059: Cross Your Fingers

Almost every blog I've read has had a post saying something to this effect:

There is something hush-hush I want to write about. But if I do, I may jinx it. So, I'm gonna hold off from writing about it for now. It's really exciting though. It can change my life forever. Just cross your fingers and wish me luck!

Well, here's mine. Wish me luck.

058: I Loves Me A Parade.

Not really.

But, my RED cherry needed popping. Hence I ventured out to check out what this whole hoopla was about. With an ORANGE* in one hand, I left my apartment. With a hop, skip, and a subway ride later, I arrived where it all began. I found a choice real estate on Christopher St. (also known as Stonewall Pl.) and Waverly Pl.—I thought about planting myself on Christopher and Gay, but that just seemed too gay too fast. Although my real estate lacked shades and left me unprotected to the sun's YELLOW rays, I stood right behind the barricade, affording me a great vantage of Lions, Tigers, and Bears, Oh My... I mean, Lezzies, Trannies, and...Bears, Oh My…along with Twinks, Muscle Gods, Brazilians, Leather Men, Go Go Boys, Brazilians… Seriously, I thought Carnival had arrived in New York. Still, I have to admit that I was even more awestruck by the shear number of spectators celebrating Gay Pride Day. Indeed, I can believe New York being called the gay capital of the world.

Now, among the many, many eye candies that went by on the parade, somehow, my eyes fell on a daddy. What a hot, hot, hot daddy! He was in his late thirties, perhaps, and he was holding the cutest baby ever. The baby, while stretching, smacked his dad’s face and the daddy made the cutest face. My heart melted. But then I realized that the baby has another daddy who loves the daddy who stole my heart. (Wow, what an awkward sentence!) And I was GREEN with envy. Then it made me a little BLUE. Not because I wasn’t with the cute daddy, but because I realized that I’ve no one to share this new life of mine with—not that I’m currently looking for a boyfriend, per se… I guess what I’m trying to say is, more than anything, I want a new set of friends who understand intrinsically what I’m currently going through.

So, I had this wonderful idea. I’m going to take applications. Who ever wants to be my new best friend, click here. But wait! I have to warn you, although you would be answering only one question, I need you to think very hard and give a thoughtful answer. Your future destiny, forever entwined with mine, depends on it. Yes, you will have the wonderful pleasure of being a friend to Yours Truly. Yes this package—the neediness, insecurity, borderline neurosis… Yes, yes, yes, all that can be yours to deal with and love. Okay, go on. Click.

In a final note… I hear from a distance a voice. “Hey, you! Hey, you!” I look around, searching for the source, wondering, at the same time, ‘who is he calling out to?’ Then as soon as my eyes meet the face of the source, he shouts, “You’re cute!” I blush. I blush so hard I’m sure I skipped a few shades and went straight to PURPLE.**

Ah, Pride Day.


*Not really. I took a peach, but I couldn't think of anything remotely associated with the color orange during the day. I thought about writing something like "Orange-chu glad..." Like something straight out of a bad knock-knock joke. But that's just lame.
**Okay, I know. You only turn purple when you’re holding your breath and you’re about to pass out. But c’mon, give me some leeway here. It was hard trying to incorporate the colors of the rainbow flag into this poorly written post.

Addendum: Don't you think it'll be cool (please read: lame) for NYC Queer Bloggers to march on the parade as a group? We'll have a float that looks like some coffee shop. We'll get a few baristas and a counter with a big espresso machine; we'll even get Starbucks to sponsor us. While sipping our whatever form of coffees we enjoy... Wait, too hot to sip... while gulping whatever form of frappuccinos we enjoy, we'll do a live blogcast, a minute by minute account of what is happening and how it is making us feel. Some of us will take and post pictures, only of the hotties, of course. By this time next year, podcasting and videocasting will be the new "Black," and we can have so much fun. We'll have a field day... Can't you just imagine?

057: White Shadows

Continuing on from my previous post on finding my Pride. Let me share with you my new anthem.

When I was a young boy I tried to listen
And I wanna feel like that
Little white shadows
Blink and miss them
Part of a system I am

If you ever feel like something's missin'
Things you never understand
Little white shadows
Sparkle and glisten
Part of a system, a plan

All this noise I'm waking up
All this space I'm taking up
All this sound is breaking up

Ohhhh...

Maybe you'll get what you wanted
Maybe you'll stumble upon it
Everything you ever wanted
In a permanent state

Maybe you'll know when you've seen it
Maybe if you say it you'll mean it
And when you find it you'll keep it
In a permanent state
A permanent state

When I was a young boy I tried to listen
Don't you wanna feel like that?
We're part of the human race
All of the stars in the outer space
Part of a system, a plan

All this noise I'm waking up
All this space I'm taking up
I cannot hear, you're breaking up

Ohhhh...

Maybe you'll get what you wanted
Maybe you'll stumble upon it
Everything you ever wanted
In a permanent state

Maybe you'll know when you've seen it
Maybe if you say it you'll mean it
And when you find it you'll keep it
In a permanent state
A permanent state

Swimmin' on a sea of faces
A tide of the human races
Oh an answer now is what I need
See it in the new sun risin'
See it break on your horizon
Oh, come on love, stay with me

- Coldplay

056: "What Have You Done Today...

...to make you feel proud?" - Heather Small

***

I can't cogently explain how yours truly, while rigidly hetero-identified in his early adolescence until just recently, justified to himself his fascination with queer art and entertainment.

Maurice? Yes, it was my first time actually seeing two men in naked embrace, kissing!

Curiosity had got the best of this cat and I wanted to watch movies with a homosexual bent. Back then, these movies to me were avant-garde, indie...something my mother would have had a heart attack if she had caught me watching. And watch I did; whenever Bravo decided to throw in a line-up of gay related cinema, watch I did; just so that I could learn something, learn about these aberrant people, albeit passively, watch I did. Subconsciously, perhaps, I identified myself as being one, hence my wanting to be exposed to gay life shown in cinema. I don’t know. But consciously, I did not and could not identify with the homosexuals; nonetheless, I was fascinated with them: their courage to be themselves regardless of the stigma society attached on their “lifestyle.” Their love was not selfish, but brave, and utterly normal.

If Maurice had shown me the genuineness of love shared between two men (which was only applicable to them, but not me), then Longtime Companion had shown me the reality of pain and suffering the community was experiencing—and still is—with AIDS/HIV (which had, in some level, along with some personal experiences, unrelated to the AIDS plight, turned me off to sex. I’m talking about a paralyzing phobia here^).

Let’s fast forward…

I have rented countless queer related movies, read many queer themed books, followed several queer associated TV shows… (I guess I’m still doing all that.) And they all have taught me a great deal about the queer world. They’ve become the womb for my growth, maturing me to come to terms with my identity. Then, almost a year ago, I set sail in the vast ocean of cyberspace and land on blogosphere populated by queers^^. They are not some fictional characters from a film, a book, or a TV show, but real, flesh and blood, fascinating individuals, who are brazenly open about their lives^^^. They become the oxytocin released to contract the womb to give birth…

Within the bad metaphor usage in the last paragraph, the point I am trying to make is that I come out to myself. I finally accept myself as a gay man.

***

It’s Pride Week in New York. As a nascent, homo-identified Newbie, it’s my first ever Pride. And I’ve been asking myself the question Heather Small poses: “What have you done today to make you feel proud?”

I guess, I can say that I’ve finally grown a pair and admitted to myself that I am gay—I can be proud of that. I can also say that I’ve decided to share my experience being an itinerant in this New World I decided to journey through by blogging faithfully—I can be proud of that.

***

By the way, can anybody tell me where the best spot is to watch the parade? I hear Tin Man has a prime real estate to view the festivities... Does he need want a new friend?


^ I figured I should supply an additional evidence for my freak-dom and my loser-iness, since my last post had garnered me attention from the good people of WYSIWYG. Positive Reinforcement! Thank you guys for linking me. And for those of you who arrived here via WYSIWYG, stay and peruse for a while.
^^ Thank you Zeitzeuge for the mention. And for those of you who arrived here via Zeitzeuge, stay and peruse for a while.
^^^ From his blog, I know D O G P O E T is busy with his autobiography, but if any of you, my two faithful readers and visitors, know him, tell him to please, please, please post. I miss reading him.

055: It's Official...

...I am a loser and perhaps a creepy freak as well.

***

Four years ago, while I was toiling away in Japan, I had the wonderful privilege to witness the IOC rightfully dismiss the candidature of Osaka in the first round of votes. (Beijing won, in the second round of votes, the right to host the 2008 Games.) Don't get me wrong, I heart Osaka. Osaka, the nearest metropolitan city from my suburban hell, Osaka, where all the good restaurants, bars, and clubs were, yes, Osaka was where I went to sow my wild oats, pissing many nights away. Ah... fond memories. But Osaka hosting the Olympics is like Atlanta hosting the games, a big mistake.

Anyways, the Osaka organization committee had set up this huge gathering inside a huge mall that overlooked Osaka Bay. Pretty much all the Japanese networks were covering the selection process, live, and had sent their crews to the mall to get the crowd's reactions to the eventual outcome. Obviously there were many disappointed people. Two hours later, all the networks were leading the broadcast with the sad news.

Station one: the anchor sets up the story and calls on the reporter on location in Osaka. The once crowded hall is empty and reporter stands alone. She begins her account of the day's event and of the crowd's reactions. Cut to the pre-recorded story. Return again to the reporter: she gives her closing remarks.

You get the picture. It's the standard news reporting one sees even in America. But remember I said that the hall is empty of people, and only the reporter stands alone. Well, that's not the case. Once the camera is back live, far behind the reporter stands a man. This man has on a blue baseball cap over his unkempt hair, thick glasses with a black rim, and a short sleeve shirt buttoned all the way up to the collar and tucked underneath his khakis shorts, which by the way are pulled up above his waist, a fashion sense that Urkle would have been green with envy. His style would have been comical if not but his intense look on his face, a look of a sociopath. One look at him, I assure you, you will think him a freak, so creepy that you would not want to be left alone with him even in broad daylight.

I flip the channel.

Station Two: the anchor sets up the story... Cut to the reporter. He begins to recount the news. Behind him the same creepy man from Station One's news report creeps into the shot. The freak has the same intense look, no smiles, no waiving hands, no mouthing the words, "hi, honey, I'm on TV." Just a look of a predator ready to strike his prey.

I flip again.

Station Three: the reporter faces a different part of the once crowded hall. What do we see but the freak once more. This time, he is much closer to the reporter. I fear for her life. The reporter starts moving away from the freak and the camera follows, so as not to broadcast to the public this weird man's antics. But he shuffles like a crab into the shot, forcing the reporter to move once more. Still the cat and mouse game continues until the reporter signs off.

***

I fear that I might have been like that freakazoid last night. I'm so socially awkward that I beg any of my twenty two readers to suggest a means to put me out of my misery. Graphic and horrible the deed the better.

You see, I went to last night's WYSIWYG event. All the bloggers who read were absolutely magnificent, especially Joe of Joe.My.God., who is by far one of favorite bloggers and whom I had mentioned here and here. I so wanted to introduce myself to him and all the rest of the bloggers of my idolatry. Like MAK and Dr. Faustus. (By the way, MAK shared an interesting tidbit about himself and a certain writer. Hot, hot, hot. And I would so love to have Dr. Faustus sing to me, naked.) Also, I have found new idols to place in my pantheon, like him, him, her, her, and her. Did I mention I saw a good handful of bloggers of my idolatry in the audience? I'm sure there were more of them in the audience, like those who haven't posted their pictures on their blogs. People! Post your pictures! So that when I see you at this kind of events I can be in awe of you/gape at you/ogle you from a far.

Did that make me seem like a stalker? Dammit, see, I am a freakazoid!

Anyways, it is quite intimidating when you are alone to go up to a group of people who seem to know each other quite well. No, let's just face it, yours truly is a chicken shit. A loser. A pathetic, chicken shit, gay-friend-less loser. So my two faithful readers, whoever you are, find me a way to end it all!

No?

Dammit. I just can't seem to get anything right, can I?

054: Fix You and WYSIWYG

It feels like almost everyone in blogosphere has commented on how much he/she adores the new Coldplay's album, X & Y. Well, since I lack originality and can't think for myself, I have to ride the bandwagon and echo everyone else's praises. Forgive the cheekiness. But honestly, I do think X & Y is great. I've been replaying over and over again track #4, Fix You.

When you try your best but you don't succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse

And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try and fix you

And high up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try and fix you

Tears stream down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down your face
And I

Tears stream down your face
I promise you I will learn from the mistakes
Tears stream down your face
And I

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you.

I don't know why, but today of all days, I'm wishing for someone who'd sing this song to me: I am looking for lights to guide me home.

And on a totally unrelated note, I'm gonna venture forth and go check out, tomorrow, a few of my fellow bloggers (I wonder if that's too presumptuous of me to equate myself among them) do voodoo they do so well. Tomorrow. June 21. The WYSIWYG Talent Show. At 7:30. At P.S. 122.

053: Validations

Well, in my pathetic existence, I need as much validation as I can get. So, today, I took a little test. People, I'm a GENIUS!

Your IQ Is 135

Your Logical Intelligence is Genius Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius Your Mathematical Intelligence is Genius Your General Knowledge is Exceptional

A Quick and Dirty IQ Test

On a related note... in April I alluded to a test I took. The results are in. My pathetic existence has been validated yet once more. I'm ecstatic!

That is all, the most self-serving post thus far.

052: An Elephant

A bitter fallout - is there any other kind?
For what, though?
Wrong words?
Stinging sentences?
Petulant paragraphs?
A loathsome letter?
I don't remember why
For a castle up on a hill
To crumble into gentle ruins;
By three thousand miles of silence,
By three years of neglect,
A transition's made easy:
Anger gives way to Bitterness
Bitterness gives way to Apathy,
A typical fable of my friendships

A tepidly outstretched hand,
Only to be limply held,
It's a handshake nonetheless
Sealed with an awkward hug,
A noncommital promise,
A shaky new beginning:
Still a doubt lingers;
Can the old foundation hold up
The weight of new bricks
Precariously laid one on top of another?
Or must a new cornerstone
Replace the remnant of
What once was?
But neither one of us are willing, for now
Let's just leave the elephant alone...


A song that fits my current mood:

Death Cab for Cutie: Transatlanticism

051: More On Ghibli

A.O. Scott, in his article in the NYT, has introduced me to a new word: Miyazakian.

After a while, certain vistas - a rolling meadow dappled with flowers and shadowed by high cumulus clouds, a range of rocky foothills rising toward snow-capped peaks, the fading light at the edge of a forest - deserve to be called Miyazakian.

So do certain stories, especially those involving a resourceful, serious girl contending with the machinations of wise old women and the sufferings of enigmatic young men. And so do certain themes: the catastrophic irrationality of war and other violence; the folly of disrespecting nature; the moral complications that arise from ordinary acts of selfishness, vanity and even kindness. As a visual artist, Mr. Miyazaki is both an extravagant fantasist and an exacting naturalist; as a storyteller, he is an inventor of fables that seem at once utterly new and almost unspeakably ancient. Their strangeness comes equally from the freshness and novelty he brings to the crowded marketplace of juvenile fantasy and from an unnerving, uncanny sense of familiarity, as if he were resurrecting legends buried deep in the collective unconscious.

- A.O. Scott

050: A Night of Rock

Last night, I spent rocking to Grand National.

Q: Who are they?
A: Truth be told, I'm totally clueless as to who they are. I've never heard of them till last night.

Grand National

Firstly, I have to confess that the group's name was a turn-off. Grand National. It seemed like something an ultra-nationalist aka neo-fascist aka Republican party would use. It really didn't help when I entered the performance space in Knitting Factory and saw a huge black banner in the back with large white letters spelling out Grand National. But their redeeming factors are (1) they are a band from jolly old England. I personally think all the good bands these days are coming from the other side of the Atlantic, so it can't hurt that they are Engl ... British (God forbid any one of them is from some place other than England. You see, they are very particular about which side of the border they were born from, as one of my Scottish friend pointed out.) (2) The two main guys are called Lawrence "La" and Rupert. I don't know what it is about the British, but the mothers there really know how to name their kids. I think names like Lawrence, Rupert, Liam, Owen, Riley, Aiden, Rhys, Toby - just to name a few - are sexy.

Q: Hold up, here. Who cares about all that? Were they any good?
A: Um, I do. And yes, they were. I was just getting to that.

(3) The most important aspect of a band is their—I’m borrowing a word Sean from the Sean Show used and, I think, coined—rockability. Grand National have that; these guys totally R*O*C*K*E*D!!! They got me grooving, swinging, and bopping. Hmm…I wonder if that was more to do with the gin-and-tonic than the music. No, it was the music. The smooth stylin’ of the front man, La—I think he’s the front man, combined with the tight sounds provided by the band, blew me away. There was something nostalgic about their sound, yet very new… I liked what I heard. Well, listen for yourselves. (No, it’s not live.)

Drink to Moving On

They promised us that they'd see us back in Madison Square Garden. Okay, they didn't use the two words, "we promise," but they made a bold statement. If they continue with their bold sound, I think we might see them perform in Madison Square Garden one day.

049: Hot, Hot, Hot

Is it wrong to get a hard on for a table?

I found this cool instrument, which I totally want now (via Tranism). Audiopad was developed by two PhD students, James Patten and Ben Recht, from MIT. I think they also perform, calling themselves localfields. Go to their site and download their two tracks.

Check out the video.

048: "There's No Point in Living...

...if I'm not beautiful."

Okay, firstly, I think I've got the quote wrong. So anyone else who've seen it, please let me know the correct version. Secondly, I loved this movie. People, you must go out and see this. If you live in the NY tri-state area, unfortunately only one theatre is showing it, but it's worth every minute you might spend in traffic, on the subway, in a bus, by foot, or in whatever form of transportation you need to take to get yourself to the theatre.

047: Asexuals?

Hmm... I'm remember from a while back that Details had an article similar to the one in the New York Times. Anyways, it says:

...An increasing number of people say yes [to being indiffernt to sex] and offer themselves as proof. They describe themselves as asexual, and they call their condition normal, not the result of confused sexual orientation, a fear of intimacy or a temporary lapse of desire. They would like the world to understand that they can live their entire lives happily without ever having sex.

I confess I've called myself that—asexual. Once, back in college, I've even confided to a friend—a girl—that I am an asexual because, well, I had found not one single person that I was attracted to sexually. Well, that was a lie, but back then, it wasn't so much a lie, but denial. I hadn't allowed myself to be attracted to anyone. If somehow my hormones got the better of me, the attraction was, inevitably, for a guy, the very feeling which I suppressed so well, I'm sure Opus Dei, the Spanish Inquisition, and even Apostle Paul—who advocated a celibate lifestyle—would have been proud. My attraction for a man was reinterpreted as my admiration of his character; the love I had for a man, I would say, was philia love, based on God's agape love, minus eros love. Any eros I felt in the groin was brought up to my head to be transfigured. So, naturally, it was easy for me to classify myself as an asexual.

I just hope that those who describe themselves as an asexual do so because they are sure that they are one and not because of denial.

046: A New Movie From Studio Ghibli

I don't know what it is, but there's something about Studio Ghibli (スタジオジブリ), that gets me … hot and bothered. Okay, that’s not really true, and I apologize for the unnecessary, idiotic start to the post. But there really is something that gets me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. I guess watching a Studio Ghibli film is like, while you’re sick in bed, grateful that you’re missing school, but still bored out of your mind, your grandfather walks into your room, just so that he can read you a fantastic story that will transport you to whole different world, where you’ll find a pirate gang made up of a giant, a Spaniard, and a short Sicilian who continually exclaims, “Inconceivable.” No, no, wait, that’s from the Princess Bride. Well, I’ve never had anyone in my family come into my room to read me a bedtime story when I was a child, but that’s what I imagine sitting through a Ghibli masterpiece is like. Grandfather…(hmm, maybe he’s too young to be one…) Uncle Miyazaki, who by the way looks a lot like a Japanese version of Colonel Sanders, every single time, brings us delicious and very satisfying morsel of visual treats, and unlike the tasty but unhealthy Original Recipe, Miyazaki’s goodness is just that, goodness: good for the mind, good for the world. It’s a bold statement tied to a very weak metaphor, but I’ll stand by it.

Example One: My first foray into Ghibli was with Graves of the Fireflies (火垂の墓).

I was 13 or 14 then, and it was my second trip to Japan, this time to visit my dad. While a visit to a foreign country should be exciting with lots of sightseeing and eating strange new food, I was taken to my dad’s and became a house-sitter.

Dad was busy with his work and I was bored out of my mind. Boredom equals watching a lot of TV, but not just any TV, Japanese TV. Don’t get me wrong, once you get the hang of the language, Japanese TV can be fairly entertaining, but for a kid, who doesn’t understand gibberish, and who only cares about cartoons, Japanese TV was…shit. Here in our wonderful country, once you get back from school, you can always count on at least one channel dedicated to rotting young, impressionable minds by showing cartoons; and lest we forget we’ve the Saturday morning line up of cartoons—yes, I grew up on Smurfs. There, not so. But when I did find a channel that showed a cartoon or anime, it was a great treat.

During one hot summer’s day, Graves of the Fireflies was on. Although I didn’t understand what the characters were saying, intuitively I understood the message of the story. Now, you have to understand that the first two years of my grade school education were spent in Korea. There are two things they will teach you well: the first one is math—I was reciting the multiplication table as a second grader—and second one is politics, yes politics, you know, the kind the Republicans and the White House are good at practicing—propaganda politics. We were taught that (1) the communist North Korea is scary and misguided and (2) the unrepentant Japan is evil (Tokto is Korea’s!). I should elaborate on what they meant by evil, but I can’t be bothered. So anyways… what was the point of this again? Oh yeah, so when I watched Graves of the Fireflies, I understood that many Japanese felt that they were also victims of their imperial, militaristic government of the past. I realized that they also needed to make peace with history. You can’t stay mad at people who think of themselves as victims. Apart from that, a tale of two siblings, orphaned due to an Allied Force’s air raid, trying to survive, trying to maintain their childhood…breathtakingly sad, heartbreakingly beautiful. Even now, when I watch it, I start bawling.

I’ll continue about Studio Ghibli later on…

The purpose of this post, before it became this long essay about my special connection with the studio, which I think I’d like to explore more later on, as I've mentioned before, the purpose of this, and I’ll get to it right away, so as not to make this a run-on sentence, nope, it already is, the purpose is the new Studio Ghibli movie, Howl’s Moving Castle (ハウルの動く城), is coming out this Friday!!! I can’t wait to see it. Although I’d love to see it in its original language, I can deal with the dubbed version. Besides they’ve got Christian Bale, Billy Crystal, Jena Malone, Lauren Bacall doing some of the voices.

045: Do You Think You're Smart?

Even though I should post something substantial, whatever "substantial" may be, I'm gonna post this instead. Don't be intimidated by what you see when you click on it. You don't need to understand what it says to do this. Besides I can't read it. Though fortunately, my friend, through whom I found this, she had the rules posted in her blog. I've taken the liberty to cut and paste them. Seriously, read the rules very carefully!

Click on link then click on blue circle. Use the rules below. This is going to rack your brain, but it can be done! For those of you who are not going to even understand the rules (you know who you are) get someone to explain them to you.

The following rules apply:

• Only 2 persons on the raft at a time.
• The father cannot stay with any of the daughters without their mother's presence.
• The mother can not stay with any of the sons without their father's presence.
• The thief (striped shirt) can not stay with any family member if the Policeman is not there.
• Only the Father, the Mother and the Policeman know how to operate the raft.
• To start click on the big blue circle on the right.
• To move the people click on them. To move the raft click on the pole on the opposite side of the river.

Well, good luck and let me know how you've done. It took me a good five minutes to complete it. It can be done. As they say in Japan, 頑張れ！Or in China, 加油！Or in Korea, 화이팅!

044: "525,600 Minutes"

So, I've seen the trailer for Rent.

I've teared up.

I can't wait till it comes to a theatre near me.

I've seen the musical, once in NYC - I had won the lottery draw to buy two really cheap tickets for front second row, center seats - and again later on in London - with most of the original Broadway cast members performing. Both times I was entralled and mesmerized by the music, the words, the story. Every time I listen to the cast recording, I often wonder had Jonathon Larson still walked among us, what other precious gifts would he bestow on us. Because surely his first gift, Rent, in my humble opinion, had transformed the landscape of Broadway, the old look and the tired feel of the Great White Way replaced with the vibrant, pulsing energy of youth.

I'm excited.

Addendum: The office site for the movie is up! Go and check it out. (06/08/05)

043: The Number "3"

So I found her site and read this very informative piece on Lifecycle of Bloggers.

My hope is to go through this cycle at least three times. Why three? I don't know... I guess, I've always had a fascination with the number "3." Like for instance, when I add up the individual digits of my birthday (excluding, of course, the "1" and the "9" from 19xx, because, face it, most of the people living on this Earth were born in the 20th Century, and when people ask you, "What year you were born?" you would most likely exclude the first two digits of the year; besides, if we did include those two numbers, my crazy example will just not work, and we wouldn't want that), the summed total comes out to be 21. Add those two digits up, and what have we got? THREE.

And #3, according to her Lifecycle:

You become a stats whore.
Daily stats/referrals and meme participation for webrings, quizlists, personality profiles, and the occasional sepia toned webcam photo to make you look all “emo” and “sultry” and “sensitive” or at least a little bit thinner. And definitley like a Kpop music video still image. You voraciouslly groom your links list as you build a posse. The wishlist makes it’s initial appearance and creepy strangers start sending you gifts when your birthday comes around. You consider this slightly weird, but hey, then again, you *did* get that Star Wars Box set that you always wanted. You *start* memes just for the additional traffic. Perhaps you even start a webgame of sorts.

A whore, I have become. But where, oh, where are my clients??? I've just recently put up my Kpop music video still image of myself, but it looked too damn sexy, so I went for a more neutral, asexual look. If you look closely, you can see my name on the t-shirt. I'm such a dork. And God... it would be just so silly to introduce my wishlist on this site. I'd like to... of course, I've thought about it... yeah, I've mulled it over... However, in the spirit of completing the 3rd phase of the lifecycle... No, I won't. (Not yet, anyway.)

042: Yosemite's Grandeur

Feel free to check out my photo sets.
Set 1: Yosemite First Night
Set 2: Mariposa Grove of Giant Trees
Set 3: Panorama-Mist Trail
Set 4: Yosemite Falls

041: I'm Back

Well, the Memorial Weekend getaway, which for me has been a week long excursion, no, a fest, if you will, of my mockingly minging attempts, strutting around, in my opinion, like a proud peacock, but in my friends' eye, the naked emperor, all in vain, all done just to persuade them, whom I hadn't seen for almost eight years, of my beautiful transformation into a badass—cool, controlled, and contemptibly cagey—that weekend, has come to an exquisite and effervescent end. If it were possible for a trip, a place, or a person to find one to tread new paths of self discovery—exciting and full of potential—and at the same time, to lead one to get lost in self disillusionment—exasperating and void of possibility, this weekend, this memorable weekend, would be an apt example.

Well, I do hope to post pictures promptly. There shall be ooh's and aah's. I say it so and it shall come to pass.

Well, whatever.