking about the happy ending, completely serious about the rest) So for now, I have opted to watch youtube videos of other people getting massaged. I try my best to live vicariously but the pleasure just isn't the same.
Two days ago when Mai Anh and I finally finished working on our latest issue of The Gamut and went to press, it was about 9:30 p.m. I walked out of the English building through the back door toward the basketball courts and the soccer field, and it was completely dark except for the lights of houses. For a second, looking out at the vast field, I thought I was at the beach. The line where blacktop meets the grass reminded me of the edges of waves, and the night breeze had a salty, smoky incense to it. If you think about it, the presence of night is really an arbitrary thing. It just so happened that this planet Earth rotates around the Sun the way it does, and sometimes there is light where you are standing and sometimes there isn't. And it just so happened that life is possible on this planet, and humans are living on it. Now there is such a thing called nightlife, all because the two arbitrary conditions aligned. Somewhere else in the universe, other creatures are waiting for the bimonthly explosion of the natural Hennessy volcano. And the volcano shall spew in accordance with a lurid aurora borealis...
A GilbertArenas-esque announcement: I don't think I'm going to prom. Want to avoid the hassle and the bullshit.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Dream
Wow I don't update this often. But I just had this strange dream and thought I should share it with you:
I am at some woman's house and I see two fish tanks. One tank is ginormous and has one big stingray along with some small fishies. The second one has piranhas. I notice that the water level in one of the tanks is too high and I tell that to the woman. Then before I know it, all the fish are gone in both tanks. The woman explains she will follow my advice, but she also wants to renovate the tanks. Then I see the stingray out of its tank and I start panicking. As the woman prepares the ginormous tank, I look through this pamphlet that shows how to place the stingray back into the water once it has been out of the water. There are at least ten different scenarios and ten different ways to place the stingray back into the water. I finally find the right one and am overjoyed to see the stingray breathe in the water. For a long time, I admire the stingray inside the fish tank (I am inside the fish tank and underwater but can somehow breathe.) The woman comes inside the tank and starts creating these mounds on the tank floor. Then she places strips of kimchi on each mound, and I ask her why. She says it's food for the stingray, and I laugh my ass off even in the dream. I tell her that there needs to be finer sand for the stingray at the bottom of the tank and suddenly the finer sand materializes. The tank is complete. Next I find myself walking to the tennis courts at Central Park. I am pushing this cart that has my tennis racket on top along with the stingray. The courts are full and I patiently wait. A guy playing tells me some dude just cut me in line for the tennis courts. I look back and see a Latino guy who is also waiting. The guy playing confronts the Latino guy about it and I don't remember how it is resolved. I look back again and then I see Kie and James, the two instructors over at TSI Academy. James admires the stingray and tries to appease my fears that it has been out of the water for too long. At this time, I am panicking because I fear the stingray will die so I rush home and put it back in the tank. The end.
Here's the parts of the dream that I can account for:
-Aquarium/stringray: While talking to Joseph Chung yesterday, I realized that my dream job is to become an aquarium curator. I also just enjoy thinking about fish and other marine creatures. Recently I have been thinking about getting an aquarium.
-Layers of kimchi: My subconscious craving for my cultural food?
-Fine sand: On Friday, I examined the sand of the baseball field at Oxford and was impressed how... fine it was.
-Latino guy at tennis courts: My subconscious fear that I am inherently at a disadvantage in my pursuit of Latinas?
-Kie: I have repeatedly associated Kie with Stewwie Griffin, and I happened to watch a snippit of the Family Guy Show last night.
Haha does anybody want to offer a different interpretation of the dream?
I am at some woman's house and I see two fish tanks. One tank is ginormous and has one big stingray along with some small fishies. The second one has piranhas. I notice that the water level in one of the tanks is too high and I tell that to the woman. Then before I know it, all the fish are gone in both tanks. The woman explains she will follow my advice, but she also wants to renovate the tanks. Then I see the stingray out of its tank and I start panicking. As the woman prepares the ginormous tank, I look through this pamphlet that shows how to place the stingray back into the water once it has been out of the water. There are at least ten different scenarios and ten different ways to place the stingray back into the water. I finally find the right one and am overjoyed to see the stingray breathe in the water. For a long time, I admire the stingray inside the fish tank (I am inside the fish tank and underwater but can somehow breathe.) The woman comes inside the tank and starts creating these mounds on the tank floor. Then she places strips of kimchi on each mound, and I ask her why. She says it's food for the stingray, and I laugh my ass off even in the dream. I tell her that there needs to be finer sand for the stingray at the bottom of the tank and suddenly the finer sand materializes. The tank is complete. Next I find myself walking to the tennis courts at Central Park. I am pushing this cart that has my tennis racket on top along with the stingray. The courts are full and I patiently wait. A guy playing tells me some dude just cut me in line for the tennis courts. I look back and see a Latino guy who is also waiting. The guy playing confronts the Latino guy about it and I don't remember how it is resolved. I look back again and then I see Kie and James, the two instructors over at TSI Academy. James admires the stingray and tries to appease my fears that it has been out of the water for too long. At this time, I am panicking because I fear the stingray will die so I rush home and put it back in the tank. The end.
Here's the parts of the dream that I can account for:
-Aquarium/stringray: While talking to Joseph Chung yesterday, I realized that my dream job is to become an aquarium curator. I also just enjoy thinking about fish and other marine creatures. Recently I have been thinking about getting an aquarium.
-Layers of kimchi: My subconscious craving for my cultural food?
-Fine sand: On Friday, I examined the sand of the baseball field at Oxford and was impressed how... fine it was.
-Latino guy at tennis courts: My subconscious fear that I am inherently at a disadvantage in my pursuit of Latinas?
-Kie: I have repeatedly associated Kie with Stewwie Griffin, and I happened to watch a snippit of the Family Guy Show last night.
Haha does anybody want to offer a different interpretation of the dream?
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Summer Song
So I've been watching some Dr. Phil lately. My snack time falls around 4 p.m., and there's really nothing good on TV since I don't have cable. Now, I've made fun of Dr. Phil in the past, but man, you have to watch the show to really get a feel for this guy. I understand a talk show based on giving advice to people is bound to be limited. You can only say so many original things to people on the show. But Dr. Phil takes it to the next level. He spends the first 30 minutes of the show exploring the facts of the case. Once he begins talking to the guests about their problems, he not only throws around platitudes like "You need to take control of your own life," but also harasses victims of the circumstances with childish questions. A few weeks ago, he invited three women who, despite being cheated on and abused by their partners, could not move on with their lives. Dr. Phil spent most of the time restating the facts of the case in a dramatic and disbelieving manner, relentlessly interrogating the women why they wanted to stay with their husbands. Now we all know that the women's behavior is irrational. This is nothing knew- we get it. What Dr. Phil needs to do is provide a supportive public forum where by confronting new questions, the victims can reevaluate their situation. They are on the show because they need concrete and detailed advice on getting out of their mess, not because they want to be bullied in front of a live audience.
Speaking of battered women, it really gets me when I hear about Latinas getting abused. It seems to be a cultural thing in Latin America. Males are supposed to be super macho, and it's acceptable for them to boss around the females. Girls grow up thinking it is natural to be mistreated and beaten by males, or they tell themselves they will resist the trend but somehow they end up in the same fate. You can even see it here as early as junior high or high school. Now if you consider the socioeconomic situation of many of these women/girls along with other social and psychological roadblocks so prevalent in their immigrant experience, it becomes clear that their chances of succeeding are handicapped. It's not a stereotype- facts are facts. I guess this is one reason why I am drawn to Latinas. I want so badly to see them break the trend in their families and rise against the odds. It is so empowering to see individuals work hard for their dreams and be rewarded what they deserve. So what does this have to do with my romantic exploits? Well, I could help out by tutoring the Latina on SAT's... that would be rewarding and romantic. Do I sound imperialistic?
I always talk about how old I am. Being 19, I have indeed seen much of the world and experienced a lot of things. But what makes me feel old is mainly this strange trait that has taken hold in me. I hardly feel any emotions anymore. My sensory neurons seem to still fire fairly quickly to external stimuli (my amazing sense of smell) but my emotional response to things has been somehow muted. There are many times in my life when I experience something and think to myself what I should be feeling logically. But the act of feeling is usually delayed or suppressed. Or it's just not as apparent as it used to be. This has been frustrating mainly because I have been making conscious efforts to "live it up" this year. I have tried to spend more quality time with friends and try new things. Yet I have found that none of it really makes me happy. I mean I can look back at the times and say "I had fun" but in truth the memories are dim and all I can remember is the passage of time. My first ever visit to Disneyland on my 19th birthday, for example. I was really looking forward to it because it's the happiest place on Earth and I had never been there. And when I got there, I can't say it disappointed me, but I just felt very empty (later I got really dizzy and sick but that was the deadly combination of teacup ride and turkey leg.) I can't really describe what it was, other than the fact that I couldn't get myself to be excited about it. I really hope it's not apathy. I really hope I don't have an icebox where my heart used to be.
Oh but one thing: that foolish infatuation thing is still in play apparently.
And now to finish my post, here are some lyrics from the song "Summer Song" by Atmosphere. It's quite amazing.
The sun is shining but I'm in the shadow of my smirk
I keep my breathin under my breath
Tucked within the untrimmed bushes next to her front steps
And when she leaves to make trek towards the bus stop
My love erupts (POPS) a thousand tiny blood clots
Damn I wish that she was mine but time and time over the discretion
On my right shoulder whispers to my ear
Advising me to admire from way over here, play the rear
And struggle for the view to clear
It's been 2 years and quite a few beers
Too many loose tears and a few souveniers
And if she only knew, how long I've waited for her
How her smiles enough to make my winter warmer
If she knew the way she walks could take away my storm
She'd probably call the cops and get a restraining order
As much as I hate myself, I hate you more
But I still smile when you come through that door
And as much as I hate my life, I hate yours too
Just can't seem to teach myself to ignore you
This is for the ladies, not every lady
Just the ones that drive me crazy, the ones that scream SAVE ME
Speaking of battered women, it really gets me when I hear about Latinas getting abused. It seems to be a cultural thing in Latin America. Males are supposed to be super macho, and it's acceptable for them to boss around the females. Girls grow up thinking it is natural to be mistreated and beaten by males, or they tell themselves they will resist the trend but somehow they end up in the same fate. You can even see it here as early as junior high or high school. Now if you consider the socioeconomic situation of many of these women/girls along with other social and psychological roadblocks so prevalent in their immigrant experience, it becomes clear that their chances of succeeding are handicapped. It's not a stereotype- facts are facts. I guess this is one reason why I am drawn to Latinas. I want so badly to see them break the trend in their families and rise against the odds. It is so empowering to see individuals work hard for their dreams and be rewarded what they deserve. So what does this have to do with my romantic exploits? Well, I could help out by tutoring the Latina on SAT's... that would be rewarding and romantic. Do I sound imperialistic?
I always talk about how old I am. Being 19, I have indeed seen much of the world and experienced a lot of things. But what makes me feel old is mainly this strange trait that has taken hold in me. I hardly feel any emotions anymore. My sensory neurons seem to still fire fairly quickly to external stimuli (my amazing sense of smell) but my emotional response to things has been somehow muted. There are many times in my life when I experience something and think to myself what I should be feeling logically. But the act of feeling is usually delayed or suppressed. Or it's just not as apparent as it used to be. This has been frustrating mainly because I have been making conscious efforts to "live it up" this year. I have tried to spend more quality time with friends and try new things. Yet I have found that none of it really makes me happy. I mean I can look back at the times and say "I had fun" but in truth the memories are dim and all I can remember is the passage of time. My first ever visit to Disneyland on my 19th birthday, for example. I was really looking forward to it because it's the happiest place on Earth and I had never been there. And when I got there, I can't say it disappointed me, but I just felt very empty (later I got really dizzy and sick but that was the deadly combination of teacup ride and turkey leg.) I can't really describe what it was, other than the fact that I couldn't get myself to be excited about it. I really hope it's not apathy. I really hope I don't have an icebox where my heart used to be.
Oh but one thing: that foolish infatuation thing is still in play apparently.
And now to finish my post, here are some lyrics from the song "Summer Song" by Atmosphere. It's quite amazing.
The sun is shining but I'm in the shadow of my smirk
I keep my breathin under my breath
Tucked within the untrimmed bushes next to her front steps
And when she leaves to make trek towards the bus stop
My love erupts (POPS) a thousand tiny blood clots
Damn I wish that she was mine but time and time over the discretion
On my right shoulder whispers to my ear
Advising me to admire from way over here, play the rear
And struggle for the view to clear
It's been 2 years and quite a few beers
Too many loose tears and a few souveniers
And if she only knew, how long I've waited for her
How her smiles enough to make my winter warmer
If she knew the way she walks could take away my storm
She'd probably call the cops and get a restraining order
As much as I hate myself, I hate you more
But I still smile when you come through that door
And as much as I hate my life, I hate yours too
Just can't seem to teach myself to ignore you
This is for the ladies, not every lady
Just the ones that drive me crazy, the ones that scream SAVE ME
Saturday, March 14, 2009
The Wait is Over
It's been over three months since my last update, the longest hiatus yet, and ironically it started just as I was finishing up my college apps and the first semester of senior year. I thought once those two things were done, my life would be free and full of new opportunities. But really, my life hasn't been any less hectic or busy than before, if not more hectic and busier. I guess it really is true that life is all about the process and not the end product. Kind of depressing since I like the end product. Anyway, here's a recap of some interesting events that happened over last three months:
-Science Bowl Competition: For some strange reason, competitions have been some of my most treasured memories in high school. The academic decathlon award ceremony can't be topped, but Science Bowl was just as fun. Each of us specialized in a subject: Edwin and David Tran covered physics (Edwin also specialized in all other sciences), Joaquin Astronomy, David Le Biology, and I got Math. And despite finishing 3-2, we really rocked it. We answered a lot of questions and showed great improvement from last year. I truly believe if Santa Monica, last year's National Champion, weren't in our group, we would've gotten a lot farther in the competition. But it was good nevertheless.
The best part of it all was the study sessions prior to the competition. We took turns hosting the party (it really was) on Friday nights, practicing with sample question sets online and then usually eating afterward. I got to know the members much better, and it was just fun to make science jokes with people who understood.
-Journalism competition: Thanks to Meloche not checking his old e-mail after his departure, we nearly missed registration for our annual competition. Actually we did miss registration but by an incredible series of events, we managed to locate the contest organizer and register a week after the deadline. And we ended up winning first place overall for the first time ever, with the majority of our writers placing in the Top 10. It was really an amazing showing, and I couldn't be prouder of our staff. I mean Troy had won something like six out of the last ten years, and there were lots of other tough competitors in Division I including Sunny Hills and El Toro. But we triumphed!
-Regular journalism stuff: For me, The Gamut this year could be best described as frustrating. It's sad because I had so much anticipation for our paper, so many ambitions. I thought I would have a lot of time in my senior year, and I could work more closely with writers to improve their skills, help them create compelling work. I feel I am not spending enough time to do these things yet I am constantly fighting for time. I am not sending edits back quickly enough, and I am also letting the writers struggle with stories instead of offering detailed suggestions and advice... Really frustrating but I don't know if I could've done anything differently. Overall, I really enjoy interacting with our staff and from this point on, I just hope we could bond more.
-Playing basketball with Ashish: Ashish decided to get rid of the swimming pool in his backyard and move his basketball court there. His backyard is pretty spacious and now he has a decent court. On weekends I've had more time to play basketball with him, and it's been good just catching up and talking while shooting hoops. It's actually a pretty scenic spot, and we can see the sunset, though you know, that kind of moment is better spent with your soulmate.
One interesting incident, though, was when Ashish and I decided to go play basketball at Miller Elementary one evening. It was getting really dark so that the rim was almost impossible to distinguish, and then we saw this girl approaching us from the back. She was a Latina, which was an intriguing fact at the time, but as she came closer, I noticed she looked about 12 or 13. She said, "Hey guys, how are you doing?" and at that moment, I was thinking two things: 1) she wanted to play basketball with us 2) she wanted to buy/sell/do something else with weed. I don't know why weed came up as an option, but after the girl left, Ashish said the same thing so maybe it was not such an irrational thought.
Anyway, it turned out that her slightly out-of-shape younger brother was stuck in the kindergarten playground. He had jumped over the fence (lol) to enter the playground but after playing for hours, he had apparently exhausted his energy and could not jump back. The siblings wanted to go home but the brother was stuck. I found this pretty fucking hilarious, especially because the youngest sister was climbing the fence back and forth to try to teach her brother. But technique or no technique, 9.8m/s^2 was relentlessly pulling him down. So I came up with the brilliant idea of removing the youngest sibling from the stroller, raising the stroller over the fence to the other side, and letting the brother use it as a step to climb over. It worked, we all had a good laugh, and I saved the day.
-Turning 19. My birthday passed uneventfully as I grew another tree ring. It's really hard to wrap my head around how old I am. I mean in another year, I will be 20. 20! In a couple years, that won't be young enough for Dominican baseball prospects. Meanwhile I have to start worrying about paying my bills, preparing grocery lists, eating healthy, and all that stuff. Oh and I have to get married, for god sakes. All I want to do right now is settle down and raise me a family. Or at least start cohabitation. Oh, and I'm also ready for a divorce.
There are many more things I want to talk about, but since this post has already run too long, I will briefly talk about the movie Watchmen before I forget. If you haven't watched it yet, don't read further.
I have never been too comfortable about superhero movies carrying didactic or philosophical statements. To me, the two just don't go together. I watch superheroes to see their awesome mutant powers and superhuman abilities. I don't want the movie to lead me to questions about who is really the good or the bad guy or whether the superhero should continue using the powers. I have reality to pose those questions on a daily basis. And to be honest, I haven't seen any good superhero movie that manages to deliver both good action and philosophical material. That's because you can only go so far with a false premise, a plotline already so detached from the reality that those bigger picture musings just sound downright silly or ludicrous.
That's precisely the problem with Watchmen. The ending was maddening. You let a mass murderer go free because why? Because he cared about the overall good? First of all, it's a shaky assumption that just because the society can place the blame for its problems on someone (Dr. Manhattan), it will be able to maintain a long-term stability and peace. But even if that were true, it is still inexcusable to let Ozymandias go free. Mass murder is not something you can condone, something you can "compromise" in Rorschach's words. You cannot justify the Holocaust. You cannot justify child rape. There are hard and fast rules governing criminal behavior in today's society, and thank god they are there. Unfortunately, the only character who seems to agree with me, Rorschach, gets blown up by the multi-penis god.
The Watchmen seems to suggest that if you have a honest and believable reason for doing something, it's justified. The Comedian wanted to satirize life. He understood that human nature is savage, and thus he lived as the hyperbolic representation of human savagery. He killed the Vietnamese woman who bore his son and nearly raped Silk Spectre's mother because he understood! He knew better than anyone else how evil humans could become! So does that justify his behavior? No. Imagine if today's society tolerated such actions. Who can say what is for the overall good of the human race, and at what cost? Giving the human race too much credit can be very dangerous.
-Science Bowl Competition: For some strange reason, competitions have been some of my most treasured memories in high school. The academic decathlon award ceremony can't be topped, but Science Bowl was just as fun. Each of us specialized in a subject: Edwin and David Tran covered physics (Edwin also specialized in all other sciences), Joaquin Astronomy, David Le Biology, and I got Math. And despite finishing 3-2, we really rocked it. We answered a lot of questions and showed great improvement from last year. I truly believe if Santa Monica, last year's National Champion, weren't in our group, we would've gotten a lot farther in the competition. But it was good nevertheless.
The best part of it all was the study sessions prior to the competition. We took turns hosting the party (it really was) on Friday nights, practicing with sample question sets online and then usually eating afterward. I got to know the members much better, and it was just fun to make science jokes with people who understood.
-Journalism competition: Thanks to Meloche not checking his old e-mail after his departure, we nearly missed registration for our annual competition. Actually we did miss registration but by an incredible series of events, we managed to locate the contest organizer and register a week after the deadline. And we ended up winning first place overall for the first time ever, with the majority of our writers placing in the Top 10. It was really an amazing showing, and I couldn't be prouder of our staff. I mean Troy had won something like six out of the last ten years, and there were lots of other tough competitors in Division I including Sunny Hills and El Toro. But we triumphed!
-Regular journalism stuff: For me, The Gamut this year could be best described as frustrating. It's sad because I had so much anticipation for our paper, so many ambitions. I thought I would have a lot of time in my senior year, and I could work more closely with writers to improve their skills, help them create compelling work. I feel I am not spending enough time to do these things yet I am constantly fighting for time. I am not sending edits back quickly enough, and I am also letting the writers struggle with stories instead of offering detailed suggestions and advice... Really frustrating but I don't know if I could've done anything differently. Overall, I really enjoy interacting with our staff and from this point on, I just hope we could bond more.
-Playing basketball with Ashish: Ashish decided to get rid of the swimming pool in his backyard and move his basketball court there. His backyard is pretty spacious and now he has a decent court. On weekends I've had more time to play basketball with him, and it's been good just catching up and talking while shooting hoops. It's actually a pretty scenic spot, and we can see the sunset, though you know, that kind of moment is better spent with your soulmate.
One interesting incident, though, was when Ashish and I decided to go play basketball at Miller Elementary one evening. It was getting really dark so that the rim was almost impossible to distinguish, and then we saw this girl approaching us from the back. She was a Latina, which was an intriguing fact at the time, but as she came closer, I noticed she looked about 12 or 13. She said, "Hey guys, how are you doing?" and at that moment, I was thinking two things: 1) she wanted to play basketball with us 2) she wanted to buy/sell/do something else with weed. I don't know why weed came up as an option, but after the girl left, Ashish said the same thing so maybe it was not such an irrational thought.
Anyway, it turned out that her slightly out-of-shape younger brother was stuck in the kindergarten playground. He had jumped over the fence (lol) to enter the playground but after playing for hours, he had apparently exhausted his energy and could not jump back. The siblings wanted to go home but the brother was stuck. I found this pretty fucking hilarious, especially because the youngest sister was climbing the fence back and forth to try to teach her brother. But technique or no technique, 9.8m/s^2 was relentlessly pulling him down. So I came up with the brilliant idea of removing the youngest sibling from the stroller, raising the stroller over the fence to the other side, and letting the brother use it as a step to climb over. It worked, we all had a good laugh, and I saved the day.
-Turning 19. My birthday passed uneventfully as I grew another tree ring. It's really hard to wrap my head around how old I am. I mean in another year, I will be 20. 20! In a couple years, that won't be young enough for Dominican baseball prospects. Meanwhile I have to start worrying about paying my bills, preparing grocery lists, eating healthy, and all that stuff. Oh and I have to get married, for god sakes. All I want to do right now is settle down and raise me a family. Or at least start cohabitation. Oh, and I'm also ready for a divorce.
There are many more things I want to talk about, but since this post has already run too long, I will briefly talk about the movie Watchmen before I forget. If you haven't watched it yet, don't read further.
I have never been too comfortable about superhero movies carrying didactic or philosophical statements. To me, the two just don't go together. I watch superheroes to see their awesome mutant powers and superhuman abilities. I don't want the movie to lead me to questions about who is really the good or the bad guy or whether the superhero should continue using the powers. I have reality to pose those questions on a daily basis. And to be honest, I haven't seen any good superhero movie that manages to deliver both good action and philosophical material. That's because you can only go so far with a false premise, a plotline already so detached from the reality that those bigger picture musings just sound downright silly or ludicrous.
That's precisely the problem with Watchmen. The ending was maddening. You let a mass murderer go free because why? Because he cared about the overall good? First of all, it's a shaky assumption that just because the society can place the blame for its problems on someone (Dr. Manhattan), it will be able to maintain a long-term stability and peace. But even if that were true, it is still inexcusable to let Ozymandias go free. Mass murder is not something you can condone, something you can "compromise" in Rorschach's words. You cannot justify the Holocaust. You cannot justify child rape. There are hard and fast rules governing criminal behavior in today's society, and thank god they are there. Unfortunately, the only character who seems to agree with me, Rorschach, gets blown up by the multi-penis god.
The Watchmen seems to suggest that if you have a honest and believable reason for doing something, it's justified. The Comedian wanted to satirize life. He understood that human nature is savage, and thus he lived as the hyperbolic representation of human savagery. He killed the Vietnamese woman who bore his son and nearly raped Silk Spectre's mother because he understood! He knew better than anyone else how evil humans could become! So does that justify his behavior? No. Imagine if today's society tolerated such actions. Who can say what is for the overall good of the human race, and at what cost? Giving the human race too much credit can be very dangerous.
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