09.23.07
Today my brother had his first baby. He stayed up probably 30hrs or more from Saturday morning till Sunday early afternoon waiting for the end to come and for the start to begin. I still can’t believe he has a kid now when just yesterday I remember us being kids ourselves. The impact of it all isn’t about the new life that has just arrived for us and not about how he is looking out into the world with different eyes now, but it’s about us being no longer two retarded Asian kids battling out our pathetic whims with our imaginary games and our pretended play wrestlings everyday. It’s about me closing my eyes and seeing just yesterday - what seems so recently for me - of him practicing shooting basketballs and me being jealous of him riding off on his new moped or us at Myrtle Beach swimming or us trying to catch crabs on a bridge somewhere in Charleston, S.C.. We were just kids and now he has a kid himself. He used to create all these imaginary worlds for me when I was little, where I was Fredric Hollings in the army and we would run army drills or battle scenes with our water-filled Windex guns, or when we would play catch and he would create a whole game where the batter would hit the ball and I would be the catcher, and if I missed, he would vocally reel off about how the batter was rounding first and going to second and he would physically run from base to base as if he was the batter running. I would then have to throw it to him as hard as I could, being so small, and he would then automatically turn from being the running batter into the base catcher and would choose my ball’s fate. Exciting times for me were when the bases were loaded and he would throw the ball as high as he could and it was up to me to make it an official out or a huge loss on my end. We used to toss the football around too and played similar scrimmage games with football as we did with baseball, but that was harder to deal with, figuring out how to handle tackles on the asphalt ground, which always tore me up, so we ended just playing catch with the football at the end. We used to play wrestling where I was ‘Nature Boy Rick Flair’ and he would change characters as he felt. Sometimes we would be tag team buddies and we would be the ‘Rock-n-Roll Boys’. We would reenact what we watched on the WWF that previous night. He created all these fantastic worlds for me and I fell into them passionately and wanted it recreated everyday again and again. And we played everyday too. And now, I wonder how he did it all, how he created all those wonderful, imaginary worlds so that everyday it seemed like something new and fun that I never did before. Maybe I was easily convinced or maybe he was just very convincing or maybe he really believed in it like I did and we were really part of a different world when we played. Somehow he never created one where we didn’t win the ball game at the end nor ever created an army battle where we didn’t come out on top. He was either careful not to upset a small child’s fun, or overall, just caring about me and my psychological state. Whatever talent he had creating for me all those wonderful worlds when I was not yet knee high in height, he’s got it in him so that he’s going to create a beautiful world for his new baby girl, Jaela, to live in. And most likely, she will forever cherish it just as I have. He’ll be a good father and I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t cry or get teary eyed when he first laid eyes on her too, as I did when he called me to tell me he was a new father and I’m a new Aunt.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Good Luck Charm
08.21.07
My walk to work is still the same, and each day, I’ve been looking for my favorite bum. About a week and a half ago, he finally showed up sitting on the bridge just as I expected him. He was sitting on the upper end in the shade, very unlike his character based on the other times I’ve seen him last year. He used to sit at the lower end of the bridge basking in the sun as if in total bliss, welcoming the morning sun rays. Now he didn’t look very bliss and sat in the dark shade. He had cuts and sores all over his face, and he was looking at people as they crossed by with sad, pleading eyes. He didn’t look comfortable and didn’t carry that happy glow he used to, but looked on desperately with a mangled, bruised face. Before he sat in the sun and smiled, just enjoying the early morning, not caring about people around him walking about, but just enjoyed being there, alive, and if someone happen to give him some money, all the better for him. There wasn’t ever active begging that took place. That was what made him special. I knew from this situation that this was a bad sign for him and for me. As I walked pass and onwards I could only imagine what catastrophic events would occur in my life now. I always funnel it to job related themes, but it could hit anywhere, anybody, or anything. I’ve seen him now several times, each time with the same desperate look and cut up face that seems to be healing ever so slowly. No more happy, sunshine basking days anymore, and each morning I’m afraid to walk on that side of the street where I know he’ll be on, and I’m relieved when the lights direct me into the other side of the street. I was going to give him twenty bucks at the end when I left the project and Chicago for good because he represented a bum that was content and alive, feeling free, being carefree, and a symbol that everything in life would be okay. If a bum with hardly anything could be content, and be pleased with just being out in the morning sun’s rays, why couldn’t I. He was my charm, my inspirational hope, my morning strength, my morning coffee, my good luck bum. Now I’m terrified of seeing him.
My walk to work is still the same, and each day, I’ve been looking for my favorite bum. About a week and a half ago, he finally showed up sitting on the bridge just as I expected him. He was sitting on the upper end in the shade, very unlike his character based on the other times I’ve seen him last year. He used to sit at the lower end of the bridge basking in the sun as if in total bliss, welcoming the morning sun rays. Now he didn’t look very bliss and sat in the dark shade. He had cuts and sores all over his face, and he was looking at people as they crossed by with sad, pleading eyes. He didn’t look comfortable and didn’t carry that happy glow he used to, but looked on desperately with a mangled, bruised face. Before he sat in the sun and smiled, just enjoying the early morning, not caring about people around him walking about, but just enjoyed being there, alive, and if someone happen to give him some money, all the better for him. There wasn’t ever active begging that took place. That was what made him special. I knew from this situation that this was a bad sign for him and for me. As I walked pass and onwards I could only imagine what catastrophic events would occur in my life now. I always funnel it to job related themes, but it could hit anywhere, anybody, or anything. I’ve seen him now several times, each time with the same desperate look and cut up face that seems to be healing ever so slowly. No more happy, sunshine basking days anymore, and each morning I’m afraid to walk on that side of the street where I know he’ll be on, and I’m relieved when the lights direct me into the other side of the street. I was going to give him twenty bucks at the end when I left the project and Chicago for good because he represented a bum that was content and alive, feeling free, being carefree, and a symbol that everything in life would be okay. If a bum with hardly anything could be content, and be pleased with just being out in the morning sun’s rays, why couldn’t I. He was my charm, my inspirational hope, my morning strength, my morning coffee, my good luck bum. Now I’m terrified of seeing him.
Gnats
08.21.07
The temperature has finally heated up in the city of Chicago, so much that it feels like you’re living in the tropics during monsoon season, and every day threatening to rain hard with endless humidity that makes you feel like a dog had just licked you all over with their sticky, slimy tongue. Each morning I attempt to go for a run to beat the humidity and the on slaughter of the late afternoon showers. Each morning I fail miserably and end up running in the evening’s much loved, humid weather. I end up with bugs stuck all over me which are swimming in all the sweat that can’t evaporate off of me. It’s worse when they start to crawl around your skin and move around your face. You end up picking them off of you while you run and then wonder how many have fallen into your hair. They must be walking about, laying eggs in there. Your scalp starts to itch perhaps by your own imagination of gnats possibly making love with each other using your hair as bedding material. You can’t seem to keep them off of your face and no matter how many you pick off, there will be another bunch that lands on you in a few minutes. There must be a huge platoon nesting in your hair by the end of the run. I swallow at least one each time I go running or accidently inhale one up the nostril. I can't call myself a vegetarian. I have to start all over again.
The temperature has finally heated up in the city of Chicago, so much that it feels like you’re living in the tropics during monsoon season, and every day threatening to rain hard with endless humidity that makes you feel like a dog had just licked you all over with their sticky, slimy tongue. Each morning I attempt to go for a run to beat the humidity and the on slaughter of the late afternoon showers. Each morning I fail miserably and end up running in the evening’s much loved, humid weather. I end up with bugs stuck all over me which are swimming in all the sweat that can’t evaporate off of me. It’s worse when they start to crawl around your skin and move around your face. You end up picking them off of you while you run and then wonder how many have fallen into your hair. They must be walking about, laying eggs in there. Your scalp starts to itch perhaps by your own imagination of gnats possibly making love with each other using your hair as bedding material. You can’t seem to keep them off of your face and no matter how many you pick off, there will be another bunch that lands on you in a few minutes. There must be a huge platoon nesting in your hair by the end of the run. I swallow at least one each time I go running or accidently inhale one up the nostril. I can't call myself a vegetarian. I have to start all over again.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Get-Up-And-Go
03.20.07
Yesterday I joined a crowd protesting the Iraq war down Michigan Avenue in Chicago. It went from Michigan Ave to Wacker and down Clark to the Daley Plaza. I left the crowd when they hit Clark. I wanted to be part of it and wanted to be uplifted in some sort of spirit. I ran towards the crowd to join them, glad that I caught it in time, and hoped I didn’t miss too much that had already passed. It was cold outside and I was still somewhat toasty from my nine mile run outside by the lake. Before I joined them, I went back to my apartment and changed into dry clothes as quickly as I could and darted right back out towards the crowd still heading down Michigan. Helicopters were everywhere taking video shots and probably news broadcasting the whole event. I was monitoring them as I was running north by the lake for the whole hour and fifteen that I was running wondering when the protest would start or break and if I could make it in time, funny how I value my run over the protest and wouldn’t dare consider giving up my run and had to finish it first. The police force was everywhere too. Seems like there was one for every protestor, even though the turn out was about 4000 people marching. Most of them seem to cluster around the banks with shields over their faces, helmets, bulletproof vests, and long black sticks poised. Someone handed me a poster when I stepped into the mass. I took it and held it up. I chanted softly with the few chanters around me who were faint and barely audible like me. I didn’t know what I should be doing, screaming or acting civil. What were the rules? There were a lot of cops around. There must be rules. Life is full of rules and with cops with big, heavy clubs ready, I would have hoped that someone would have explained to me the rules. Have it posted on one of the millions of banners for Christ sakes or something. I could have done something wrong, terrible, and been put in jail! Anyway, Chicago is a city filled with meek people and I was too self absorbed with myself and analyzing the entire event. The people are dead. Rocks have more energy. Yet their buildings are bursting with energy, full of so much strength, beauty, and originality. It gives me chills and freaks me out when I take a good look around me sometimes. You feel like those building are giants possessing some mystical powers as they hover over you. But the people are dead as sticks. Some protestors around me were giving tours to other people around them about which building was what and what they called the street they were on as magnificent mile, etc... People were walking forward only because the person in front of them was walking forward. If the crowd in front came to a stop, they did so as well. It was like watching one of those bad movies where you’re totally out of the movie world and just complaining the whole time about the movie and the unrealistically of the whole thing. I was standing there, walking at crawl pace wondering what I was doing, how was this helping, and wondering if the temperature was really dropping, as it felt like it was with every few feet we moved. I didn’t realize until half way through the march that my sign was upside down too, making the whole dead people in Chicago more deadly real. I wasn’t helping the cause, just embarrassing myself and the entire event. The crowd was depressing to look at only because it was so type categorized and had no real motley feel to it. The majority were either old folks, destitute people, or young hippy groups. These were people you’ll find in one of those reenacted woodstock concerts. The crowd was so foreign to me after spending hours in a corporate office setting with anal ass people with clean cut faces with sharp hair cuts and clothes that looked freshly bought all the time. Even on Fridays, their jeans looked pristine and never scruffy. Almost everyone in the crowd look scruffy or worn down either from age or from poverty. I didn’t feel uplifted or inspirationally changed from the event. I felt pathetic and left the crowd to continue on without me after about 40 minutes in the cold. Maybe I was looking for a riot of energy coming from these people or a riot to join in and get myself put in jail so I’d have a legitimate excuse for missing work tomorrow, but all I got was just zombies walking forward with signs, mine was upside down by the way. There were many of them shouting, some microphoning and raising chants, drums were played, etc., but the overall effect wasn’t right because it was all too low profiled and muffled, like a noise cancelling, filtering screen was placed over the whole event. I know it was a nonviolent protest, but you’ll see the same bunch of people having more passion and displaying more vigor when the SOX won the world series in 2006. That night was filled with people celebrating past 3am honking their horns and screaming like they just contracted mad cow disease. So what’s the difference? No beer this time?
Yesterday I joined a crowd protesting the Iraq war down Michigan Avenue in Chicago. It went from Michigan Ave to Wacker and down Clark to the Daley Plaza. I left the crowd when they hit Clark. I wanted to be part of it and wanted to be uplifted in some sort of spirit. I ran towards the crowd to join them, glad that I caught it in time, and hoped I didn’t miss too much that had already passed. It was cold outside and I was still somewhat toasty from my nine mile run outside by the lake. Before I joined them, I went back to my apartment and changed into dry clothes as quickly as I could and darted right back out towards the crowd still heading down Michigan. Helicopters were everywhere taking video shots and probably news broadcasting the whole event. I was monitoring them as I was running north by the lake for the whole hour and fifteen that I was running wondering when the protest would start or break and if I could make it in time, funny how I value my run over the protest and wouldn’t dare consider giving up my run and had to finish it first. The police force was everywhere too. Seems like there was one for every protestor, even though the turn out was about 4000 people marching. Most of them seem to cluster around the banks with shields over their faces, helmets, bulletproof vests, and long black sticks poised. Someone handed me a poster when I stepped into the mass. I took it and held it up. I chanted softly with the few chanters around me who were faint and barely audible like me. I didn’t know what I should be doing, screaming or acting civil. What were the rules? There were a lot of cops around. There must be rules. Life is full of rules and with cops with big, heavy clubs ready, I would have hoped that someone would have explained to me the rules. Have it posted on one of the millions of banners for Christ sakes or something. I could have done something wrong, terrible, and been put in jail! Anyway, Chicago is a city filled with meek people and I was too self absorbed with myself and analyzing the entire event. The people are dead. Rocks have more energy. Yet their buildings are bursting with energy, full of so much strength, beauty, and originality. It gives me chills and freaks me out when I take a good look around me sometimes. You feel like those building are giants possessing some mystical powers as they hover over you. But the people are dead as sticks. Some protestors around me were giving tours to other people around them about which building was what and what they called the street they were on as magnificent mile, etc... People were walking forward only because the person in front of them was walking forward. If the crowd in front came to a stop, they did so as well. It was like watching one of those bad movies where you’re totally out of the movie world and just complaining the whole time about the movie and the unrealistically of the whole thing. I was standing there, walking at crawl pace wondering what I was doing, how was this helping, and wondering if the temperature was really dropping, as it felt like it was with every few feet we moved. I didn’t realize until half way through the march that my sign was upside down too, making the whole dead people in Chicago more deadly real. I wasn’t helping the cause, just embarrassing myself and the entire event. The crowd was depressing to look at only because it was so type categorized and had no real motley feel to it. The majority were either old folks, destitute people, or young hippy groups. These were people you’ll find in one of those reenacted woodstock concerts. The crowd was so foreign to me after spending hours in a corporate office setting with anal ass people with clean cut faces with sharp hair cuts and clothes that looked freshly bought all the time. Even on Fridays, their jeans looked pristine and never scruffy. Almost everyone in the crowd look scruffy or worn down either from age or from poverty. I didn’t feel uplifted or inspirationally changed from the event. I felt pathetic and left the crowd to continue on without me after about 40 minutes in the cold. Maybe I was looking for a riot of energy coming from these people or a riot to join in and get myself put in jail so I’d have a legitimate excuse for missing work tomorrow, but all I got was just zombies walking forward with signs, mine was upside down by the way. There were many of them shouting, some microphoning and raising chants, drums were played, etc., but the overall effect wasn’t right because it was all too low profiled and muffled, like a noise cancelling, filtering screen was placed over the whole event. I know it was a nonviolent protest, but you’ll see the same bunch of people having more passion and displaying more vigor when the SOX won the world series in 2006. That night was filled with people celebrating past 3am honking their horns and screaming like they just contracted mad cow disease. So what’s the difference? No beer this time?
Monday, March 19, 2007
Chicago Winter
03.19.07
The winter in Chicago was rough. I basically counted my days down while in-flight from Los Angeles to Chicago as to when I would get back to Los Angeles. This coming from someone who hates Los Angeles too! There’s no sun in Chicago or at least 6 hours of it or something like that. During the day you get a hazy grey sky and it’s too damn cold to even think about going outside. You’re cooped up all the time and wondering when mother nature will let up. There were two or three times where I ventured out for a run, desperately needing to get outside. Even though I was extremely careful about the ice patches and walked through them, I still slipped and fell hitting the back of my head on the concrete and then as I came back around fell again in the same damn spot, but this time forwards on my hands. Then I tried nonchalantly to get myself up as if nothing happened and tried my best to retain the look of a professional runner while all the time cursing at the damn snow everywhere and feeling stupid at my attempt to defy a frictionless surface and my stupidity of having premature, good thoughts about outside conditions. There were so many L.A. weekends where I would spend hours outside sitting in the sun, like those sea lions I saw behind the fish market in Chile, just to try to catch up on my sunlight. Every weekend, I made sure to avoided all shady areas as I walked around outside. I’m actually still doing the “avoid shady areas” routine now. It’s counter intuitive for me since I normally avoid being in the direct sunlight, hence the hat and long sleeves all the time. During the summer, I complain endlessly about Los Angeles’ burning sun and force myself to go running at 6-7am to avoid the blazing sun, and no matter what, I can’t cake enough sun block on and somehow end up still getting darker each time. Now all I do is just bask in the sun like a desperate plant. Ironic isn’t it. Then at the low point, I start to question my existence and all that shit, sitting at my work desk asking myself what’s the point and all, and then wondering how much money I need to retire. But then I don’t think I’ll enjoy a retired life either. I picture myself as a retiree. Waking up late, staying up late, eating all my meals late, going to the gym late, playing tennis at night, running at night, reading into the night, only consuming, wouldn’t my brain rot? What I think I need is a change. I need to get onto a different project or something. The galore is all gone here at work. The first year of any project is exciting and challenging, full of unknowns and possibilities, a chance to make great impressions and big changes in a company’s procedures. In about a year, things become routine and you’re on autopilot, doing nothing meaningful but just attending meetings, discussions, and writing emails all day. You start thinking about the world around you and how you’ve totally dropped out of that world. The market has changed, you’ve changed, everything has moved forward and you have not. A year and a half, you’re questioning your value and itching for something new to happen, anything to happen, lightening to strike, anything! After two years, you’re about to slit your wrist from the boredom and mundanity of the entire corporate world and start hating everyone around you, even the innocent ones. (I’m at two years.) Then you look at all the slobs there, who have been with this company for 12 years or have been doing the same shit forever, or worked with this SAP product for two decades now and wonder what the fuck is wrong with them. Don’t they see that this entire thing is rather pathetic? Then it goes a full circle and it comes right back to me. There must be something wrong with me and not them, right? You know, writing this is rather therapeutic, not that I’m getting a light bulb suddenly appearing over my head or anything now, but at least I can attempt to try to figure things out. Anyway, I then start thinking about my family, at least just my dad’s side. It’s inside of me, to do what I do, to continue on and have no reason but just a desire to make money, but no real use for the money at the end, but just to have it and have more of it. Sometimes laziness arises from my mother’s side here and there, actually quite often more than I like, but I understand why my aunts and uncles and my father are the way they are, and hence me. There’s no logic behind it all but just a powerful desire, which I question every so often when I’m bored and have too much time to think. Best not to think right? Kids are in the best situation. They just go about playing with no worries and no responsibilities to fill. Their troubles are fleeting and soon forgotten. Does this all make any sense? I don’t know what I’m saying anymore because what ARE my troubles? I don't think I have any real ones, just mental drama. Think I’m experiencing midlife crisis too soon in my life. I should just focus on the next hour of what I should do and forget about the next year of what I should do. I think I need to go for a run is what I think! Sorry for all this writing. It was entertaining for me at least.
The winter in Chicago was rough. I basically counted my days down while in-flight from Los Angeles to Chicago as to when I would get back to Los Angeles. This coming from someone who hates Los Angeles too! There’s no sun in Chicago or at least 6 hours of it or something like that. During the day you get a hazy grey sky and it’s too damn cold to even think about going outside. You’re cooped up all the time and wondering when mother nature will let up. There were two or three times where I ventured out for a run, desperately needing to get outside. Even though I was extremely careful about the ice patches and walked through them, I still slipped and fell hitting the back of my head on the concrete and then as I came back around fell again in the same damn spot, but this time forwards on my hands. Then I tried nonchalantly to get myself up as if nothing happened and tried my best to retain the look of a professional runner while all the time cursing at the damn snow everywhere and feeling stupid at my attempt to defy a frictionless surface and my stupidity of having premature, good thoughts about outside conditions. There were so many L.A. weekends where I would spend hours outside sitting in the sun, like those sea lions I saw behind the fish market in Chile, just to try to catch up on my sunlight. Every weekend, I made sure to avoided all shady areas as I walked around outside. I’m actually still doing the “avoid shady areas” routine now. It’s counter intuitive for me since I normally avoid being in the direct sunlight, hence the hat and long sleeves all the time. During the summer, I complain endlessly about Los Angeles’ burning sun and force myself to go running at 6-7am to avoid the blazing sun, and no matter what, I can’t cake enough sun block on and somehow end up still getting darker each time. Now all I do is just bask in the sun like a desperate plant. Ironic isn’t it. Then at the low point, I start to question my existence and all that shit, sitting at my work desk asking myself what’s the point and all, and then wondering how much money I need to retire. But then I don’t think I’ll enjoy a retired life either. I picture myself as a retiree. Waking up late, staying up late, eating all my meals late, going to the gym late, playing tennis at night, running at night, reading into the night, only consuming, wouldn’t my brain rot? What I think I need is a change. I need to get onto a different project or something. The galore is all gone here at work. The first year of any project is exciting and challenging, full of unknowns and possibilities, a chance to make great impressions and big changes in a company’s procedures. In about a year, things become routine and you’re on autopilot, doing nothing meaningful but just attending meetings, discussions, and writing emails all day. You start thinking about the world around you and how you’ve totally dropped out of that world. The market has changed, you’ve changed, everything has moved forward and you have not. A year and a half, you’re questioning your value and itching for something new to happen, anything to happen, lightening to strike, anything! After two years, you’re about to slit your wrist from the boredom and mundanity of the entire corporate world and start hating everyone around you, even the innocent ones. (I’m at two years.) Then you look at all the slobs there, who have been with this company for 12 years or have been doing the same shit forever, or worked with this SAP product for two decades now and wonder what the fuck is wrong with them. Don’t they see that this entire thing is rather pathetic? Then it goes a full circle and it comes right back to me. There must be something wrong with me and not them, right? You know, writing this is rather therapeutic, not that I’m getting a light bulb suddenly appearing over my head or anything now, but at least I can attempt to try to figure things out. Anyway, I then start thinking about my family, at least just my dad’s side. It’s inside of me, to do what I do, to continue on and have no reason but just a desire to make money, but no real use for the money at the end, but just to have it and have more of it. Sometimes laziness arises from my mother’s side here and there, actually quite often more than I like, but I understand why my aunts and uncles and my father are the way they are, and hence me. There’s no logic behind it all but just a powerful desire, which I question every so often when I’m bored and have too much time to think. Best not to think right? Kids are in the best situation. They just go about playing with no worries and no responsibilities to fill. Their troubles are fleeting and soon forgotten. Does this all make any sense? I don’t know what I’m saying anymore because what ARE my troubles? I don't think I have any real ones, just mental drama. Think I’m experiencing midlife crisis too soon in my life. I should just focus on the next hour of what I should do and forget about the next year of what I should do. I think I need to go for a run is what I think! Sorry for all this writing. It was entertaining for me at least.
Friday, February 2, 2007
Superbowl Frenzy
02.02.07
What’s going on in the U.S.? Why it's the superbowl this weekend and everyone and their brother should know that! Unfortunately, I have to hear this shit every minute, everywhere I go, even in the bathrooms where I thought it was safe! I'd rather have reconstructive knee surgery than have to put up with this everywhere I go. It's the Chicago bears versus colts and I’ve no freaking clue where the fuck the colts are from. Alls I know is that I'm stuck in Chicago's territory where I can't show any disgust over this overly dramatic event. And of course it's being sponsored by PepsiCo at half time with Prince doing the show. I guess one neat thing is that all the buildings at night are lit up with orange and blue colors and the view from my balcony is wonderfully different than the usual white lights and occasional red, white, and blue patriotic symbolism.
One of my co-workers got a ticket for the game from his roommate who works for the bears and paid face value of $600 bucks. Then the airfare to Miami was $400. Plus hotel, food, everything, I’m sure it all came about $1300 for the whole thing. He goes on and on about it all the time. At a certain point it in the conversation, it struck me that I’ve never met someone who actually went to the superbowl. None of my friends are that retarded. Even they would sell it on eBay for $4000 (what it was going for) if they landed with some tickets, which I would certainly do myself. So I actually told him and others around me that I've never known, in my whole life, a person who actually went to the superbowl. Then I said that I might have to have his autograph. I couldn't really tell them how lame I thought they were because I was really the lame one who stood out of the crowd then, who couldn't feel the excitement nor understand what was so special about the last football game in the season when there would be another one next year and the following year after that. I tried to explain to the girl next to me that my friends aren't into this stuff and really wanted to tell her that they wouldn’t give a rat’s ass, but instead I fumbled around and couldn't give a good reason why without insulting her lifestyle. I don’t remember what I said, but I’m sure I tried my best and still insulted her lifestyle. On the last day, right before I was heading home for the weekend, she sent a team email saying that she and the superbowl guy was going to walk over with their digital cameras and photograph themselves on front of the art institute with the stone lion out in front which had on a Chicago bear’s helmet. Surely they were joking. Later on, they sent a link to everyone so they could see the results of their proudly taken picture. When I got the first email, I accidently said OMG really loudly and blushed for my outwardly, uncontrolled response. At these points in my life, I don’t know whether I ought to cry or laugh.
What’s going on in the U.S.? Why it's the superbowl this weekend and everyone and their brother should know that! Unfortunately, I have to hear this shit every minute, everywhere I go, even in the bathrooms where I thought it was safe! I'd rather have reconstructive knee surgery than have to put up with this everywhere I go. It's the Chicago bears versus colts and I’ve no freaking clue where the fuck the colts are from. Alls I know is that I'm stuck in Chicago's territory where I can't show any disgust over this overly dramatic event. And of course it's being sponsored by PepsiCo at half time with Prince doing the show. I guess one neat thing is that all the buildings at night are lit up with orange and blue colors and the view from my balcony is wonderfully different than the usual white lights and occasional red, white, and blue patriotic symbolism.
One of my co-workers got a ticket for the game from his roommate who works for the bears and paid face value of $600 bucks. Then the airfare to Miami was $400. Plus hotel, food, everything, I’m sure it all came about $1300 for the whole thing. He goes on and on about it all the time. At a certain point it in the conversation, it struck me that I’ve never met someone who actually went to the superbowl. None of my friends are that retarded. Even they would sell it on eBay for $4000 (what it was going for) if they landed with some tickets, which I would certainly do myself. So I actually told him and others around me that I've never known, in my whole life, a person who actually went to the superbowl. Then I said that I might have to have his autograph. I couldn't really tell them how lame I thought they were because I was really the lame one who stood out of the crowd then, who couldn't feel the excitement nor understand what was so special about the last football game in the season when there would be another one next year and the following year after that. I tried to explain to the girl next to me that my friends aren't into this stuff and really wanted to tell her that they wouldn’t give a rat’s ass, but instead I fumbled around and couldn't give a good reason why without insulting her lifestyle. I don’t remember what I said, but I’m sure I tried my best and still insulted her lifestyle. On the last day, right before I was heading home for the weekend, she sent a team email saying that she and the superbowl guy was going to walk over with their digital cameras and photograph themselves on front of the art institute with the stone lion out in front which had on a Chicago bear’s helmet. Surely they were joking. Later on, they sent a link to everyone so they could see the results of their proudly taken picture. When I got the first email, I accidently said OMG really loudly and blushed for my outwardly, uncontrolled response. At these points in my life, I don’t know whether I ought to cry or laugh.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Just Another Weekend
01.21.07
So I spent one entire day on the weekend hanging out with a friend. She seemed down so I tried my best to play the cheerful part. We had a late lunch at a trendy place near Venice beach after some people came to take some pictures of her work at her studio. Actually I ran to her house then to her studio and back to her house, 7 miles total. We went to the Marina Del Ray beach area and hung out some before the sunset. It's a terrible beach with oil tankers in the waters at a distant view and then an industrial plant further down southwardly in the horizon with air planes constantly taking off and flying overhead out of Los Angeles' airport. But she loves the beach and talks fondly of it way too much, so I suggested that we go there hoping that she would temporarily forget whatever was bothering her that day. In between, we drove everywhere looking at some neighborhoods and magnificent houses around the beach. We got back and made dinner over her place after walking down the street to get some groceries at Trader Joe's, and the day ended around 10pm. About 5 years ago she was really down and I wasn't there for her. I didn't think it was a serious thing and didn't think much of it at that time because everyone has their ups and downs, but it was actually something. So ever since then, I feel guilty, too guilty, and spend my time or any opportunity I can to trying to mend what I felt I should have done then.
In addition, this weekend I also found out that I’m going to be an aunt. My brother's wife is pregnant. I’m happy for them since this is what they wanted and planned for. It also freaks me out and makes me feel lightheaded and somehow sickly frighten inside. When I came back from Argentina, Yimei had her second baby, which I was prepared for. But what shocked me more was that my other friend in Vancouver had his second child, which I had no clue about whatsoever. Pictures just came to me and the realization of time passing horrified me. How long can I pretend I’m 22? Will I still be wearing teenage clothes when I’m 40? How the heck did I get so old so fast? Can I find that yellow liquid flask and drink it as they did in Grimus? Somehow I cannot see myself taking the yellow potion. I think if the yellow and blue could be mixed and a green liquid formed allowing prolonged existence but not infinite life forever, I could do a bottoms up on that concoction.
So I spent one entire day on the weekend hanging out with a friend. She seemed down so I tried my best to play the cheerful part. We had a late lunch at a trendy place near Venice beach after some people came to take some pictures of her work at her studio. Actually I ran to her house then to her studio and back to her house, 7 miles total. We went to the Marina Del Ray beach area and hung out some before the sunset. It's a terrible beach with oil tankers in the waters at a distant view and then an industrial plant further down southwardly in the horizon with air planes constantly taking off and flying overhead out of Los Angeles' airport. But she loves the beach and talks fondly of it way too much, so I suggested that we go there hoping that she would temporarily forget whatever was bothering her that day. In between, we drove everywhere looking at some neighborhoods and magnificent houses around the beach. We got back and made dinner over her place after walking down the street to get some groceries at Trader Joe's, and the day ended around 10pm. About 5 years ago she was really down and I wasn't there for her. I didn't think it was a serious thing and didn't think much of it at that time because everyone has their ups and downs, but it was actually something. So ever since then, I feel guilty, too guilty, and spend my time or any opportunity I can to trying to mend what I felt I should have done then.
In addition, this weekend I also found out that I’m going to be an aunt. My brother's wife is pregnant. I’m happy for them since this is what they wanted and planned for. It also freaks me out and makes me feel lightheaded and somehow sickly frighten inside. When I came back from Argentina, Yimei had her second baby, which I was prepared for. But what shocked me more was that my other friend in Vancouver had his second child, which I had no clue about whatsoever. Pictures just came to me and the realization of time passing horrified me. How long can I pretend I’m 22? Will I still be wearing teenage clothes when I’m 40? How the heck did I get so old so fast? Can I find that yellow liquid flask and drink it as they did in Grimus? Somehow I cannot see myself taking the yellow potion. I think if the yellow and blue could be mixed and a green liquid formed allowing prolonged existence but not infinite life forever, I could do a bottoms up on that concoction.
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